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.

50. Spineless and Scarlett Red

50. "Spineless and Scarlett Red"

As per the badger's instructions, Robin first went to the clergy house before bothering to consult the confessional room. Very much not feeling like the fearless fox everyone thought him to be, he was actually a tad nervous as he approached the door on the edge of the parish's property; Tuck never did assure him that the other priests at St. Ursula's were friendly to the cause, now did he? (Or friendly in general; Robin's understanding of Catholic priests was that it was a coin flip whether any given one was the kindest, sweetest man you'd ever meet or the Devil himself in the guise of a holy man, and his mental health didn't need any more unnecessary negativity right now.) But seriously, let's pretend Tuck thought they were friendly and told Robin so; how would Tuck know? How could he be sure that in the privacy of their minds they didn't know about the big British fox running around with a grizzly bear, the two of them causing chaos all over the city in the name of class justice, and that those priests wouldn't hate them for that? Tuck had previously alluded to his fellow priests being pretty conservative and strongly leaning Republican - did that mean "they wouldn't approve of Robin's stepfather's relationship" or "they vehemently oppose abortion rights" or "they ignore the part of the Bible where it literally says rich people are inherently bad" or "they are strictly nonresistant, pro-law, and anti-rebellion and would gladly call the authorities on the very easy-to-spot redhead in a heartbeat"?

But Robin overcame his worries when he realized two things: one, that if these priests harbored a hatred for the Merry Men, they probably would have figured out Tuck's past and ratted him out by now; and two, oh yeah, he really wasn't in the mood to give a shit about his own personal safety or whether this would be the day they captured him, now was he?

Sure enough, Tuck was not the one who answered the door. Instead it was some sort of bovine gentleman, kind of like a water buffalo but smaller, definitely smaller than Johnny, from some species Robin had probably encountered before but never figured out what they were called nor where they were from. The guy seemed friendly enough, certainly not like those grumpy disciplinarian priests of legend, but he had a strange and implacable accent - and even then, it was less his accent than the way he spoke English slowly and perhaps unconfidently that made communication weird. (Robin had chosen to put on an American accent as a thinly-veiled disguise tactic, but wound up sticking with it just in case this guy would have trouble understanding an entirely different accent he surely didn't hear every day.) But through an awkward smile, this stranger informed Robin that the badger he sought was not at the house, being again on confessional duty. Splendid.

Robin entered through the side chapel and was greeted by a little gray rodent polishing the tabernacle. It turned out this church-mouse was the same Deacon Iglesias that Tuck had referred to in the past as his favorite coworker in his new career. The deacon likewise knew through Tuck who the Merry Men were and was one hundred percent cool with them and what they were doing, but they'd never had the chance to meet. Therefore they had a brief little conversation to formally introduce themselves, and Robin - who, as Deacon Iglesias was already aware, was from a traditionally Protestant country and hadn't had the most religious upbringing anyway - mused about all the things about Catholicism that still confused him, like how apparently deacons could get married and have children while priests couldn't, and how deacons were referred to by their surnames while priests and nuns seemed to be on a first-name basis.

The mouse kindly elucidated him: deacons are allowed to be married if and only if they were already married before they're fully ordained (which Deacon Iglesias was before he became a permanent deacon, showing off his wedding ring as he mentioned how much he loved his wife and daughter), but in exchange they're barred from ever ascending to the priesthood and can never remarry heaven forbid something happens. And as for the first name/last name thing with higher clergy, the deacon wasn't too sure himself but was fairly confident that it actually varied country to country and archdiocese to archdiocese, no real universal rule one way or another, because he'd definitely met priests visiting from Ireland who used their last names; but hey, he and Tuck strove to keep St. Ursula's a casual and friendly place - you'll notice this parish didn't even have any stuffy old nuns on the premises - so Robin didn't even need to keep referring to him as Deacon Iglesias if he didn't want to. Hence the mouse invited the fox before they parted: "Call me Oliver."

In the split second between saying goodbye to the deacon and opening up the door to the confessional library room, Robin couldn't help but silently let out an exasperated chuckle under his breath. So today at the church, he'd been confronted with his jealousy over the fact that even a boring old church-mouse had a loving family that he himself couldn't have and that said church-mouse bore bore the same increasingly-obscure forename as his own dad, a name that he'd certainly not encountered more than a half-dozen times since coming to the states. Just like last time, Robin had to wonder if there was a God who was cross with him and was consequently punishing him by screwing with Robin's head every single time he dared to take his sinful, heathenous tail into His House; if Friar Tuck really wanted Robin to become a believer and cited all these coincidences as proof of an intelligent higher power… well, Robin really wouldn't know what to say.

Also like the day prior, Father Tucker couldn't immediately tell who was entering his confessional. He looked up and waited for the sinner to begin with the traditional greeting, and although he could make out a red-furred figure about Robin's height wearing a green shirt and blue jeans, the priest refused to believe he'd be back already. Then his visitor spoke:

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned… Is that right? Did I get it right?"

"Robin!? What are you doing here!?" asked the badger, getting a strong sense of déjà vu.

"Ah, but what are you doing here, Friar Tuck?" Robin asked as he sat down on the chair and got into a comfortable position with his legs crossed and an arm thrown over the seatback. "'Oh, check the clergy house first, I'll probably be there!'"

"I didn't expect you to come back the very next day!"

"And you're acting so surprised! I just had a conversation with the deacon right outside the door, I'm surprised you didn't hear us through the door. By the way, who was that… vaguely foreign bloke who answered the door at your house? Looked like a smaller yak or something?"

"Hm? Oh. Denny. Father Dionisio. He's from the Philippines, his people are called… tamaraws, I think?" But Tuck didn't want to waste time with small talk. "But seriously, Robin, what's your business being back so soon?"

Robin shrugged and chuckled, trying to look cool but clearly faking it, betraying a sense of nervousness even though the mesh window. "Oh, I just wanted to talk with an old friend again. Enjoyed yesterday so much, I wanted to do it again!"

Tuck just blinked at him, the two of them sitting in silence as the badger kept waiting for the sly-smiling fox to elaborate, but he never did. So the priest decided to just ask the magic question.

"...So did you tell Johnny?"

Robin laughed softly again, his mellow attitude reeking of affectation. "Oh, I told him something alright!"

The priest leaned forward towards the window. "...Was it about your brother?"

Robin waved a hand at him, still trying to look casual and calm and still failing. "Oh, pshaw, Padre, Johnny needn't ever know about that!"

"Goddammit, Robin!" Tuck barked as he stood from his seat and made his way around the wall to get an unobstructed view of his friend. He snapped his fingers sharply and pointed angrily at the ground. "Wipe that smirk off your face right now! You're not gonna schmooze your way outta this one!"

The fox still kept his casual pose, but he didn't need to be told twice to stop smiling; he didn't have the energy for it anymore.

"Is this a joke to you!?" the priest continued. "When I said I'm not gonna forgive you for what you did, I meant it! Or is my forgiveness that worthless to you that you've got no sense of urgency to go get it!? Huh!? Why didn't you tell him!?"

And again, Robin laughed, putting a paw over his eyes as he did. But Tuck did not protest this action as it was clear that this was the nervous, anxious laughter of a man who found his own situation laughably pathetic.

"...I just couldn't do it," Robin said rather calmly, taking his hand off his face but still not looking up at the badger. "It's as simple as that… No malice nor disrespect intended, not to you, not to him… I just couldn't do it."

Father Tuck was still fuming, but he was quickly simmering down, if for no other reason than to be easier to talk to. "Did you at least try to tell him?"

Robin shook his head, that tired smile still on his face but fading fast. "Couldn't do that, either. Couldn't think of what to say, how to say it… couldn't imagine a scenario where it doesn't end with him and I blowing apart…" He surrendered his relaxed position and came to sit leaning forward on his chair. "I'm not too proud, Tuck, I know courage and cowardice exist in every man, I know I'm no exception, but… my, what a brain your God gave me where I have the courage to… you know, lead a bloody jailbreak or… or take on an entire city's police force in actual, physical combat with just a handful of allies, or, or… or look a man who's been trying to kill me for years straight in the eyes, standing right in front of him, without my heart rate even increasing, and yet… heh… I'm simply too afraid to admit I've done something terrible…" He resumed his casual position, though this time with his leg thrown over his opposite knee rather than crossed. His raised foot was wagging, and it seemed more like a sign of worry than of comfort and composure. "Pardon my laughing, Tuck, I know it's not appropriate, but… this all strikes me as some kind of cosmic irony that one can't help but laugh at, you know?"

Tuck answered by going back behind the wall to retrieve his chair and bring it back to roughly where he'd had it yesterday; he had a feeling this would be a long one again, so he might as well have a seat.

"Well, I'm… I'm at least glad that you're not just… tearing apart at the seams like you were yesterday."

The fox blew a raspberry and gave another dismissive wave, still smirking. "Oh, been there, done that, Tucker old boy! I've cried enough this week for one lifetime! I'm not unlike the people in Hermosa Park: they're past the point of being sad about their situation, so now they're at the point of saying sod it! NONE OF THIS MATTERS! LET'S FUCKING KILL EACH OTHER! PBBT, PBBT, PBBT, PBBT, PBBT!" Robin imitated gunshots with a finger pistol firing aimlessly before pointing it as his own temple, dramatically keeling his head over as he finished with a "Ka-PBBT!"

"Robin, don't joke like that!"

"Why not!?" Robin's smile was beginning to look downright disturbing. "I'm the one who lost a brother to suicide! Except I didn't!"

Tuck answered with a blank, attentive stare.

That was enough for Robin to mostly ease off the wry smile. "...Am I a coward, Tuck? If I am, that's fine, I've all but made peace with it, but I need an unbiased opinion on the matter."

And the badger just thought for a moment before letting out a sigh. "Well, I don't think I'm an unbiased opinion, Robin, but… I think it's just like you said: everybody's courageous and cowardly sometimes. We all have times when we feel brave and times when we feel afraid… But when you're too afraid to do the right thing, that starts becoming a personality flaw and a moral issue -"

"Moral cowardice," said Robin. "One of our little group's favorite philosophical debate topics. Whether or not it exists and whether or not it's even useful to tell somebody they're suffering from it."

The priest nodded. "I honestly don't think that a true coward would have done all the things you've done to fight the power in this city, so no, I don't think you are a coward as a person, Rob. But you're letting your fear prevent you from fulfilling a moral obligation, so you definitely are being cowardly in this situation right now."

Robin let out an exasperated sigh and leaned forward, grabbing his head as he looked at the floor. "I knew it… I knew it."

Tuck put a paw on the fox's shoulder. "Would it be easier for you to tell him if I was there with you?"

"No, no," Robin told the floor. "I can't use you as a crutch… Not to mention, Johnny'd be pissed at me if he finds out I told you first!"

"Yeah… yeah, that sounds like Johnny," the badger said as he patted his friend's back. "Not to say he's unreasonable for that, just… you two were always the tightest, he'd tell you first and he'd expect you to do the same."

They were quiet for a moment before Tuck remembered something Robin had said.

"Hey, uh… you said you did tell Johnny… something?"

"Hm?" Robin looked up. "Oh, yeah. I believe I accidentally let slip to him that I'm ready to quit."

"You what!?"

"Oh, I didn't outright tell him or anything, I just… we were talking about our fathers, because Father's Day, and all that talking about my stepdad and how good he was to me got me thinking about how I try so much to be like him in life and not my biological father… and that includes being a good father like he was, but that's not going to happen because there's no way this chapter of my life ends without me in prison or dead, and… I'll be honest, Tuck, as a lad I idolized film stars and folk heroes in part because I envied their legendary status and how that made them essentially immortal, and… I do do all these things I do to help people because I want to help people and make the world a better place, but yes, of course I want to be known and recognized for it, and I am, in my own weird way, still downright terrified of dying, just like anybody else, perhaps more than most anybody else, which is why I try to do all I can today to be remembered as a great person, no matter how risky, so that I don't die unfulfilled just in case I get run over by a bus tomorrow. Does this make sense? Is this all making sense? But - there's probably something in there about how my insatiable need to be seen as a great man won't let me tell Johnny something that would tarnish my reputation in his eyes, but back to my dad - so… and it's the damnedest thing, because if you were to tell me when I was, what, twenty-two that instead of playing a hero on the screen I'd be actually living the life of one, I would have shat my pants in excitement, but -! ...I don't know whether it's that the praise and attention just aren't what they used to be or that I'm getting bored of it or… or if there really is some kind of chemical rebalancing that occurs in your brain as you get older that makes your priorities change, but for some reason, when we were talking about our dads, it just hit me like a train, that's what I want! I don't want the adoration of complete strangers who don't really know me anymore, I just want the love of a wife and children who know me and love me for who I am! I mean, I would love both, but if I had to pick one of the other, I'd pick a family! And I was on track to getting that before I threw it all away to fulfill my foolish youthful desires and 'help' people in the most selfish and reckless way possible! And yeah, I couldn't know then what I'd want now, but… I threw it all away, man! And now there is no chance of me getting the happy ending I was on pace to get, all because I was too short-sighted when I was basically still a kid! And, and, and… and I don't even want to think about whether or not Marian's moved on for real this time! Not that it matters, there's no way I'd ever be able to join her in the civilian world ever again! So now I'm stuck in this life I don't even think I want anymore, and, and -!" Then Robin seemed to completely stop panicking at the drop of a hat resumed his familiar amiable persona. "I'm sorry, Tuck, that was a lot. Am I boring you?"

Father Tuck blinked at him a few times as he composed an answer. "...That was a lot, but I… think I got your point. So you told Johnny all this?"

"What? Oh, nonono. I didn't tell him all that, just the… just the parts about how I'm never going to get to have children, and how we're fighting for people who don't seem to care about us anymore, and then that got me weeping like a damned child, and then I said 'all of this was a mistake' but I had my face buried in his shirt so it was muffled so I don't know whether he heard it, but either way, I think he put the pieces together." Aside from an uncharacteristically fast-paced manner of speech, all of this speech was delivered as though absolutely none of it was even remotely alarming.

The badger was still struggling for words with all these revelations. "Now… did you mean all those things you said, or was it something you just said in a moment of frustration, or…?"

Robin looked deep in thought. "Everything said in this room is confidential, correct?"

"Unless you say something that obligates me to call the cops, yeah -"

"I meant every single word of it," the fox said calmly and coolly, still sporting that vulpine smile. "Don't tell Johnny or anybody else, or I'll have to kill you. Which we now know I've experience in doing!"

Tuck just shook his head like a disappointed father. "Not funny, Robin."

"Never said I was joking." Yup, still smiling. "I suppose I was right the first time; I should have stuck with trying to play a hero in films, because I can talk the talk but I cannot walk the walk! I'm simply a spineless coward who can't finish what he's started - which is fine, most people couldn't pull off what I've attempted, but fuck me for thinking I was one of the few who could!"

Realizing he needed to just accept that Robin was behaving inappropriately as a bizarre coping mechanism, the priest continued: "I'll be honest, Robin, when you came in here yesterday talking about how you thought this whole choice of… becoming a vigilante was a big mistake… I just thought you'd had a really bad day and that by the next day, you'd be back in good spirits. Not that you seem like the kind of guy who I'd ever think would consider quitting over one bad day, but I really didn't think you'd be the kind of guy who… y'know, who'd… I really couldn't believe you meant it, so I figured it had to be a temporary thing, something you'd snap out of. And maybe it is! I mean, it's only been a day, maybe give it a little more -?"

"It's been a lot more than a bad day, Tuck," said Robin, his smile finally having faded. "It's been a completely hellish week."

"...Only a week?"

"The kind of week that makes a long period of time before it seem like a waste in retrospect." Robin broke eye contact to ponder his life as he kept musing aloud. "I've definitely gained a new perspective that… doesn't necessarily make the whole seven years seem like a waste, but definitely the last four. The jailbreak and mansion looting was our one shot, we got unlucky, we've accomplished sweet fuck-all since then and we have it on good authority that the common people of this city don't really think that 'winning' this war is an option for us anymore, just… a stalemate to the death at best."

Now that Robin's tone had significantly sobered, Tuck's frustration with him had all but evaporated. "I gotta ask where the heck you're getting this idea from."

"Which idea? There were many ideas there."

"That nobody believes in you anymore. I know you kind of mentioned that yesterday, but you never really explained where you got that idea."

Robin looked confused, but not at anything Tuck had said. "...I never had a chance to tell you about the doughnut shop workers, did I?"

"I… don't believe you did."

"Or the porcupine lady! Or her shitty son and his friend - and all the shitty teenagers we've encountered these last few days!"

"Uh, nope, not that I can remember."

"Or my encounter with Amanda Foote for the first time in years!"

"Now that I would have remembered."

"...Or the timid little wolf lad who genuinely got me wondering whether I've inadvertently become the bad guy."

"That I definitely would have remembered."

Robin started smiling and softly chuckling again as he sat upright in his chair and began rubbing his paws together eagerly. "Well then! Sounds like we were so wrapped up in the 'confession' bit that we never got around to actually catching up!"

"And I still wanna know the full story behind that arm," said the priest, pointing.

"All that and more shall soon be explained!" the fox declared with his arms wide open in excitement. "But it will be a long story with a lot of talking and I haven't had anything to drink all day! Care to fetch me a bottle of holy water, Friar?"

Friar Tuck looked dreadfully unamused, seriously not knowing whether or not that was a stupid joke. "That's… that's not what holy water is for, Robin."

We'll be right back, folks.

-IllI-

Since the invisible airwaves that crackled with life had failed him yesterday, Deputy George Nutzinger was not putting his faith in the spirit of the radio today. Instead, he had brought music from home, and although the cruiser's main audio implement was just the stock setup (heavily modified to be overridden by important communications on the police frequency), when they put together a driving and control rig for the deputy, they left him free to put in a rodent-sized three-disc CD changer. And as he was out cruising aimlessly on a Sunday holiday afternoon, he was taking advantage of his privilege by blasting his handpicked tunes and singing at the top of his lungs.

"THERE ARE FIIIIIFTYYY-TWOOOOO WAAAAAYS TOOO MURRRDERRR AAANYYYOOONE! …ONE AND TWOOO ARE THE SAAAAAME… AND THEY BOTH WORK AS WELLLLLLL! I'M COOOMINGGG CLEEEEEAN FOR AAAAAMYYYYY! JUUUUUUULIE DOESN'T SCREEEEEAM AAAS WEH-EH-ELL! AND THE COPPPS WOOON'T LIIIIISTEEEEEN AAAAAAALL NIIIIIIGHT…!"

And the cop sitting right next to him sure hoped he wouldn't have to listen to this all night. Going forward, if his deputy demanded to know why he paid no heed to his criticisms of him or accusations that he was a terrible person, the sheriff would cite this moment wherein his deputy was completely callous towards the fact that he was having a double whammy of a depressing birthday and a depressing holiday. Ward didn't expect George to mope around and be sad with him, but he definitely expected the squirrel to at least somewhat respect the mood instead of having a ball blasting his rock and roll - and very bizarre rock and roll at that.

"Aaas the mooooon becooomes the niiight tiiime… you go viiiciouuuslyyyyyy… quiiietlyyyyyy, awaaayyyyy! I'm siii-tiiing, iiin the bedddrooooom, wherrrre we uuused to siiit, and smoke ciiigrattes, nowww I'm WAAATCHIIING, WAAATCHIIING you DIIIII-IIIIIE! AAAAAH-ah-AAAAAH-ah, IIIII -!"

"Ya always go on and on 'bout how much a' a asshole ya think I am, but here ya are singin' songs about actually killin' and murderin' people," the wolf couldn't help but observe.

Nutsy turned the music down. "Well hey, man, if you actually paid attention to the lyrics, this band's songs paint a picture of a dude who's mentally fucked in the head and keeps murdering the girls he genuinely loves because he can't control himself. Like the tragedy of a romantic serial killer who wants to be romantic but doesn't wanna be a serial killer. When the singer says he's sad that the girls he murdered are dead, you're supposed to understand he means it, fucked up as it is."

In a weird way, Woodland could kind of relate - not that he'd ever murdered a girlfriend (that we know of, thank God), but how at his age, love lost for any reason seems like a tragedy, even love that never necessarily existed for a person who never necessarily existed.

They say as you get older you come to accept that love that falls apart was just never meant to be, but what about when no love ever seems meant to be for you? How are you supposed to make peace with that? A year short of half a century and he still couldn't even accidentally find a woman who craved him… was he just that unappealing? He'd shown promise as a young man - every girl wanted a piece of the stud on the school football team, and in his conservative Southern town, he'd caused quite a quiet controversy as people found out he was juggling girlfriends - but then he became an underemployed loser, then a redneck living in a metropolitan environment, and neither of those was really appealing. And none of this was made easier by the way his work consumed him - and he let it consume him, seeing as it was the only thing in his life that was going right. In that much, he could at least acknowledge that part of this was of his own doing. But was it entirely a consequence of his choices? He honestly wasn't sure yet.

So he could empathize with the creepy voice singing over the speakers; they'd both made their beds and now they had to sleep in them - alone. The deputy's music choice did raise a question, however.

"So yer tellin' me that all this band's songs are about a some crazy guy killin' all the girls he wants ta' love?"

Nutzinger had to think about it. "I mean, not all of them, but… a lot of them? I think. I dunno, man, they're just fun songs, you're not supposed to take them that seriously."

The sheriff just rolled his eyes.

"Well fine, if it's offending you that much, I got plenty of other stuff on these mixtapes." Indeed, he'd specifically curated the songs burned onto these discs to make sure that there would be no awkward lyrics popping up to make them each confront the fact that they were both desperately lonely people. He pressed some buttons, then nodded along vigorously as some pop-punk started playing to remind him of his late teenage years. "It's alright! To tell me! What you think! About me! I won't try! And argue! And hold it! Against you...!"

Being able to fall in love multiple times but being plagued by demons possessing you to kill them all? What a waste. But it was enough to make Ward wonder whether he had something similar going on. Maybe he'd had more close calls with happiness than he realized but he did something to lose them, something so automatic and inherent in him that it drove these chances away before he could even realize they were there. Nutsy sure would tell him he was a hopeless slob who no self-respecting woman would stay with, but he knew plenty of guys even worse than him who were in stable relationships - or at least were damned good at pretending they were stable. Honestly, for any negative quality George could attribute to his boss, Ward could point out at least a dozen cops on the NPD who were even worse than him in that regard who nevertheless had a wife to go home to - and whether that served as an indictment of the NPD or was just a consequence of a large sample size is entirely up for debate, but Ward could name dozens, and that was before last week's merger. Woodland had proof that no individual flaw of his was a deal-breaker; but what about the sum of their parts?

"The steps that! I retrace! The sad look! On your face! The timing! And structure! Did you hear? HE FUCKED HER!"

"Can you play a song with filthier lyrics?" asked the sheriff.

"Is that a challenge, ya fuckin' puritan?" asked the deputy before getting back to his cantation.

Maybe Nutzinger had a point every time he accused the wolf of being irredeemable as a person. But that just didn't make sense. Ward was out here trying to neutralize a frigging domestic terrorist group that was, as far as he could see, quantifiably lowering the quality of life in this city; those in support of the fox and the bear and their associated cohorts would probably say that Ward making a pretty penny under the table from a conceited and callous mayor was yet another instance of corruption that the insurgents were seeking to erase, but hey, fuck 'em, Ward had earned that bonus money for his dangerous work! People adored those guys because they were going out to make Nottingham a better place… as per their values; was Sheriff Woodland not doing the exact same thing from the other side? Why did that not earn him any respect or admiration? How did that not more than make up for his flaws? Aw, fuggin' city slickers, all a bunch of wild animals with no respect for law and order… he'd better not say that out loud, though, because even he'd agree that'd sound pretty racist.

Meanwhile off in Nutsy Land, George was rapidly approaching more lyrics that he hadn't thoroughly vetted to ensure they wouldn't instigate a weird moment:

"And it's happened once aaa-GAIN! You'll tuuurn to a FRIEND! Someone who uuunderrr-STANDS! Sees throuuugh the maaasterr-PLAN! And now evvveryyybooodyyy's GONE! And I've been heeere for too LONG! To face this onnn myyy OWN, well I guess thiiis iiis growwwiiing up!"

This was indeed growing up, alright. Man, everything Ward had pondered about why he couldn't find a long-term girlfriend could also be applied to why he didn't have much better luck with long-term platonic friends, couldn't it? Heck, probably. Maybe he was as disgusting and unlikeable as Nutzinger made him out to be, or maybe he was just a fish out of water and his people weren't here to be found. But you can't go home again; the home you knew only exists as you know it in your memory, and Ward knew that. He wasn't the same wolf that crawled out of that podunk hellhole on Virginia's Eastern Shore, and they probably wouldn't want who he'd become to come back. This city was his home now, and he'd sworn to protect it at the sacrifice of his personal life; if he wanted to figure out how to manage to swing both, he'd have to figure it out on his own.

Still, George could have picked a less… taunting choice of music. You see, Dear Reader, this is why I'm not omitting the parts where these people sing copyrighted music in a story with no audio element, it's because shit like this keeps happening. Once again, I'll turn to a friend…

Ward turned to the closest thing he had to a friend to ask for solace from his torment. "Awright, I'm curious, play that dirtier music fer me."

George muted the music and glanced away from traffic for a moment to make sure his boss was serious. "Alright, suit yourself."

He clicked a few tracks over and arrived at a song that opened with a string instrumental that did indeed sound like it was trying to be something… funky, though not necessarily succeeding. As George sang along:

"Do you think that I can GET some (jiggy, jiggy)? Maybe just a little FINGGG-er (sticky, sticky)? You my electricaaal LIP baaalm flaaavorrr, I gotta do ya till the NEXT sooong saaaves ya…!"

...Okay, well then. This song sure was filthy alright. Like, excessively to the point of seeming juvenile. But at least it was taking Ward's mind off his excruciating loneliness and the feeling that his life had passed him by. It's not like it was making him think about all the wild, goofy coitus he never had oh goddammit there it was.

"She got the POWWW-AAAH, a' the HOOOOOTCH-ie! I got the feeeva' fo' the flaaava' a' the coooootch-ie! And did I mennntion? And pay attennntion! Gonna take her booty to the nudie DIII-MENNN-SIOOON…!"

Hey, it's not like anyone in reality actually has crazy cartoony sex like that, so he had no need to fret never having had an experience quite that… explicit. But man, he would have liked to have had more chances.

They were driving with the windows open (and running the A/C, because fuck it, they weren't paying for the gasoline), and upon pulling up to a red light, an aardvark woman with her young child standing on the sidewalk heard the music being played, the mother giving the officers a scrunched-up look of sheer disgust as if to say what the fuck is wrong with you? Woodland saw this as as good a time as any to speak up.

"Somebody really sat down, wrote all those words, an' convinced some people to play with him in a band and record it, and then someone came along to help 'em sell it?"

"Yessir!" Nutsy said proudly as he turned the music down. "Y'know… you're gonna think I'm childish for this, but I don't care; I actually do own a PS2 - that's a video game console -"

"I know what a fuckin' PlayStation is, Nutsy!"

"Man, I dunno how behind the times you are. But anyway, I play video games sometimes - call me a child, call me a loser, whatever - and I was in the mood for a racing game. Just a racing game, rated E, suitable for anyone and everyone able to speak in complete sentences. Apparently… some crackpot at EA Games thought it'd be appropriate to put this song on the game's soundtrack. Edited! Edited, of course! Extremely edited to the point that it was unrecognizable. Fucking whackjobs, I swear, who makes that judgment call? And how much extra effort did it take to produce a censored version just for a video game?" The light turned green and Nutzinger turned back to the road. "But yeah, that's where I discovered this mind-numbingly raunchy song from: a video game that was arguably for children. And believe you me, I know that song isn't high art, and it's very much one of those 'so bad it's good' songs for me. Did I have it burned to a desk that I brought to work specifically to see the look on your face? Oh, you'd better believe it!"

"Well, I'm just glad you think so much about me."

"How could I not, dude? You come to me in my fucking nightmares. Not that they're even scary, they're just dreams about… this." He turned a corner for no particular reason. "You ever have one of those nights where you can't stay asleep because your dreams are just so fucking existentially boring? Like a dream that's just about sitting on the couch watching golf or something? It's like that. But yeah, I was picking a song for shock humor and it was between this and The Bloodhound Gang, now that's corny sex humor done right, but I didn't have room on my CDs, so I went with the even dumber one!" The deputy didn't need music to sing a few lines of the omitted song's chorus. "Youuu and meee, baaaby aaain't nothinnn' but mammals, so lettttt's dooo it like they dooo on the Diiiscovvverrryyy Channel (come and gittit, y'all!)"

Of course the one time Nutsy was feeling amicable and talkative to his boss was when he was talking about his ironic adoration for trashy cock-rock. "As long as yer enjoyin' herself," the wolf muttered glumly.

"Oh, am I ever! Y'know, there's apparently a mythos to the song that it's supposed to sound stupid on purpose, and if you actually pay attention to the lyrics, you start to realize this is actually a nerdy guy trying way too hard to be cool and totally failing to get a chick to fuck him… you want me to play it again so you can listen?"

"Huh? Aw, naw, that's fine, I'm alright. Play whatever music ya want."

It was the strangest thing, but George had been smiling for almost this entire drive to nowhere, and he still did as he nodded along to the sheriff's response. "Suit yourself! I gotta say, I actually thought you'd kinda like how just… wildly, brazenly gross and tacky that song is… and it'd've been perfect, too, because the name of the band is 'Hot Action Cop' - ain't that what you fancy yourself, Wardy ol' boy? Like an everyday action hero with five hundred pounds of raw sexy man meat beloved by women who're into fat guys who remind them of their fathers?"

Ward just shrugged, not even looking at his partner. "Eh, us cops ain't that cool no more, now are we? Maybe back in the Seventies and Eighties, but nowadays? Nutsy… if people didn't think us cops were lame old buzzkills, then why can't either of us seem ta' get people who ain't cops ta' like us?"

"Eh, you're right!" said the squirrel, totally unfazed by the wolf dragging him down with him. "You know what we need? A kid's movie about cops! Get kids thinking cops are cool when they're young! Have cartoon humans and everything running around - Sidney can do it with that new computer animation software that still kinda looks weird but apparently it's cheaper than drawing by hand! And even amid a bunch of other logical absurdities that compose a fantasy land suitable for children, the most unrealistic thing in that movie will be the idea of regular, everyday people thinking cops are cool. Most unrealistic thing and it won't even be close. Ah, pro-authority and pro-establishment propaganda sloppily disguised as children's entertainment - why am I not a Hollywood executive right now, Ward?"

Ward didn't even acknowledge the question. He just sighed as he kept looking out the window, eventually saying, "You sure are upbeat today, aren't ya?"

"Whaddya mean?" asked Deputy Nutzinger, his smirk fading for the first time in a while.

The sheriff sighed again. "You're usually off snarking at me sunup to sundown while I poke jokes at ya, but today it's clear as day I ain't in the mood but you seem ta' be havin' a blast!"

"Well hey, man," George beamed, "no point in us both being miserable! You don't wanna enjoy your birthday, I'll enjoy it for ya!"

The sheriff found this a curious answer and turned back to his deputy, the wolf's face looking a little less dejected. "You remembered?"

The squirrel rolled his eyes, still looking playful but not quite sounding playful. "How could I forget? Ya went miles outta your way yesterday to bitch and moan about how old you felt!"

Ward looked dejected again.

And as George pondered what song he wanted to play next, his indecision killing him, the silence became unbearable and he felt compelled to ask:

"So how ya feeling, bud?"

The only reason Woodland felt comfortable telling Nutzinger this was because he knew that the only people George knew that he knew were other cops… and George freaking hated ninety percent of the force, so he was at no risk of spreading Ward's personal beeswax.

"Just thinkin' that… hey, don't get me wrong, I love being the sheriff a' this here town, but… I ain't gonna lie, Georgie, I'm wonderin' whether I coulda been even happier if I'd a' traded this career fer sumpin' else."

Consider the deputy's interest piqued. "Like what?"

Ward shrugged. "Well… I know yer generation got different ideals on love and marriage, but fer folks my age, it's still considered a sign that you're a loser if you're my age and ya never did find a wife."

Nutzinger thought he could have some fun playing therapist. "Now, do you want that because you want that or because society always told you ya need to want that?"

"Just like I said, Nutsy, I ain't got a clue… Maybe I'd be happier hitched, maybe not. Maybe I'll never know."

"I'll be honest, man, you never struck me as the kind of guy who'd wanna be tied down to a naggy old maid."

Ward's expression got angry fast. "Nutsy, you really tellin' me you think I'm some kind a' fruit!?"

"I'm not saying I think you're gay, Ward, I'm saying I think you're a misogynist."

And the wolf's expression laxed again. "I don't even know what that word means, but comin' from you, I'm assumin' it's a bad thing!"

"Ward, you might not be smart, but I'd never deny that you're wise."

"And there we are with the snark again."

"Hell yeah, man."

Another bout of silence before Ward remembered what other occasion that day was.

"...And I'm probably one a' the few guys on the force that ain't got kids ta' go home to today."

"And again, not even trying to be mean, you never seemed like the kind of guy who'd want a bunch of rugrats running around the house and shitting on the carpet. You just never struck me as someone interested in being… nurturing."

Ah, but there was at least one former rugrat who he'd once loved as much as he could ever love a son. Jeez, he'd been so concerned about getting another year older that he'd barely had the mental energy to stay mad at his sister and her husband… and, now, their son.

"What!? Naw, I might be rough around the edges, Nutsy, but ya really don't think I'd soften up if I had a Li'l Pup runnin' around who looked just like me?"

"I honestly didn't, but… eh, if you say so."

"...Do you think I'd be a good papa?"

"I dunno, man, I don't have any data from which to draw an educated conclusion on that. Do you think you'd be a good dad?"

Oh, I know I would, I basically already did it once! "...Yeah."

"Well, hey, man, never say never. I mean, at your age, I'd advise against procreating, but who knows? Maybe tomorrow you run into a woman your own age who loves a man in uniform and then the two of you adopt a couple middle-schoolers. It can happen."

Sheriff Woodland nodded, looking thoughtful. "But just in case it don't… am I a good chief of police, Nutsy? Or a sheriff, or… heh, whatever the hell they're callin' me these days?"

George was desperately struggling as he was torn between being helpful and hopeful and simply being honest. So he tried to bridge the gap: "I mean, I think you could be doing better at your job, but shit, so could I, and in the grand scheme of things… eh, you're doing your job just fine, man. Believe me, for as much as you can be a pain in the ass to work with, I can think of plenty of people in this department who I'd hate to work under more than with you." And as far as we can tell, that was true.

"...And how would ya think I could be better at my job?"

The squirrel thought about that for a moment. "I dunno exactly, man, but I'd just say… don't be afraid to make some tough decisions if it's the right thing for the head cop in town to do. Y'know, public authority figures often forget or don't care, but you're in this spot to serve, not to be served."

Who do you serve? Those haunting words asked of him by those assholes in the woods. Accusing him of not fulfilling his obligations to his citizenry; little did they know they'd be what lit a fire under him to do just that.

"Ya really don't think I'm already doin' the best I can to serve this city by tryna wipe those rabblerousin' bandits off the face a' the map?"

"Oh, I know you do it in your own way, just…" George was being careful with his word choice. "...just in day-to-day situations, man, like… stop and think if any given action is what you should be doing. Sometimes, y'know, sometimes that makes all the difference. So instead of… maybe instead of screaming out the window that a wolf chick has a nice ass, maybe stop and consider how the lead figure in public safety oughta be behaving."

Ward giggled. "Aw, lighten up, Nutsy, ladies like it when you compliment 'em like that!"

The deputy just rolled his eyes and smirked at the ridiculousness of that statement, having absolutely no gauge on whether the sheriff was joking or not.

"...I did the right thing, though, by nabbin' Elky and Goldy, right?" asked Woodland.

Nutzinger's face had a complicated look about it. "So… the short answer is yes. The long answer is I really do think that that was a super fuckin' risky move and we might see a lot of the cops in this town mutiny on us, especially the ex-County ones - hell, you may have already heard some nasty words about you -"

"Yeah, Xiong gave me a dirty look this mornin', but I know that guy already don't like me."

George turned to give Ward the full look of his perplexed face. "Dude, Dan doesn't like you because the first time you saw him, you went up to him and said, 'Hey! Ching-chong ping-pong shama-lama-ding-dong! Did I say something!?'"

Woodland laughed again. "Aw, I was just goofin' around with him! Not everyday ya see a Chinese cop!"

Nutzinger rolled his eyes again, not smiling this time. "Well, going up to a panda and asking him if a bunch of gibberish means anything in fucking Mandarin is another one of those things the sheriff should probably just… choose not to do, ya get me?" He didn't wait for an answer. "But back to what we were talking about… yeah, it was absolutely the right moral decision, those guys were assholes and the fact that we tricked them into proving it, well… they're still dangerous assholes, they didn't have to beat the shit out of that kid like that! And considering just how risky it was… don't you get big-headed about this, but some might even call it an act of bravery. Like, let's be clear, that doesn't completely absolve you of being massively fucking racist to Danny Xiong, or that you almost got us into deep, deeeeep shit when you ran your mouth with the T-word, but…"

"Boy, those were honest misunderstandings! Anybody mighta done those things! I ain't racist, you just think I am on account a' my accent!"

"I don't know if I have enough evidence that you're 'people from parts of the world far away from my own are inferior' racist, but you definitely have a lot of awkward moments with species that ain't found in Europe and at a certain point that's probably not a coincidence. You're kinda like that rabbit lady from yesterday I told you about who was a little too comfortable with seeming racist. Or was she actually racist? Shit, I shoulda tested it by telling her that despite the accent, The Fox is somehow Hispanic just like that Graciela girl she flipped out on. Or would that be too unbelievable? I dunno, have I ever met a Hispanic dude named Robin? Don't say Robin Ventura!"

"I don't even know who that is."

Nutzinger breathed for a moment as he remembered where he was going with all this. "Well, as much as I love getting wildly sidetracked by witty banter, what I was trying to say was… yeah, breaks my heart of stone to say this, but you did good, man. You still have massive flaws to work on, but that action, in a vacuum, was a good action. I daresay even what a cop should do."

And the wolf found himself smiling at his little buddy. Between the Merry Men, his Li'l Pup, and Sammie and Vince, multiple individuals had accused him of being irredeemably evil, and now he was hearing an impartial arbiter confirm that he'd just proven all of those parties wrong - very wrong, because he was the good guy here. "Why you bein' so nice to me today, Nutsy?"

The squirrel couldn't help but smile back. "Hey, man, if you're actually serious about trying to be better as a… as the sheriff or whatever the fuck you are, and as a person… I will help you. Your end of the deal is not to be too proud to take advice from me. Consider it a birthday present. And you'll find… that I'm easier to get along with when I get the sense that you're actively trying to be less of a terrible person."

The wolf nodded along. "I ain't sayin' I'll treat your word like gospel, Nutsy, but I'll definitely pay some heed ta' yer point a' view! Hey, maybe you can learn from me how ta' not be such a tight-ass!"

"Oh, sure, let's learn from each other like we live in an educational cartoon full of shiny happy people! And Sidney will use us to show kids how cops do, unambiguously, with no gray morality make the world a better place! DOPPA-DOPPA-DOPPA-DOPPA-dee!" Nutzinger finished off with some cutesy nonsense noises to match the tone of his sarcasm. "Or maybe they'll put some nuance in there, maybe just enough that people'll fight about whether it has nuance, I dunno… You feeling better now?"

Ward sneered jocularly. "You sure you really care?"

"I'm sure it'd suck more to work with you when you're being a mope than when you're at least functional."

The sheriff responded with a slow and contemplative nod. "Well… still bummed about the didn'ts, but ya got me feelin' a little better 'bout the dids."

It took George a few moments to decipher what Ward had meant by that, but when he did, he was glad he could help - again, if only for his own convenience as Ward's coworker. "...You know what?" he asked as he started clicking through the tracks on his CDs again. "I got a song in here I think you might actually like. About persevering through a tough life."

"You mean another song about teenagers bitchin' an' moanin' about how hard they think their lives are 'cuz they hate their maws and paws?" Woodland asked with a biting grin.

"Aw, naw, man, this isn't more suburban pop-punk, this is what's called folk punk! A.K.A. cowpunk! Grown-ass working man's punk! I know my mom even thinks it's straight up country music, which is always a wondrously awkward conversation… Honestly, this song's not that obscure and it came out when I was in, what, middle school? There's a chance you might already know it!" And on the speakers did indeed come an opening guitar riff that at once had a folksy melody but a punky edge to it. "You recognize this yet!?" George hollered over the music as he turned the volume all the way up.

"Uh… no, I ain't never -"

But there was no more time for talking; it was time to sing.

"Welllll iiit's beeeeen ten yeeeeears aaand a thousand teeears, and looooook aaat the messsssss IIIII'm iiiiin! C'MON, WARD! A broooooken nooooose aaaaand a broooooken heaaaaart, an emmmptyyyyy… botttttle a' giiiiin! SING WITH ME! Well III SIIIIIT, aaand III PRAAAAAY… iiin my BROOOOOKEN DOW-OWWWWWN CHEVVVVVROLEEEEEEET! SING WITH ME, GODDAMMIT! Whiiile I'm siiingiiin' tooo myyysehhh-elfff, therrrrre's GOT to beeee anooother wayyy! TAAAKE AAAWAYYYYY, TAAAKE AAAAAWAYYYYYYY… TAAAKE AWAYYYYY THIIIS BAAALL AAAND CHAAAIN! SING, YOU COWARD! 'Cuz I'm looonelyyy, AAAND I'm TIIIIIRRRRRED… and III CAAAAAN'T TAAAAAKE AAAAANYMOOORE PAIIIIIN! AT LEAST MAKE THE SOUNDS - TAAAKE AAAWAYYYYY, TAAAKE AAAAAWAYYYYYYY… neeeverrrrr TOOOOOOO reTUUUUUUURN aGAIIIIIIN! YOU BIG PUSSY! TAAAKE AAAWAYYYYY, TAAAKE AAAAAWAYYYYYYY… taaaaake aWAAAAAY-AYYYYYYY, EEEEE-YAAAY-EEE-YAYYY… taaaaake aWAYYYYY thiiis BAAALL AAAAAAAAND chaaain!"

In the brief interlude between verses, George glanced over and saw his boss seemed to be begrudgingly enjoying himself. The squirrel pressed the pause button so as not to miss a note. "C'mon, man, why ain't you singing!?" he teased.

Ward was wearing the faintest of smiles. "I toldja, Nutsy, I don't know the words!"

The deputy chuckled through his nose. "Aw, but you like it, admit it!" He pressed play and resumed singing along. "Welllll III've searrrrrched, aaand I've searrrrrched… to fiiiind the perrrfeeect liiiiife! A braaand new caaar aaand a braaand new suuuit, III've eeevennn gooot me a li'l wiiife! But where-!"

"What was that now?"

The squirrel realized what he'd just sung and that it may have just reopened a sensitive topic. "Wait," he said as he scrambled to turn the music off, "wait, my bad, my bad, shit."

Sheriff Woodland just groaned as he looked out the window again, his good mood having been completely erased. "Aw, it ain't nothin' you did, Nutsy… it ain't escapable. Er'ry song… er'ry movie, er'ry TV show, er'ry book… all people think and talk about is their wives and their girlfriends and their kids and their friends and their… It ain't normal to put yer job first, Nutsy. Deep down, everybody thinks it's pathetic not to have a fulfilled personal life first and foremost. Even that guy singin' yer song sounded like his life was a wreck, but even he had a wife - didn't sound like he enjoyed her very much, but at least he had one! And I don't got that, I don't got none a' that, and if I'm reminded of it er'rywhere I look, it ain't nobody's fault… just my fault fer not figurin' out how to be anything besides a loser…"

The deputy found himself struggling to pay attention to traffic as he scraped for something even remotely positive to say after all that. Coming up with nothing, however, he accepted defeat and simply said, "O...kay, then…"

Thus ensued a terrible silence, wherein George was kicking himself for bothering to try to be nice to this black hole of self-loathing and nihilism, and Ward found himself thinking that if Sammie and Vince and Robinhood'n'littlejohn and - most disappointingly - his Li'l Pup Eddward were going to quietly lord over him with their more successful private lives as they called him an evil man, he'd have to prove himself to be a much, much better person than them before their jealousy of his power and virtue outweighed the jealousy he had of them.

It might not have been the best reason to want to be a good person, but he was still gonna go be one while they weren't, now wasn't he? That fox and bear and whatever other idiots might be in their fold had better watch their backs, because cleaning up their chaos was the only way Ward could think of to prove to the world that his existence had been worth it.

"Hey!"

Both were startled as they heard a voice call out while they were stopped at a red light.

"Hey, Woodland, right?" Up to the passenger side window walked a spotted hyena.

"Uh… yeah?" the wolf replied.

"Maaaaaan...!" This man was smiling from ear to ear and looking giddy, his speech patterns and physical mannerisms very much gave off what one might call an urban working class vibe. "You crazy, man! You crazy! You actually put them mothafuckas a-way! Man! ...Not a single one of us thought you was gonna actually do it! Not, a single, one of us! And I bet them mothafuckas put up a fight when you came for 'em! Man…!" Truly this hyena was excited to meet the sheriff after what he'd done, but he calmed down and coolly presented a balled-up paw to the wolf. "My dude. Respect. I appreciate you. If none of the rest of us get a chance to tell you, we appreciate you."

Unlike a certain vulpine Englishman who'd had a supremely awkward cross-cultural encounter with a zebra a few days prior, Ward actually did at least know what a fist bump was. It was weak, unenthusiastic, and he looked confused as he did it, but he did return the gesture. This pleased the hyena.

"Never thought I'd see the day when the po-lice started caring 'bout our people! Never, thought, I'd, see, the, DAY! And hey…" The gentleman made a hyenic chuckle to himself before making a strangely inviting gesture. "...since I know it means a lot to you, you know what today is!"

Oh, no. Oh, no, stranger, today was not the day to remind Sheriff Woodland of today. Indeed, this hyena gentleman quickly came to look very confused as Ward quickly came to look incensed.

"Oh… oh, yeah, I know what day today is!" the wolf growled, his simmer quickly coming to a boil. "It's the day I'm another year closer to pushin' up daisies! The day I'm reminded that I've been kickin' fer damn-near fifty years and I still ain't figured out how to get the respect a' people like you, who walk up to me on the goddamn street to remind me that my birthday ain't nothin' ta' celebrate even after all that I've tried ta' do ta' keep this godforsaken city safe, it's just a reason to feel like a FAILURE! The fuckin' NERVE a' ya ta' mock me in public after I just risked pissin' er'ry cop in this city off to get to dangerous men like Elky and Goldy off the streets! The fuckin' NERVE a' ya!"

A stunned silence prevailed as the sheriff locked his glaring eyes on the frozen civilian.

"Uh… Ward?" the deputy piped up. "I… don't think he knows it's your birthday today."

And Woodland looked like he'd seen the light for a moment before going right back to being angry. "Oh, yeah! Ta' normal people, it's Father's Day! Well, don't worry yet li'l head off, boy, because you're still right! I ain't got no wife er kids ta'go home to, 'cuz nobody respects a goddamn thing that I've done in this here town, and that includes all the cunts I couldn't get ta' stay! You win, boy! I'm a LOSER! Just like you think! No honey, no pups, and no goddamn friends 'cept fer this wise-ass rodent I could fit in my maw and swallow if I wan'ned! And that's 'cuz I put all my focus an' energy inta' tryna stop all the goddamn craziness in this town so I ain't had no time fer myself ta' get the things in life I really wan'ned, and you people still don't appreciate all the sacrifices I made! So thanks! Happy birthday to me! Happy Father's Day to me! It don't matter! Just another day a' me workin' my hardest at this THANKLESS FUCKIN' JOB!"

Another stunned silence filled the air, but it didn't last long before the hyena decided to match Ward's tone.

"I was tryna say happy Juneteenth, you dumb mothafucka! Because apparently I was dumb enough to believe you actually cared for a second about my people!"

And Ward went from looking livid to looking embarrassed in the span of a millisecond. "...What's Juneteenth?"

The stranger just threw his hands up in exasperation. "Of course you don't know what Juneteenth is, you redneck-ass trailer-trash tigga! And hey! While we at it! Here's some other things you don't know! You do NOT call a grown-ass man BOY, and you do NOT refer to African mammals as YOU PEOPLE!"

"Hey, I didn't mean nothin' racial when I said those things, I'd say that to anyone! You tell him, Nutsy!"

"I'm not having your back on this one, Ward," said the deputy, looking straight ahead through the windshield and refusing eye contact with the sheriff. "You fucked up."

"Ya see? Even yo' little squirrel knows!" the hyena continued. "Man, you prob'ly more racist than those other two cops! You prob'ly only arrested them 'cuz you find out that that Irish-ass hyena kid they beat the shit outta ain't an African mammal! Man, get the fuck outta here, I can't believe I thought for a second you mighta been something other than another racist-ass cop! Hey, Ward! Ain't you gotta check on yo' Beaver back home!? Oh, wait! No you don't! You ain't got no kids back home 'cuz ain't no woman wanna fuck yo' fat ugly redneck ass!"

"Hey, you think it's a good idea to talk to the sheriff a' this here city that way!?" Woodland shot back, angry again at what he perceived to be an overkill response to his faux pas. He started digging under his excess flesh to unfasten the seat belt he was only wearing at Nutzinger's behest in the first place. "I can arrest ya right here an' now for tryin' ta' start a riot!"

"Oh, no you won't," said George as he pressed the accelerator and blew a red light through an intersection that was thankfully empty.

"And tell yo' gay-ass boss he ain't no REAL African lion while you at it!" was the last thing the cops heard the hyena holler as they sped off.

More awkward silence permeated the squad car as they left the scene, both processing what had just happened.

"...Man, that guy was an asshole, 'ey, Nutsy?"

"Naw, man, you lose this one," the squirrel said flatly, still not looking at his boss. "I know it was a misunderstanding, but you drew some insane conclusions, made a lot of unflattering assumptions, and used a fuckton of loaded language. I don't like all the choices he made, but he was more justified than not… Not totally getting what that thing he said about a beaver was about, though…"

"Ward was the dad's name on Leave It to Beaver, Nusty."

"Wait, it WAS!?" That was enough to get Nutzinger to face his boss in the middle of operating a motor vehicle."Man, I don't know anything about shows from the fucking Fifties! Why did nobody tell me that!? Holy shit, this opens up a whole new world of jokes I can make at your expense!"

"Don't ya get any ideas, Georgie," said the unamused sheriff.

"And Jesus, your birthday is on Juneteenth, isn't it!? How ironic! I never noticed that!"

"And what the hell is Juneteenth, smartass?"

"Wait, do you actually not know? Dude, I thought you were fucking with him! It's the Emancipation Proclamation, dude… or, wait, lemme guess, you don't listen to hip-hop."

"Nutsy, what the hell are ya talkin' about? I know what the Emancipation Proc-ler-mation is!"

"Just a pop culture reference, no biggie. One you didn't get in exchange for one I didn't get." George sighed as he came down from the absurdity of the scene. "So… all that progress from, what, five minutes ago? Gone!"

"Whaddya talkin' about now, Nutsy?"

"You briefly had me convinced that there was hope to save you. Just a spark of at least wanting to be a better person. But, uh, no, if you take that little teeny tiny kernel of a possibility that he's leading up to talk shit about you to your face, and you run with that and tear that poor dude to shreds… man, you're just too broken to be a good person. Maybe you should worry that you're this fucked up at forty-nine, because I don't think you have enough time to overcome your enormous problems and still have time left over to live a meaningful life, especially in your state of health. Sorry I bothered."

Ward just shook his head. Well, apparently Nutzinger would have to be added to the list of people he'd have to prove himself several magnitudes morally superior to. At least he had a head start; he had arrested the offending former sheriff and deputy - George hadn't.

"Alright, back to some comically inappropriate music!" the squirrel declared as he skipped a few tracks to a song with a groovy opening riff, and changed one proper nouns of the lyrics to make it more personal: "¡Mucho gusto! Me llaaamooo Geooor-giiie, uh! IIIII'm hooooornier than Rooooon Jeeereeemyyyyy, uh…!"

-IllI-

Prince John's sprained ankle was having its good days and its bad days, but with the administration's recent good fortune, the pain could only bother the mayor so much today.

He had absolutely no regrets about being a fifty-five-and-a-half-year-old man with no spouse or children on Father's Day; to him, this was merely another day to work towards acquiring the power he so craved. No family would ever make him as happy as he would be in a position of complete control over a large population of people.

And what a big step he'd just taken towards that end, and completely without even meaning to. It was far too early for the pollsters and statisticians to provide any updated numbers, but after the county sheriff under his command went ahead and apprehended the disgraced former sheriff and deputy as soon as the people demanded it - no sooner, no later - the mayor's approval rating had to be up. It just had to be, you could just tell by walking down the street and overhearing passersby muse to one another about how pleasantly surprised they were that the city government finally did something right.

Hence why he was happy to be at his office at City Hall on a Sunday; much like how yesterday he'd had to put out a quick public statement acknowledging the arrests of Elkins and Goldthwaite, he would now have to put out a more elaborate statement reiterating his condemnation of their actions and that this was a good thing that they were on track to be brought to justice - and, just to be sure the public remembered, praising his sheriff for having the bravery and initiative to listen to the people and do what was right. It was work he was willing to do.

And having his assistant write his speech for him counted as work, right? Remember, children, exerting leadership demands a lot of effort, and it's never easy to be so cold and commanding to someone you care about as much as Mayor Norman cared about Charles Hess. Okay, true, John wasn't in love with the guy and wouldn't call him a friend or anything and honestly frequently felt creeped out by how sycophantic the serpentine little shit could be, but if the weasel sought to serve him and got some sense of fulfillment out of doing all the lion's work for him, then work the lion would provide.

"How is the speech coming along, Hiss?" he called out into the next room.

"Sssplendidly, sssire!" Hiss replied in a brief lull between his toes tapping away, the assistant strategically playing up his lisp so as to delude his employer into thinking he truly did enjoy being his sycophant.

Charles got absolutely no personal fulfillment out of doing absolutely all of Prince John's work for him. This Sunday was a particularly insufferable day as on top of the soul-draining task of coming up with a speech that didn't sound completely disingenuous and hackneyed coming from the lion's mouth, he had to answer phone calls forwarded to him by the front desk receptionist from angry cops from all across the city demanding audience with Mayor Norman to further demand all charges against Elkins and Goldthwaite be dropped and, for bonus points, that they be reinstated (and you can imagine how they just got more and more furious when Hess refused to take their call to the mayor's ear). If this was what he had to do to get close enough to the mayor to gain control of him, then he'd do it, but with every passing day of this bullshit, his impatience with the slow progress of his personal mission grew greater. For his sanity, he needed this to pay off, and soon.

If one wanted to, they could make the argument that he had already effectively achieved his goal: behind the scenes, he was the one fully operating this mayoral administration, and it could collapse at a moment's notice if he should decide at any point to simply stop. But he still wasn't the one making the decisions about exactly what he was doing and what goals and policies the administration he operated held, his mouthpiece was, and that needed to change. Looking back on all the time he had spent working for this incompetent leader, Hiss couldn't help but wonder whether it was a showing of incompetence on his own part that he hadn't already stumbled into a position of power by now simply by accident.

Because if you've gotten the impression thus far, Dear Reader, that Hess hasn't really been doing much in this story to this point, he'd agree with you wholeheartedly and be frustrated with himself because of it. Do keep in mind that we've only covered about nine calendar days so far, but it has most certainly been a long nine days, and the weasel had spent much of it fretting about spinning his tires, feeling like he should have made a lot more progress by now. Luckily for him, however, it would be a long summer, and meteorologically speaking, it hadn't even started yet. (That's right, bitches, we're not even done with the first act yet!)

The phone rang again. It had been twenty-four minutes since the last angry call; on a day like this, that seemed a short eternity.

The weasel grasped the phone with one foot and pressed the Speak button with the other. "This is the office of Mayor John L. Norman, Charles -"

"Yeah, I was a county officer for fourteen years before Norman dissolved our friggin' department, I wanna talk to that guy and tell him why someone with no background in law enforcement shouldn't be making any decisions about whether Elkins and Goldthwaite were justified in what they did!"

"Unfortunately, the mayor is not available right now, he's busy. I can leave him a -"

"Busy doing what, sucking dick? Or are you sucking his dick, you British faggots!?"

What's sad was that this wasn't even the first time today that one of these angry cops had invoked the adolescent notion that all British accents sounded gay to American ears; if only they knew how much the opposite was also true among a lot of chavs and skinheads back home. Charles had to concede, though: this guy was right in assuming the mayor was doing absolutely nothing constructive or consequential.

"Neither of those is the case, sir," was the most professional answer Hess could think to give. "He is genuinely busy with his civic duties. May I take your name, Officer?"

"How's about we cut out the fucking middleman and you tell him yourself that he has no business telling experienced law enforcement professionals who put their life on the line every single day for YEARS that he knows better than them how to do their job!? You listen here: Elkins and Goldthwaite had good reason to assume that kid was up to no good! Because there's dangerous criminals who hang out in those woods! A bunch of fucking commies who rob people just to give it to charity! When I worked County, we heard rumors about them but never did anything about it because they only operated in the city; now that I work City, and I'm overhearing from a bunch of my new coworkers - most of whom are a bunch of ghetto trash who probably don't even care about keeping the city safe… hell, they probably support those fucking hippies because they give the money they steal to the shitholes they fucking come from - now that we know those guys exist for sure, that changes everything! Just think about it for two fucking seconds: you spend all this time thinking they're just urban legends and now all of a sudden you're assured they're REAL and you're being sent to go find them, isn't that gonna fuck with your head!? Isn't that gonna make you jumpy!? And they don't even know what these people LOOK like but for two of them! Of course they're gonna go off on the first person they see! If anything, they should be praised for their restraint, because me and a lot of my brothers of the badge would have skipped straight to shooting them!"

Ah, so many things the weasel could say here. Many would say that he ought to have addressed the fact that Elkins, Goldthwaite, and other cops shouldn't have been operating under an "assault first, ask questions later" model, but that may have been a bit too… forward, and this man certainly would not be receptive to that. So Hess instead said something similar.

"Pardon me for contradicting you, sir, but as the two highest-ranking authorities in the county department, they likely would long ago have been privy to the information that the bandits in the forest preserve were most likely real, and that none of the known members were teenage hyena boys."

"Like you just fucking said, you idiot, no KNOWN members! You really think those dirtbags wouldn't stoop so low as to wrangle a bunch of kids in with them!? Because I think they would! And don't think I don't see you there completely ignoring how that fatfuck wolf and the little squirrel fucker didn't even attempt to take action when they found that kid! They just stood back and recorded them to fucking tattle on them! Go tell your faggot boss that that redneck and the midget aren't heroes, they're just a couple of fucking cowards!"

Oh, the irony of this guy calling Mayor Norman the six-letter F-word and calling Woodland a redneck in the same sentence. This guy had "big Northern city European-American blue-collar teamster type" written all over him, a guy who would die for his worker's union but who didn't care if minorities had rights. Note that there was more speculative homophobia in the man's most recent statement, but directed at the mayor specifically and not necessarily the other Englishman who was presently on the phone. Nothing too surprising. Such jokes were common in Nottingham, and despite this caller's previous statement, it typically wasn't just accent discrimination; Richard had the same accent and the public didn't loudly joke that he was gay (ironically enough). But as common as these quips were that Prince John must have sucked dick because he was a fussy neurotic, they were widely considered juvenile at this point; boys joked that John Norman was gay and/or involuntarily celibate, men joked that he was a hopelessly unmarketable heterosexual who had lost his virginity sometime in his thirties to a Puerto Rican panther prostitute who was fiery in more ways than one and now it will never not burn when he pees (and because of how close he was with his boss, Hiss knew which of those two was true). Charles was quickly growing bored of this boorish stranger specifically because of how hacky and tacky his remarks were.

"I can understand the rationale behind that point of view, sir, but the mayor and his cabinet are of the opinion that Elkins and Goldthwaite are guilty of a gross overreach of power and that the 'brave' action here was simply the wrong decision. I still need a name to attach to this message, Officer -"

"Why would I tell you my name, so you can throw me off the force, too!?"

"So that the mayor can give you a personalized response regarding how he plans to address your concerns."

"Oh, like he'll ever get around to responding to me!" (Again, this angry caller was probably right about that.)

"He can't if you don't give him the opportunity."

"And I'm not going to! Now you listen to me: are you that weird weasel guy with no arms?"

After all those years living in New York, Charles was absolutely able to give the telephone a middle toe with his free foot. "Individuals with my condition would rather you don't identity us by our disabilities first and foremost, we do have other distinguishing traits and personalities -"

"Are you or are you not his crippled weasel assistant? Or did he somehow find more than one British national in this town to work for him?"

One more disagreeable comment and Hess was hanging up on him. "...Yes, I am he."

"Then you're his favorite little lackey, it's YOUR responsibility to tell him because he ain't gonna listen to anybody else. YOU have to tell him that Woodland and Nuts-His-Face are a couple of pussies and that Tom and Matt were entirely in the right. Hey! Hey. While we're at it. If Prince John wants to be a little bitch and say that kid didn't have it coming, do I need to remind you of the crime statistics!?"

"...I beg pardon?"

"I can confirm after all my years on the force - and the statistics back me up on this - that in every country they exist in, hyenas commit a disproportionate amount of -!"

Okie dokie, now this was getting unambiguously racist. The weasel hung up the phone without hesitation; even if he hadn't been thoroughly sick of that man, there would probably be plenty of people who'd say he shouldn't entertain that guy for a second longer. Hiss kind of wanted to dial back the front desk to trace the man's number and get him fired, but with all the work his boss had given him, Hess simply didn't have the time. After getting calls like this all day long, it was hard to tell from his position whether the proportion of NPD officers who would have shared in this man's sentiments was five percent or fifty-five percent, but either way, Charles was glad that he was known throughout the city as Prince John's armless little weasel buddy who nobody could fuck with, because he'd hate to have to deal with this Nottingham's finest as a civilian (of course, Hiss had no way of knowing whether this most recent caller was even actually a cop or not).

But the mayor's armless little weasel buddy wasn't all he wanted to be. He wanted to be calling the shots instead of just implementing them. And that wasn't just a power fantasy for the sake of a power fantasy, he had plenty of ideas for how to be a better leader than John. Or at least he knew what not to do, like send his chief of police out to play tax collector and nickel and dime the lower-class citizenry to death and then scratch his head wondering why they didn't like him. And he'd love to exert his power to do something that would bring joy to him and the people alike, such as expose public servants like that caller as being dicks and getting them out of a job. Seriously, his blood was boiling after all the calls like that all day long, and he wished he had the executive power to do something to get back at those cops loudly and rudely dying on a hill for Elkins and Goldthwaite, but Charles could never override the will of Prince John, who seemed content to have large chunks of the public hate him as long as he had his money -

"Oh, Hiss?" Mayor Norman sang as he walked out of his office, where he had been doing little more than sipping wine and sitting on his arse and basking in physical comfort while presumably staring at the walls of the empty room around him, quite possibly even sucking his thumb again if intrusive thoughts about his mummy should have come to fill the void. "I keep hearing that phone ringing, I certainly hope it's not distracting you from your work!"

And what if it is? Because it is. What do you plan to do about this? "Cccertainly not, sssire! A few interruptionsss cannot impede me in my ssserviccce to you!"

"Splendid!" the lion rejoiced. "Always dutiful, are you not, Charles? Don't you ever think I'm not grateful to be served by someone such as you, not letting yourself succumb to the frustration of all those damned officers from the silly County department moaning about their former leaders! They should be grateful we've even bothered to retain them!"

A significant number of these angry callers have always been in the City department, but I've a strange feeling that you wouldn't care to know that. "Of courssse, sssire! I mussstn't trouble myssself with their sssilly indignation, mussst I?" Oh, and let's not forget that Hess didn't care for how Prince John privately referred to him as his "servant" rather than as his assistant. But no matter, Charles still knew how to press (most of) the mayor's buttons, and he actually felt an idea brewing right about then.

"Have you any questions about what you ought to write?" asked John, clearly expecting that his little helper would tell him no. "Perhaps anything you're wondering how to craft for my voice?"

Hiss shifted himself around to face his entire body towards his boss, looking up at him with a crafty smile. "Well, you sssee, sssire… all these distraught officccers and their sheer insssolenccce has gotten me pondering… would you like to take thisss as a chanccce to gain some exxxtra funds?"

Sure enough, his boss looked intrigued. "What have you in mind?"

The weasel's grin grew wrier. "Apprehending the offending officccers has proven to be a most popular decccision among the cccitizenry… but that ssstill leaves the matter of the trial… sssurely they wouldn't oppose a taxxx to find the legal proceedings?"

An appeal to the lion's greed and his love of exploiting his public for the sake of it. Surely this would be an easy one.

No. Oh, heavens, no, absolutely not. The mayor looked at his assistant as if the weasel had just ejaculated in the lion's tea.

"What the hell kind of idea is that!?"

Hess clammed up quick. "Er… whatever do you mean-?"

"What on earth could we even pretend the money is going toward!?"

"Erm… toward… toward the best prosecutors money can buy! So as to guarantee a guilty verdict for -!"

"Charles, we are the state! We already have lawyers and prosecutors preassigned to represent us, that's what… district attorneys or whatever the bloody hell they're called are for! Oh, I don't know how the local government works, I just run the blasted thing!"

"Er…"

"We already have legal experts designated to work on our behalf, whose wages are being paid with taxpayer dollars! Do you think the people don't know that? Do you think they'll fall for a tax that's that blatantly phony? Do you want them rioting in the streets!? Do you want to piss away all the goodwill we've just worked so hard to win!? My GOD, Hiss, are you actually retarded!? The average citizen in this damnable country may be a bloody idiot, but they're not complete morons! They have some common sense and they won't fall for a scam that's that sloppy!"

...Admittedly, it had been a first-draft spur-of-the-moment idea that could have used a few rewrites, something Charles had just conjured on the spot as roundabout revenge against those Elkins and Goldthwaite loyalists who'd verbally assaulted him, and he wasn't a complete expert on the inner workings of the municipal government, either - he just ran the blasted thing. So he didn't really have much of a rebuttal to his boss's tirade.

"Can I even trust you to write me a competent speech!?" the lion roared. "Or must I hire somebody else? Do you think I want to do that, Charles!? Do you think I want to waste all that time reacquainting myself with someone new to get them to where I've gotten you!? And where else do you believe an armless little rodent like yourself could ever find work elsewhere!?"

But Hess still fully believed that his boss was an idiot and he wasn't fully comfortable with being talked down to like that.

"Please, sssire…" Hiss hissed, "...it was merely one poor idea. Nothing's come of it, nothing's damaged, nothing's lost… nothing's happened to undo all the good work I've put in over the years nor given you a reason to distrussst me. Has it?"l

The lion kept glaring down at him, but it looked like he was having trouble staying angry at him; if anything, it looked like the mayor was starting to grow frustrated with himself.

"...Ah, I suppose you're right, Charles," the lion finally conceded. "But please don't frighten me with an idea that absurd ever again. If you give me enough evidence to suggest your sense of judgment really is degrading, I'll be forced to make a tough decision." He turned around to walk back into his office, but his motions quickly became a hobble. "Argh, all that frustration's reaggrivated my ankle - just another reason not to vex me!"

He closed the door behind him and he was gone. Y'know, come to think of it, it was weird that that aggressive stranger on the phone hadn't even invoked the common joke that thumb-sucking Prince John performed fellatio on his assistant as though the weasel's member was the lion's own finger. Jeez, that guy couldn't even steal the good low-brow jokes, fucking hack.

But getting back on track, as much of a jerk as that caller had been, at least Hess could be reasonably sure he wouldn't have to deal with that guy every day going forward in perpetuity with no end in sight. The same couldn't be said for Charles's boss. Every passing day he'd have to see that arsehole and be reminded that he wasn't making progress. Progress wasn't linear, of course, and Hiss making progress would very likely still involve him serving this arsehole in some capacity for quite some time, but this recent shakeup with the Merry Men situation was making the mayor feel newly empowered - and his assistant was sensing Prince John's new power as well, despite not having much access to it himself. That annoyed him.

The weasel hadn't made up his mind yet about whether it benefitted him more for the bandits to be failing or succeeding. The outlaws floundering would have made a position of power easier for him to handle once he finally got it, of course, but the stronger they were, the weaker Prince John got, and that would make him easier to sway. Or you could argue that them gaining traction again would just make Mayor Norman guarded, paranoid, and impenetrable, whereas defeating them might make the lion grow comfortable and complacent - ergo, easier to manipulate. You see? It could go either way.

That's why Charles kept coming up with semi-intentionally undercooked ideas with a million possible outcomes, like gambling on pissing off the public again by taxing them for a new public defender: all Hess knew was that the status quo was getting him nowhere, so he was in the mindset that his best chance was to just shake things up and hope that whatever chaos ensued provided him an opportunity. And shakeups had ensued, of course, they kept ensuing, but he wasn't the one orchestrating them and they happened without him, so he hadn't been aware to look for a crack to slip through when they occurred. He needed to set something in motion so he could keep an eye out for the outcomes he'd be anticipating.

The idea of putting up posters of them again for the first time in years had been a good move in concept - if for no other reason than because it was a move he made - but nothing beneficial to him had come of it… yet. Maybe there was something he could build off that? Probably something, but what? He was drawing a complete blank.

And should it be something that strengthened these enemies of the state, or something that weakened them? He just didn't know. This feeling of being the perpetual second fiddle to such a powerful figure was driving him mad. Maybe that was good to some extent, ya gotta fight madness with madness, but an impediment was an impediment. Though surely anybody would feel this way in his situation, right? Hell, if Prince John wanted to make sure that his loyal little lackey didn't completely lose his marbles, it would almost be in the mayor's best interest to surrender some of his power to his assistant and recognize how integral a role the weasel was to their little dynamic duo, otherwise their successful partnership might just blow apart -

- hey, there was an idea. One with potential, too. Now he just needed Prince John to cosign on it. Hess needed to consult that hypnotism handbook again. He was going to try to make some headway in it the previous night, but he'd been pulled away by another assignment from his boss, a simple sort of press release that he'd uploaded that morning to the Announcements section of the city website, .gov. Obscure enough of a place that the vast majority of the citizenry who didn't care would never be bothered by it, but public enough that somebody would surely see it and word would eventually make its way to its intended audience. Only a few paragraphs long, the announcement welcomed back a pair of new employees to the mayor's office who had interned at City Hall four summers ago.

-IllI-

It took a hot minute, but Robin got Friar Tuck up to speed about the hellish last few days he and Johnny had had.

The fox told the badger about it had all started with they ran into a rich bobcat couple's timid child, Martin, who they tried their best to make comfortable but he ratted them out anyway, compromising the location of the Major Oak along the way; Robin dropped the pig mask he'd been wearing which surely had strands of his fur with his DNA on it, a plot line which seemed to have been abandoned but you never know when it'll pop up again; Rob and Johnny had had the first of many spats about whether they were equal friends and partners or a clear leader and follower while they were stuck in a tree, watching Sheriff Woodland trash their home in the forest; they encountered an odd trio of teenage boys who they initially mistook for homeless orphans but it turned out were just weird kids chilling in a van in the junkyard (and Robin sliced his paws open on a million tiny shards of glass, not even his worst injury that week); they had a fight turned guy-cry session naked at the creek before being interrupted by a hyena boy figuratively hurling homophobic epithets and literally hurling rocks, shortly before bearing earwitness to his assault at the hands of Sheriff Elkins and Sheriff's Deputy Goldthwaite; they saved a poor woman from being mugged by a couple of shitty teenage boys only to follow up with one of the boys' moms and hear her tell them that she and a lot of other people actually thought they were causing more trouble than they were worth, up to and including an instance of someone liquor store robbers getting shot dead because the cops thought they were with the Merry Men (note, however, that she did not cite her sources); this ultimately begat the long domino effect of the guys starting to wonder whether they really were more trouble to the people they were trying to help than good, and making them wonder in earnest if they should start recruiting again to boost their numbers and therefore their chances at finally finishing this fight.

Therefore this led to how they revealed themselves to those boys and ask if they'd like to join them in their merry misadventures - in a safe, non-hazardous capacity so as not to bring harm to literal children; one was ecstatic, one was intrigued, but the one they thought had the strongest moral compass turned out to be so sheltered and indoctrinated with nonresistance principles that he thought the strange fox and bear were actually evil; they then chaperoned these kids on a day in their lives, clearly demonstrating their righteous moral code and telling the boys to sleep on it; inspired by the sight of children and reminded of a child who once admired him more than anybody else, Robin forced himself to go visit Mrs. Foote to apologize for his negligence with Skippy, and it went even worse than you'd have thought it would (cough, Fox Repellent, cough); they came home to find city workers about to chop the old tree down, and after almost dying by way of chainsaw massacre, Robin fell from said tree and broke his arm in the process (the first bone fracture he'd ever suffered in his life) while Johnny had to damn near shoot the assailant dead; Dr. Fort patched him up (a bit prematurely, as Robin had forced the issue) and provided painkillers which they promptly lost when the new sheriff and deputy almost found them; they went then to their personal druglord, Thor Hviid, who made them a new batch of painkillers and then proceeded to beat Johnny down for reasons Robin still wasn't entirely clear on; on the subway ride home, they saw their faces on wanted posters, and so did a TAN attendant, instigating a really cool if brief chase sequence, and although the city putting their real names and details on those posters initially had Robin worried that the jig was up, Johnny convinced him that this was a sign that their true power was being recognized.

Then, however, came the day that the kids were supposed to give their answer as to whether or not they were interested in running with them, and after all the dangerous shenanigans of the last few days, the Merry Men were now extremely hesitant to bring some children into the fold, and imagine how complicated it got when two of them three friends agreed to join, worrying Robin and Little John that they were tearing some dear friends apart; they told the kids to take some time to really think about it (hint, hint) and, inspired by the timid boy's skepticism of their morals, Robin insisted they go assist the most desperate (and dangerous) part of town; after a bunch of hostile encounters with locals, they got bailed out by a sympathetic cop, only to have Robin do the single most awkward thing he'd ever done in his life by hijacking a civil rights rally that he completely failed to understand was an ethnic thing and not a predator/prey thing; after being dressed down by the rally leader who explained to him that he can (and should) keep fighting against poverty but that to a lot of people, his life had been far too easy for him to be the foremost face of social justice to them, things got a million times worse when they were surrounded by a septet of psychotic teenagers, only escaping when the seven little shits fucking killed a guy and ran away like the scared little boys they truly were; Robin then proposed they take back up recreational imbibing as he thought their fortunes had started going south when they started taking themselves too seriously and quit their regular drinking, and Little John acquiesced.

The next morning, they bugged the shit out of Geoff until he redid Robin's tattered cast and drove them to the timid boy's house to talk things through with him so that he'd at least not think they were evil even if he didn't want to agree with them and join their mission, only to find themselves trapped in his house when his estranged uncle showed up unannounced, further complicated by the fact that, whoopsie daisy, his uncle was Sheriff Woodland; they escaped but trashed the house in the process, then after comparing their genitals in the woods went panhandling to get money to repay the debts, and despite one of their biggest individual scores ever, the moment was marred by a couple of wage-workers very gently informing them that nobody really believed they could still "win," leading to Robin coming to Tuck and having a breakdown; that night Robin and Little John got drunk as skunks again to ease their woes and did drunk people things like dance a jig, have a long debate about who would win in a fight between Michael Jackson and Prince, invent a new language, and Scotch-tape their penises together; then they talked about their dads, Robin got sad, yadda yadda yadda, we just saw this part, fast forward, fast forward, and now here Robin was in the confession room again. The end.

Maybe you remembered all of that and think that was an enormous waste of four long paragraphs, Dear Reader, but this narrator surely needed the refresher of all the wacky stuff that happened to Robin and Little John in just over a week. Seriously, I don't know how Truman Coyote wrote In Cold Blood, this pseudo-journalistic nonfiction narrative shit is hard.

Much like it was hard for the clergyman to close his dropped jaw after hearing all this.

"Wow," Tuck began, "um… that sure was… a lot…"

And Robin was again wearing one of those exasperated, nihilistic, perversely-amused smiles that matched his face but didn't match what people thought was his personality. "Ah, that it was," he sighed. "I just hope… I just hope that my behavior and demeanor these last two sessions makes more sense to you now."

"Oh - oh, it does. It does, absolutely it does," the badger stammered. "I… I just can't imagine going through all… all that in just… did that really all happen!?"

"Yessir. I may be a good improviser, but I'd never come up with a story that lengthy and depressing."

Tuck just nodded as he wondered what helpful thing he could say. Coming up with nothing, however, Robin kept going:

"This may… genuinely be one of the worst periods of time in my entire life," said the fox, shaking his head and sigh-groaning. "And - before you say it, yes, I think this may even be worse than when I had to deal with what I did to my brother. Because that one was one big horrible thing, but it was one… big horrible thing. It was an event that ended and I could forgive myself and move on from it. And perhaps you think I forgave myself and moved on from it too quickly, even after three or four entire months, and Tuck, you do not know how bad it got for me… but at least I had the option to forgive myself! It wasn't instance after instance of me cocking up and not being able to make peace with one thing before another comes along to build the stack higher! And it's not even just one kind of cock-up I've had to deal with; maybe if it were, that might make it easier to process the entire genre of mistakes altogether at once. No, it's that some of these things make me feel like we've done nothing to help and we've just wasted our time, or that we're actually making things worse, or that we could have sealed the deal and won this but only by sheer dumb luck and lost it for reasons that weren't our fault and now we're powerless to ever get that close again, some of these mistakes make me wonder if I'm losing my touch, some make me wonder if I'm getting old and my abilities are already starting to wane with age - and I know a thirty-one-year-old complaining about feeling old to a man your age must surely sound ridiculous, but I just can't shake the thought - some of these issues make me wonder whether I'm not a good person, others make me wonder if I'm not good enough of a person, still others make me wonder if there's not enough to me to qualify me as a person, and still others make me wonder… they make me wonder whether others would be better suited to be known as these people's hero, and that there's nothing I can do about that. And all of these things make me feel dreadfully sure that I've thrown away what was shaping up to be a perfectly good life, spent with someone I can love, something that so many good and deserving people simply aren't fortunate enough to ever even get, and I just… pfff!" Robin held up his arms and threw his paws up like a small explosion. "...threw it away, because I was too young and stupid to have foresight."

Tuck gave a long series of slow, deep nods; if he'd been at a loss for words before, this deluge of new information didn't make it any easier. But it seemed Robin was content to stay quiet until the priest responded, the fox staring at the badger with a look yearning for answers, so they stayed quiet until Tuck was ready to speak again.

"...So… not to, uh… minimize your, uh… grief, but… I really do think we all go through times like this in our lives. The vast majority of us, anyway. Times where it just seems like we can't do anything right, times where we seriously believe that things are just never gonna get better for us, times where… or times when, I guess… times when we're smart enough to know that we've made mistakes in our lives but not smart enough to know how to fix them - at least not yet. So… now, obviously, this probably won't make you feel better by itself, but does that at least make you feel a little better, like… like you're less alone?"

But the outlaw still had that morose look on his face. "Well… if I'm being honest… it doesn't. If anything, it makes me feel worse about the mammalian experience that everybody has to go through this. I mean… really? Are you sure? I wouldn't wish a feeling like this upon my worst enemy - and you know I have several worst enemies I could wish this upon."

Father Tuck was not at all expecting that answer, but he resolved to make use of this information and adjust his script accordingly. "Now, I gotta ask… take a second and think about it, are you sure this is worse than what you were feeling when you… than when what happened with your brother… happened?"

In some ways yes, in some ways no, Dear Reader. That was probably the single most regrettable thing he'd ever done, and - unbeknownst to Tuck or anybody else at this juncture - Robin had seriously considered making himself even with Will. This time around, no individual action or lack of action on his part seemed in his mind to warrant punishing himself in such a way, but dear God, the sheer quantity of things weighing him down this time - including a resurrected guilt about what he'd done to his poor baby brother. But of course, the eternally eloquent fox found a much more succinct way to put it:

"When I… did what I did to William… I felt like I'd fucked up," he sighed. "But after this past week and everything I've realized, I feel like I am a fuck-up."

Tuck was nodding more vigorously now; he felt like he'd made a breakthrough. "And there you have it, Robin. You're right: this isn't exactly like how you felt when you… ahem! This is a case of… a state of feeling like you are a mistake. Not just someone who makes mistakes, but a mistake. And you know what? Everybody goes through times like these in their life. Everybody."

But much to Tuck's surprise, Robin scoffed and cracked a grin.

"Oh, Johnny still feels that way about himself! If this means I have to spend the rest of my life feeling like he does like he is… I don't know whether I could do that! Hey, question, Tucker: do you think Johnny and I would have ever been friends if we'd met as regular people?"

The badger's face just scrunched up in disgusted confusion. "Okay, where the hell is this coming from!?"

"Just a thought I had earlier," Robin shrugged, not seeing what the big deal about the time shift was. "We were talking about fatherhood and he said he couldn't even imagine finding a wife and having children, and the thought crossed my mind, do I have anything in common with this geezer? I at least try to strive for things and be happy - I might not be succeeding at it right now, but I don't know if I'd ever choose to hang out with someone like him who doesn't seem to have any aspirations in life and actively refuses to believe good things can happen to him. Tell me, Tuck: do you want to get married and have children?"

Tuck's face still hadn't unscrunched. "... I'm a Catholic priest, Robin. We don't do that."

Robin made another chuckle, this time clearly an embarrassed one. "Er… completely slipped my mind! But hey, if the rules were different, would you -?"

"Robin, that's enough," said the clergyman, raising a hand. "Don't try to skip away from the fact that you're… questioning your friendship with your best friend?"

"And I feel bad about that, I do, but honestly -"

"Honestly, you should feel bad about speaking so lowly of him. In our camp, you two were clearly always the tightest out of all of us, anybody could see that. I can't tell you what you two had in common, maybe it's a case of opposites attract, but you were clearly his favorite person in the whole world after he met you, and if he wasn't pretty high on your list, well… you must have been pretty damned good at faking it!"

Robin rolled his eyes. "Always seemed to me like he preferred the company of me brother. Knowing what I know now, he was probably jealous that I could get anybody to like me and he couldn't and found it threatening that I had a core sense of self-confidence that he lacked himself."

Tuck's confusion still wasn't waning. "Rob, you're not making any sense! So he also enjoyed spending time with your brother. So what? That doesn't mean he liked you any less - if anything, it sounds like you felt threatened that he could be friends with your brother in ways he couldn't be with you!"

"I was," said the fox, straight-faced and matter-of-factly. "And I've told him that, and I just told you I've told him that.

The priest stared at him for a moment before deciding to just ignore that. "So as I was saying: it was clearly always me and Alan, Will and Thor, and you and Johnny. Those were the power pairs. Maybe Johnny and your brother could act like big kids together, but even a blind man could see that he admired you, Robin… although, okay, after everything you've told me, maybe he did hit a plateau with emulating you somewhere along the line and now maybe he is kind of bitter that he's still not at where you're at in terms of being so… sociable."

"So you're agreeing I need a new best friend."

The badger's jaw dropped. "Are you insane!? That's not what I'm saying at all! Where'd you even draw that conclusion!?"

"That's what I just said I'd been wondering earlier. And we've both been thinking that we need some new mates around because we're just pissing one another off. That's why we were genuinely considering bringing those lads aboard - we'd prefer adults, of course, but kids might be the only ones stupid enough to join us."

"You're avoiding the main question again." And Tuck was starting to get annoyed again. "You really don't want Johnny around anymore because you find him… somewhat annoying?"

Robin still seemed unfazed by Tuck's grilling. "Oh, I never said I wanted him dead, just not as my only friend. Because he's not just annoying, his self-loathing is tangibly making our lives worse. Remember how I said he almost got us caught by the Big Bad Wolf because he was distracted dwelling on how small his dick was?"

This elicited a groan from the badger before he buried his face in his hands and shook his head, then looked back up at the fox. "I also remember you saying that he's getting annoyed with you for acting like you're the head honcho while he's just the sidekick. That he thinks you're cocky and arrogant. And if you really are the kind of guy who'd be willing to… to snub your nose at someone who's been nothing but loyal to you all these years… then I'm willing to say he might be right!"

A moment of silence, then another wry smirk from Robin, then another self-loathing snigger. "Well… I am my father's son, aren't I?"

Tuck looked confused again, but not vexed this time. "I… beg your pardon?"

"Blimey, Tuck, were you listening to any of my story?" Robin giggled in defeat. "Johnny and I'd spent the day talking about our dads, and I mentioned how much I try to be like my stepfather, Oliver. And not only did I find myself worrying I'm not nearly as good a man as he, but… I worry that perhaps more of my mean old bastard father's demeanor was genetic than I thought."

Once again, Tuck got sympathetic quickly; he didn't know much about Robin's biological father, either, but what he did know - mostly from Will - was mostly bad news. "Robin, don't worry, behavior isn't genetic. You don't have to be like him. And even if it was genetic, you've told me you have a sweet mother back home; don't forget half of your genes are hers, too!"

Robin still had that ill-looking smile on his face, not really focused on anything in particular. "But with all the due respect, Father… you're a man of faith, not a man of science. How do you know I got precisely half my genes from each parent? Each trait is a coin flip - who's to say they didn't all come up tails? Did Will ever show you a picture of our father? I'm a spitting image of the man, even more so than Will! At least Will got some traits from his mum. Our father looks older, has an even faker smile, and much to his chagrin, he's six inches shorter than me, and that's it, those are the only differences. Same proportions, same fur patterns including the telltale solid-red scarlet tail, same goddamned face that my mother would never stop reminding me she thought looked just as handsome as his. Maybe I spun the wheel and landed on becoming effectively a clone of the man, and in that case… would I not inherit his evil as well?"

The badger's brow furrowed as he raised one and lowered the other. "Maybe I'm not a geneticist, Robin, but I don't think that's how it works," he said, shaking his head.

"Well, Tuck, you've already described me as someone pompous enough to abandon their friends when they become useless, Johnny definitely thinks I'm a conceited man who revels in being the leader, and a lot of people in this city surely think I'm a glory hog only doing this not out of the kindness off my heart but out of a desire for fame and legacy - all those things sound like they're describing my father!" Robin was grinning from ear to ear as he put the pieces of this sick puzzle together. "And after he forgave himself far too easily for abandoning a poor woman to raise a boy without a father, what's the next logical step? His son forgiving himself far too easily for committing murder! Who cares that neither one were intentional actions!? A Scarlett knows when he had no premeditated malice and wouldn't let a silly little thing like the enormous consequences of his actions get him down and destroy his unshatterable self-esteem! We simply believe in ourselves far too much because we know we're the charming leaders this world needs, and we won't let our mortal mistakes break our spirit! You're forgetting, Tucker: my father stole me away from my parents to raise me in his image; you really think that didn't rub off on me just like he wanted?"

Dear Reader, do I even need to tell you anymore that Tuck was thoroughly floored? "But… are those things true, though? Do you really think you're better than everybody? Do you really think you can expend your friends when you get tired of them? And are you really just being a hero to this town for the sake of the power and the glory?"

Robin kept smiling brightly. "I don't know!" he shrugged coyly. "There are things in all of us that we can't see ourselves, only others can see them in us. My father couldn't see how much of an arsehole he was… maybe I can't either! Hey… maybe this is a good thing, in some twisted ways. Because if I'm too much a coward to tell Little John about what I did to Will… maybe I can conclude I got that narcissistic cowardice from my father, too! Bastard can't hide his flaws from me when they're my flaws too!"

Another extended silence prevailed; this would be one of the last ones. And as they stared at one another, a foxy smile facing the badger's blank expression, Friar Tuck had an idea of what he wanted to say, but he knew it was going to be harsh and probably a tough sell. But should he say it anyway? Well, it boiled down to this: what else could he say? He was drawing a blank, so he went for it.

"Sssooooo…" Tuck began, nervously addressing everything but Robin's eyes, "tying this all together… what with the, uh… between these feelings of not knowing whether you're your own person or just your father's son, and… and what we were talking about earlier about feeling like a failure after failing so much, and, uh… and just whether or not you are the kind of person who'd abandon your friends or live a life of crime just to be seen as a hero… there's, uh… there's one big thing jumping off the page here at me…"

"Lay it on me, boss," said Robin, still smiling inappropriately.

Tuck looked Robin in the eye. "...I think this is just a case of you needing to grow up a little bit more."

Perhaps predictably, Robin did not take that well. "...Really? You think I'm immature? You think I'm a child? Me, the person who keeps overhearing people describe him as wise beyond his years?" Robin demanded, his expression quickly souring to an angry glaring smile and then ultimately an outright scowl as he spoke. "You're welcome to your opinion, Tuck, but I think you might be alone on this one!"

The priest sighed. "I had a thought you'd respond like that, but… yeah, in many ways, you're very mature. The way you conduct yourself, your mannerisms, your body language, your vocabulary, your philosophy on life, how well you treat your friends and girlfriend and complete strangers, the way you - don't tell Johnny I said this, uh - the way you led our merry band of misfits… I talk to parishioners a lot about you, Robin, and especially among people my age and older, mature is one of the most frequent compliments you get. People refuse to accept that you're not at least ten years older than you actually are. The fact that you started this journey when you were, what, twenty-four? It blows people's minds."

"So what are you getting at?" asked Robin, still looking displeased.

Now Tuck cracked a wry smile. "...But they don't know you like I do, Robin. And as you just said… there are things we all don't realize about ourselves until others see it in us and point it out. That's what I'm doing now. And the fact that you got all huffy and defensive when I insinuated that you could possibly be kind of immature… kind of proves my point!"

Robin still looked vexed, but open to being swayed. "I'm listening."

"So… I was kind of getting at this when I mentioned that everybody goes through times like this where… when, excuse me… times when you don't know who you are, don't think you're ever gonna stop failing, don't think things are ever gonna get better… it's called being a young adult. And you might be on the wrong side of thirty, but you're still a kid to me."

"Don't I know it."

"And it clicked for me when I heard you mention that you just haven't ever failed this much in your life. Well… Robin… most people's early adulthood is spent failing until they succeed! You're supposed to fail until you learn from your mistakes and then you're supposed to succeed! I'm starting to think you did it backwards!"

"Tuck, are you mad!?" Robin barked. "I did spend my early adulthood suffering failure after failure! Why do you think I'm not in Hollywood right now!?"

But Tuck's confidence in his argument remained constant. "But what did your civilian life as an actor have to do with your new life as a vigilante?" he asked with a wise smile.

"This entire getup is acting, Tuck! Why do you think a wide majority of our operations involve us going undercover or in disguise in some capacity?"

Tuck shook his head, still smiling. "Now… from what you told us… your problem was never acting itself, it was finding auditions, getting booked, finding an agent, selling yourself as an extremely tall fox, and finding a path to California. Acting ability was never the issue… and indeed, it came in handy by getting you a great start out of the gate in your life as a thief when it proved to be a valuable skill to have. And that's my point: as a career criminal… yeah, it took us a little bit to get our footing, but we never had any real failures. Just success after success after success. Until now. And that's why I'm starting to think… maybe you're so used to success that you just don't know how to handle failure."

Robin's face puzzled at that. "...You know, you're not the first person to tell me that."

"But will I be the first person you listen to about it?"

"Well, it still doesn't make any sense! I don't claim to have had the hardest life, but it certainly hasn't been all lollipops and rainbows! Failure is nothing new to me!"

"Well I was just talking about your success and failure as the Prince of Thieves in this town, but if other people think you've succeeded too much in life in general, let's explore that! You did pretty good in school, right?"

Robin had no idea where this was going and looked just as confused as you'd expect. "I… I suppose. I never failed a class or anything, sure, but I failed an exam here and there -"

"How often?"

The fox shrugged. "Two or three times a school year? Mostly maths." He had no motivation to exaggerate the number because he didn't see how poor marks once or twice was the first instance of failure Tuck could think of; Robin wanted to give other examples he found more poignant, but Tuck wasn't giving him a chance.

"Okay, how about athletics? Were you good at sports? What kind of sports do they even have in England besides… soccer and archery?"

The Briton couldn't help but chuckle at that one. "Why, I've never even heard of this soccer of which you speak - I only know of football!"

The American rolled his eyes. "Well, did you ever try to play football, then?"

Robin scoffed and waved his hand away at Father Tuck. "Oh, I was rubbish at football! Remember, I grew up around other fox lads a fraction of my size, it's tough to play a sport like that when your center of gravity is that much higher than everyone else's. I admittedly wasn't the worst, but I was certainly nowhere near the best. There, there's some failure for you!"

But Tuck pressed on. "Did the size advantage not even help with playing defense? Uh… there's… there's defense in soccer, right?"

"Oh, well when we were playing in school, the coaches always made me play keeper for that reason -"

"Were you a good goalie?"

"Huh? Well… of course I was, the bloody crossbar went up to my shoulders! When I was just playing recreationally with the lads, they wouldn't let me play keeper because it was an unfair fight!"

"You were that good? How often did someone score on you?"

"You know what, Tuck? Fine, most matches I wouldn't allow a goal. There, are you happy? I succeeded at the position nobody else wanted to play! Name me one famous goalkeeper, Tuck! I defy you!"

Tuck giggled again. "Robin… do you remember where you are? Most people here can't name any soccer players. Unless… is Pelé still playing?"

Robin winced and slowly shook his head. "If he is, he shouldn't be."

Tuck shrugged, unembarrassed. "Well then, you found a niche and succeeded in it. What are some other sports you guys have? Does anyone actually play cricket, or is that just the Australians? What about rugby?"

"I don't see how this is relevant."

"Okay, and you've already mentioned that you were able to play soccer with the other kids, so you had a successful social life as a kid; what about -?"

"Tucker, what on earth are you getting at?" Robin said impatiently.

The priest took a breath and then crossed his arms. "Well… one thing you don't have to tell me is something you've already told us a few times before: that you had a good relationship with your mom and your dad - stepdad, you know what I mean - and you always had their support. And you succeeded in getting a good girlfriend and succeeded in getting a couple of loyal idiots to follow you into a life of righteous crime. I'm not saying you've never known failure - but this is clearly, obviously the first time it's felt like all you know. And most people go through a time when they feel like that. And that's okay. And you've been very fortunate in life, and that's not anything you did wrong, but now it's your turn."

Fittingly, Robin had a look on his face like that of a grumpy teenager, keeping his head down but his eyes glaring up. "And what, pray tell, do you want me to do with this information?"

Tuck sighed again, but smiled as he did, putting a paw on the fox's shoulder. "Understand that you'll get through this… and you'll be better because of it. But you have to keep moving through it."

Robin let out a sigh of his own. "You make it sound so simple."

"Because I think it is!"

"And you sound so sure everything will be alright."

"Now, you probably don't want to hear that I have faith that God will help you through it just fine, so… lemme put it this way…" He put his other hand on Robin's other shoulder and looked straight at him. "I know for sure that the only way to get through this okay is to believe you will."

Robin couldn't maintain eye contact, but he did nod thoughtfully. "Me dad used to say something similar: 'not everything you do with confidence will succeed, but you'll only succeed at what you do confidently.'"

"There we go! Couldn't have said it better myself!" Tuck exclaimed, surrendering his hands. "You want to be like your stepfather? Follow his wisdom."

The fox kept nodding. "So I really have gotten a little too used to succeeding, you think?"

"Maybe, maybe not, that's just how it seems from what I know. Don't dwell too much on it, focus on pushing through this tough spot and growing as a person from it."

Another set of nods while staring at the floor. "Just don't tell Johnny that you think I'm so talented that I don't understand failure, eh? He's been fretting about that for a while, last thing we need is for you to confirm it to him."

"Oh, I don't think it's all talent, I do think part of it is getting lucky."

"Hm?" Robin raised his head.

"C'mon, Robin, you've been among blue-collar people for a while now, you know just as well as I do that plenty of these people have great talent and work ethic and just got dealt a bad hand. You didn't choose to have a good upbringing with a good family, they didn't choose to have a terrible upbringing with no family. That's just one example, you understand me."

Robin nodded, though he did look a tad offended. "Right. Understood."

"Don't act all defensive again just because I said some of your success has been luck, Robin, that would be being immature again!"

"No, no, I get it, I just…" Robin looked around the confessional room, almost having forgotten where he was. "You've given me a lot to think about."

"As intended!" the clergyman beamed. "And the most important question: you don't feel like quitting anymore, do ya!?"

Robin shrugged. "Eh, kind of?"

"Oh, come on, Robin!" the badger hollered as he threw his hands up in the air. "What was the point of all that then, man!? How would you even go about quitting!? What would you even do?"

"Move to a different city, change my name, I don't know, maybe go to Los Angeles?" The fox shrugged again. "Nothing people haven't done before. Arguably I did most of that the first time when I came here. Go where no one knows my name… easy."

Father Tuck looked like he was about to punch a hole in the wall. "Are you joking? Please tell me you're joking."

"You asked me what I'd do, and that's how I'd do it. But no, I'm not sure I want to do it. Maybe, maybe not. Just like I said. Nothing said there was in jest."

Tuck threw his head back and looked at the ceiling for a moment. "Well I encourage you to stick it out! I'll be honest, I'm just dumbstruck that in a world where so many people would love to be superheroes, you actually are one but you'd rather pretend to be one in the pictures!"

"What can I say? I've found out it's not all it's cracked up to be, and now I'm having second thoughts. Wouldn't you call that maturing? I respect you enough to be honest with you, Tuck."

Tuck shook his head. "Well there's definitely something going on with you, because this isn't the Robin I'm used to. But I think what I said can help if you're willing to follow it. Are you willing to follow it?"

"I'm willing to give it a try."

"Good boy. So remember to tell yourself that you're paying your dues, you got pretty far on beginner's luck but now you've been figured out and you have to learn from these failures and adjust your strategy accordingly. Better yourself. Make sense?"

"That it does," Robin nodded.

"And be a good friend to poor Johnny and tell him about Will."

"We both know I can't do that, Father."

"AAAAARGH!" The badger stood up, wobbled over to the fraction of wall, and banged his head rhythmically for at least five or ten uninterrupted seconds before turning back to Robin. "Are you bored!? Did you just come here to mess with me because you're bored? Because that's what it seems like! Jesus, Rob, you're gonna give this fat old man a heart attack!"

Robin responded with a funny look. "Aren't you not even fifty yet?"

Father Tuck simply snapped his fingers and pointed at the fox. "Tell Johnny. And tell him soon. Rip the Band-Aid off so it can stop stinging faster. Besides, you don't wanna tell Marian that you'd been a coward when you see her again, do you? Or wait! You're not gonna tell her either, are ya!?"

Robin remained steadfast in his chair, pondering what Tuck had said. "Oh, if I should ever be so lucky as to have the chance again," he lamented.

And for one last time that day, the badger looked completely confused by what Robin had said. "Wait… whaddya mean?"

And the fox was likewise confused by the badger's confusion. "What do you mean, what do I mean? I mean I probably won't ever see her again, and I'm not happy about that! Must I spell it!?"

"Oh, what, is this new self-hatred of yours so strong that you're not even gonna take the opportunity to see her!?"

Robin dropped the anger quickly and cocked his head, completely perplexed.

And Tuck was in disbelief. "...Don't tell me you haven't heard the news."

Robin's head stayed sideways as his eyes opened wide and his tail made the slightest nervous twitch. "...What news?"

Approximately thirty seconds later, the side doors of St. Ursula's parish burst open, and a fox did a spinning backflip over the half-set of stairs, hollering "Yaaaaa-HOOOOOOO!", sticking his landing on the asphalt and running through the parking lot with his arms outstretched like the wings of an airplane.

And shortly thereafter, a rotund badger made his way to the doors, grabbing one just before it closed on him, holding himself up on it as he caught his breath.

"...ROBIN!" the priest hollered after the bandit once he had the lung capacity to do so, "THIS ISN'T AN EXCUSE NOT TO TELL JOHNNY!"

But it was, Dear Reader. As far as the fox was concerned, it was.