I do not own Zootopia, that belongs to Disney. This a fan work made solely for the sake of amusement.
Interspecies Relationship Support Network- Tri-Burrow Chapter
Chapter Eight: Finding Threads
By: Gabriel LaVedier
"I never got those citrons. He really is a mean mammal," Beatrix huffed, over a plate of lohikeitto and a side of mashed potatoes and a smaller plate of fried quenelle. "I wish I could arrest mammals for being unpleasant."
"Ah, yes, yes... the stresses of a highly important occupation," Specs Rimppasson said with a small laugh. Everyone was gathered inside a very nicely decorated cave-home, carved from a very large erratic that was located out by the border of Predburrow, but still well within Bunnyburrow environs. The whole place, though a modest home, was large enough to suit the wolves that lived in it, as it also contained an extensive subterranean area, all of it designed after traditional Bunnyburrow internal aesthetics, with wolf motifs in place of the rabbit ones.
"Father... you don't need to explain she has an important job every time," Rimppsie said, ears folded to hide the pink.
"Oh don't listen to him, he's not certain about how things go," Specs said with a deep chuckle. While he was somewhat skinny, like his son, he was long and tall, with tight muscles shifting under his pelt.
"He had his reason, he doesn't want his beautiful, extremely large and powerful poro to be bothered. He looks out for her very well," Essie, Rimppsie's mother, said with a light laugh. Like her husband, she was a strong tall wolf, her curly ginger coat showing where Rimppsie's pinkish strawberry blonde curled coat came from.
"I'm so sorry, kultaseni..." Rimppsie mumbled, ears flattened down.
"Oh my rakastettu, they're not going to chase me away," Beatrix said softly, reaching out to softly and lovingly rub him between the ears. "Wolves are not so different from reindeer. Bucks and does have a tremendous internal strength and require strength from both sides. I think its because the does grow antlers just as large and impressive as the bucks."
"So, you're working on a big case? I didn't think this place had such problems," one of the other wolves at the table said. There were three others besides Specs and Essie, two males and a female, all dark brown to rusty, facial features showing a family resemblance. The middle wolf, the darkest brown, had been the one to speak.
"As I have to tell my deputy over and over, we must never assume a peaceful place is always going to be peaceful. If you keep on your hooves you don't get surprised."
"But really... this isn't Zootopia, with gangs and political schemers like the ones they arrested not long ago. Politics are so much simpler here, crime is so much simpler here," the rusty-toned female wolf noted. "What could have happened?"
Beatrix had had practice dealing with ignorant city folk that dealt with her like an unsophisticated bumpkin. She just kept rubbing between Rimppsie's ears. "We have our own kind of crimes, some of them quite bad. Right now I'm investigating an arson. Some insane monster burned down a barn filled with members of the Interspecies Relationship Support Network having a meeting. Someone wanted to burn out a load of mammals just like your nephew, just like me. So I've got a lot of stress and seriousness right now."
Silence reigned at the table for a while, forks and spoons scraping on the plates, soft chewing sounds mingling with the soft shush of Rimppsie's wagging tail. Beatrix kept rubbing his head, a small smile on her lips when they were closed.
Rimppsie's aunt finally spoke up, voice a little softer. "Terrible things are all over. They arrested those Meadowlands folks who were against predators. They had a whole evil group that did all that Nighthowler business because of their hate for predators."
"Hate... that seems to be what it's all about," Beatrix muttered. "Hate and fear, twisted together. And people fear that hate... Peony..." A realization dawned on Beatrix slowly. "I think I know why she was so afraid of her father's wrath."
"What's that, dear?" Essie asked.
"I figured something out. Excuse my rudeness, but I need to move this case along..." Beatrix pulled out her cell phone and quickly hit her contacts.
"Sheriff? What's going on? I was just having dinner."
"Same here, with Rimppsie's relatives. I need you to do something we forgot to do today. You need to head out to find Travis Dreyson and get all those hate messages he has, because I think if we look at them we can tell about how many are doing it."
"Are we going to be working all night? I mean, I'm settled in..."
"No, not at all. I'm spending the night with Rimppsie, and I assume you're going to think nice thoughts about that muntjac doe. I just need you to get them and bring them to the office tomorrow morning."
"Oh! Uh... well... th-that nice Miss Sanda was very sweet, and she's worth thinking about..."
"Not judging, Deputy. She's a sweet and unique figure. Just get that done. And be prepared to do some fine mental work, it'll help us out immensely."
"Right, right. I'll get them, and tomorrow... well, I think I like that better than driving around talking to folks. Unless we have to go back to the Seedcache property. I think I could stand that."
Beatrix chuckled softly. "Have a good night, Deputy." She hung up and turned back to her meal, noticing that Rimppsie was flat-eared from hiding his reddened ears, and that his family were all looking slightly away. "I'm not ashamed. You want me to love him? I love him as much as I can. No need for skaldic ballads or heirlooms. Just pick if you want a Convoker or a Fif to do the whole thing."
"Night, Sheriff..." Buck said, hanging up the phone and sighing. He looked down at his plate, loaded down with leafy greens, but also a few lumps of fried tuna. He'd made a dent in the fish, while mostly downing the leaves. "It's not so bad. Should get used to it. I do wanna see her more..."
After finishing the leaves and much of the fish he rose from the table and looked around his place. He was one of those that lived in a wired-up cabin, separated into a small bedroom and mostly open space. As he understood it, the city folk called his kind of space a 'loft' more or less, and that it was trendy. He never really thought of himself as trendy. His décor was simple, all wood and plastic; about the only decorations were pin-up posters of deer models, along with a warthog openly brandishing her tusks.
He still had on his uniform pants, but was only in his white undershirt, which led him to throw on his uniform jacket and head out the door after grabbing his keys. Outside, his cabin was also plain, still with the sealed wood's natural colors, his yard mostly just grown with bushes beside the stone path to the dirt road that ran in front of the line of cabins that made up the sort of rural 'neighborhood' in which he lived.
Lacking access to the department car, he was required to use his own personal form of transportation. At the end of his walkway, on the other side of the opening formed by the line of bushes from his mailbox, sat a faded but still highly serviceable Bombo Antilope, with a helmet in a waterproof bag attached to the side.
Putting on the helmet was always a delicate thing. As with most helmets for the antlered there was a special construction of the top for the specific antler type. Being a roebuck he had two simple slotted openings which were covered by custom-fitted mini-helmet sheaths that fit over his antlers and snapped to the helmet itself. His antlers were small enough. He didn't need an accident shaving them down.
It took a few pumps to get the engine started but soon enough it was puttering away, and he took off down the dirt road. As he went along he realized he had two different places he could go. The Dreyson homestead, or the home over the business. He was close enough to both to make any difference a wash. He made his decision and made the turnoff for the main drag, to head for the business.
As could be expected from a rural area, there wasn't much in the way of a nightlife, at least in the center of Bunnyburrow. Most entertainment took place in the woods or private residences. But there was still the Vogue Bijou, and it maintained a nocturnal screening schedule. There were folks in line at the ticket office, who gave him looks as he passed by on the puttering little scooter.
Thankfully for the Deputy, there were lights on upstairs when he reached the Dreyson and Manchas office front. It was even on the right side to be Travis and Ermintrude. He made his way up the stairs, helmet on, as getting it off was more trouble than it was worth for a quick visit. He knocked firmly on the door and called out, "Mr. and Mrs. Dreyson! Deputy Roeberts. The Sheriff wants me to talk to you."
It took a moment before the door opened up, revealing both Travis and Ermintrude in hastily-put-on nightclothes. "Deputy. This is... sort of a surprise," Travis said with a tired chuckle.
"It was kind of a surprise for me too. Sorry to interrupt your... night. But the Sheriff's at dinner with her boyfriend... never knew she even had one. A wolf, even... and she had a thought. She wanted me to pick up all those hate messages you had, because she thinks she can tell how many folks there might be. And... that might help something. I'm sure she was rushed, his family was there and it was probably awkward, her on the phone and all."
"Lot of surprises in one statement," Travis said with a brush of a paw over his head. "Let me go get those for you, anything to help the investigation."
"Going by your reaction she told you this very recently. What changed, if I may ask?" Ermintrude queried, making conversation while Travis was gone.
"I got to the station early, and it turns out he comes in when she gets there and brings her breakfast. He gave her some fruit and cricket-flour muffins. It turns out she eats bugs and fish more than I ever expected."
Ermintrude subtly wiped a paw against her nose and softly coughed. "Ah yes. Well, some deer are like that, I've found. They're the most flexible of the prey. An admirable trait."
Buck breathed on his hand and caught a whiff of fish on his breath. "Yeah, yeah well... we went to see Mr. Seedcache and bring Peony home. His new maid is a deer named Hayma Sanda... little thing... a munt-jac or something like that. Talked really nice, and she made this delicious noodle thing. And it had shrimp and fish mixed in with the vegetables. I wasn't expecting that but it was nice."
"Oh, I hadn't heard about that. Ah, when you delivered Peony to her father did you say anything about the Network?"
"No, ma'am. The Sheriff made sure she said nothing. There was something... off about him. Fake. He's a mean mammal, like folks keep saying."
"You have no idea..." Ermintrude muttered.
"Here you are, Deputy. I really hope you can do something with these," Travis said, returning with a manilla envelope that bulged slightly.
"The Sheriff thinks she has an idea. I certainly hope it's a good one," Buck said, taking the folder.
"The Deputy was telling me he and the Sheriff went to take Peony back to her home," Ermintrude noted.
"What? No! If he heard about the Network..!" Travis started.
"Relax, they didn't say anything. They just ate there. Seems they have themselves a new maid. Peony never mentioned her. Some exotic deer," Ermintrude reported.
"She's got fangs," Buck added.
"A Division Child?" Travis queried.
"Nope, she said it's natural. Her kind are munt-jac, think I keep saying it right. She's really sweet, has a beautiful accent, and told me a lot about how ol' Seedcache is kind of a shady fellow, gives a lot of talks and used to host folks from Zootopia."
"Probably Purists like him..." Travis muttered.
"What? No... no, Purists don't... they..." Buck blinked slowly. "Is he really?"
"We've heard..." Ermintrude answered, drawing out her words. "Will said Peony thought he was a Purist. That's all."
"Staying with her own..." Buck mumbled. "I knew I didn't like him."
"Given how you acted at the crime scene, I'm surprised," Travis snorted.
"I was tired!" Buck snapped. "Maybe I'm not some Zootopian with a head that's all opened up, but I'm a good deputy. I may like sleeping and easy work but I know my job."
"And you like fish, apparently," Travis noted, his nose lightly twitching.
"Mr. Seedcache's maid cooked up a meal with shrimp and fish in. The deputy was... motivated to eat it," Ermintrude said with a soft laugh.
"I should go. I'll need a good night's sleep to look over all this. Though... you may have given us the answer. It wouldn't surprise me."
"But... with his own daughter inside..." Ermintrude whispered.
"He didn't know. He would have raised high holy quaking and scorching if he knew his daughter was doing more than just hanging around with you, Mrs. Dreyson. And not knowing meant he could do it."
Travis hugged Ermintrude to his side and cleared his throat. "Thank you, Deputy. Hope it helps."
"I'm sure it will. Have a good night, folks," Buck said, making his way down the steps as the door closed behind him.
o o o
"Sheriff... this is disgusting," Buck said, as he read one of the anonymous notes. "I should get hazard pay for this disgusting plop."
"I'm reading right along with you," Beatrix said, looking at one of the pages through a magnifying glass. "It makes me sick enough to throw up my lohikeitto and breakfast kippers and muffins. But our jobs are unpleasant sometimes."
The two of them were in the central Sheriff's office, at their respective desks, with several sheets of paper before them, which they were carefully poring over. Buck turned his head away, holding his stomach and tightly shutting his eyes. "What makes a mammal do something like this? I told you, this is a mammal that should be strapped down and in a jacket at Imboca Bay."
"Oh you're wrong, but only in your guess about numbers," Beatrix commented. "It's clear we're dealing with more than one hateful savage."
"How's that, Sheriff? Doesn't seem that different to me. The writing seems the same, and it's all sick. Maybe if I had a glass like you it might help but... shouldn't the lab have these?"
"It's been passed through too many mammals without preservation to be of any good to a lab. But we can look at the content and the way it's been written."
"Not quite my specialty there, Sheriff," Buck grumbled, turning the message in his grip, examining it in as fine a detail as he could. "All looks the same to me."
"That's the thing. It's all very regular. You'd think that would mean the same mammal was using the same printer. But if you can stomach them long enough, the messages are unique. Different levels of education, because of how fancy they get with words. Different kinds of images they get with the things they mention. Different focus on why it's wrong. It looks like a group got together and wrote these things out, sending them separately but with a bland, regular computer printout. Did you ever ever read Agatha Murine's Murder on the Boreal Express?"
"Can't say I did, but I watched the movie once. That was something."
"Think of it like that. If everyone performs one act, and assuming there's no slick scientists to give a real answer, no one can tell who did what. You can't arrest everyone. A crime has one perpetrator, but the water gets muddy when it comes to details like which act was the killing act or was just the icing on the murderous cake. No handwriting to match, everyone was there but no one will have seen anything, and they probably delivered different messages."
"Those slick savages," Buck snorted, reading two differing notes and really comparing the wording. "This one here... it says stay with your own sort. And here, something about propriety. Most folks say kind. Mr. Seedcache says sort, according to Hayma, and he complained about propriety when he talked about the network."
"I think we both knew that was the case. Rimppsie's family put some interesting things forward. They were the ones that reminded me about these things. But they also reminded me about the Nighthowler incident, and how some of the ones involved were arrested recently, after they thought they got away with it. Pred-haters, who went on the attack. Just the types to link up with a purist."
"Kind of a leap... but I hate how much sense it makes. Even so though, what does it mean? Why would that make him act now that they're arrested? And would he really risk his money and power?"
"He gives talks, probably passing on his poison to like-minded mammals. It's like an evil reflection of the Network, and that's worrying me. I have to keep the peace in the Burrows, and I can't have arsonist purists running around in public and trying to burn mammals alive. We gotta break the back of this absolutely and as soon as possible," Beatrix said, slamming a hoof down on her desk.
"I wish this wasn't a thing. I want the Burrows I remember, back before I knew all this..." Buck sighed.
"You do strike me as a very old fashioned buck, though I know that's just how you were raised and you think a little more like everyone else and less like Old Seedcache."
"Can't help it. I didn't know any other words except the ones nana and pops taught me. They wanted me to be a good buck but didn't know any better. They never went anywhere. You know they're from Podunk and just did their best after the accident."
"I understand, deputy. But you... you do kind of... give off a certain impression..." Beatrix said, slowly looking Buck up and down.
"Uh... Sheriff? What are you getting at?"
"I don't mean to insult you, but you could very well pass yourself off as someone Mr. Seedcache could believe was friendly to his aims."
"That... uh... I know you didn't mean it but it was kind of an insult. I'm nothing like that cold, fake purist."
"Just a fact, deputy. Your grandparents raised you right, but left a few little sticking points in your speech and thinking. It happens! Big Daddy Dreyson had problems with burrowers, and Stu Hopps was famous for being down on predators, especially foxes. Most of the family was, at least a little. But other mammals know that image of you. They don't know you're not what you sound like. And that might be to our advantage."
"I don't know where this is going, but I'm getting a little shiver in the nape region. What are you trying to say, Sheriff? That mistake folks make about me is good because..?"
"Because we need to know what that Leonard Seedcache talks about and who he talks to. We need to know his crowd and just how much poison he's spitting. And if he asks them to do things, like that Dawn Bellwether, or her father they just sent up the river. I know this is asking a lot, but I need you to call him, ask him when he's speaking next. Maybe ask Peony who those Zootopians were that came around."
Buck stared down, through the notes in his grip, contemplating things. "Undercover. Like a Jack Savage movie. There's even gonna be a beautiful, exotic lady in there. If it'll help the case..."
"It certainly will," Beatrix said, pulling out her phone and working on it for a short while. "I'm getting the master directory up. I'm going to give you his public number. Call him, tell him any story you want. Find out when, find out what you need to do to get in. You'll be a private citizen there; we don't have a warrant and you're there by his invitation. Try to find out what you can but be careful."
Buck took the number after Beatrix passed it along, and called from the phone on his desk. "Mr. Seedcache? This is Buck Roeberts, from the Sheriff's department."
"Oh yes, I recall. You had some... fascinating manners, and you were very impressed with my new maid. What can I do for you, Deputy? More pointless bothering about irrelevant items?"
"Uh, no sir. The thing is... I'm calling you on my own. See, I kind of understand your feeling, so far as I've heard about it. And I wondered about hearing more about it."
"My feeling? I'm sure I don't know what you mean."
"It comes up around the Burrows. Mean ol' Seedcache, always telling folks to stay with their sort. But I was raised like that. I was raised the old fashioned way, never did much grow any appreciation for chomper-rompers and other folks."
"Mmm, well... I will admit to a certain degree of... reluctance, let us say, to certain so-called and alleged 'progressive' ideals. But I'm surprised, given how you seemed a bit... degenerated around my maid."
Buck bit back a hateful stream of invective, taking a deep breath before answering. "The sheriff was right there. Takes a bit of acting to make it look like I'm on board with the things she asks. I had to ask questions, and being friendly is how it works out in the Burrows."
"The appearance of mild, good-natured conformity to diseased ideals is a slippery slope, but sadly effective. Yes, I understand, deputy, it was just a hazard of the job."
"While I was getting information out of her, your maid mentioned you have folks over to hear you speak, and that you had Zootopians come over to give speeches too. I was curious about that."
"She seems to talk too much. But it's true, deputy. I have a core of right-thinking individuals that enjoy hearing my speeches and can be counted on to be loyal to propriety. Curiosity is a very important thing, it can bring folk to learning about very important things. If you can compose yourself properly and act like a proper gentlemammal I'll be giving a talk tomorrow. Come around noon, a fitting meal will be provided, followed by drinks during the lecture."
"Right. Around noon. I understand."
"And deputy... I extend this kind of invitation with great meaning. It says that I believe you may have the capacity to understand and that you exhibit attitudes and actions I think make you one with the ideals I espouse. Don't disappoint me with any more... acts of imitation. The sheriff won't be there. Just us, mammals who think like you. Act correctly, or don't bother returning." The call died with a firm, willful click.
"I think he just insulted me, saying I think like him and his little gang."
"That's what he needs to keep thinking. Don't let anything get out of control. Go in, ask discreet questions, get out without getting anyone suspicious. It's asking a lot, but it has to get done."
"Never thought it would come to this. This is the Burrows. It just doesn't happen here..."
Author's Notes
Bombo Antilope- I think it's funny. Bombo is Italian for Bumblebee, as a contrast with Vespa, which means Wasp. Antilope is, naturally, Italian for Antelope, which evokes two different images for me. One is an old space freighter, a key part of the song "Some kind of Hero" by Leslie Fish; and the app game Dragon Blaze. There, one of the legendary characters rides on an antelope and, in an alternate costume, is on a little Vespa-style scooter marked with an antelope decoration