68. "Without Fear and Beyond Reproach (The Good Knight), Pt. 1"

If Robin had been born and raised on the other side of the English Channel, there's a very real chance he still would have wound up calling a fabled medieval warrior his personal hero and inspiration. But for all their similarities, this other figure admittedly has one advantage: with no disrespect to Adam Bell, this guy would have actually been real.

I mean, you tell me if any of this sounds familiar: Pierre Terrail, Seigneur de Bayard, was the embodiment of chivalry. Born into nobility, this horse was a knight in the service of France in the 15th and 16th centuries, and although his job description necessitated that he kill for his country, the Chevalier Bayard used his position to spread cheer and charity across the land. Historians gush about how he was as civil as one could be to his opponents, never took advantage of them when defeated as other knights often would, went out of his way to protect the weak and defenseless, paid for the provisions he needed from peasants instead of just stealing them as his coworkers did, and was known to get really, really pissed off when he saw people being mean or unjust to one another. After rising to a rank of power, he always told his charges to put out the fires his rowdier cohorts had started and to defend churches and monasteries where women and children were hiding; there would be no raping and pillaging on his watch. Hell, the guy was such a legend that when this horse invaded Italy, these nutty freaking Italian civilians who'd been hiding in the forest caught wind of who their French conqueror was and ran out of the literal fucking woodwork to regale him in praise and presents.

But beyond his personality, Bayard was also known to be a damned skillful knight without fears or flaws but with a whole lot of bravado, hence how he rose so quickly to become a remarkable leader of men, and just to keep piling on the parallels, experts think he had a damn-near storybook romance with a woman he adored, though he always kept her identity a secret to keep her safe from his enemies. Tell me, Dear Reader, is this ringing a Bell so far? For all these things and more, Chevalier Bayard has since been remembered as "the knight without fear and beyond reproach," but always a humble and God-fearing man, Bayard himself always preferred the milder moniker given to him by his friends, Le Bon Chevalier, "The Good Knight".

…Oh, and another thing was apparently that even for a horse, Bayard was really freaking tall for his time. Like, not quite like a certain fox we all know towering freakishly over the rest of his species, but still to the point that historians felt the need to make a note about it. Because of course he was. Everyone knows heroes must be tall and tall people who aren't heroes are a waste of stature. Of course.

All in all, everything Robin idolized and wanted to be in that probably-nonexistent species-up-for-debate outlaw archer of English legend could have been found just as easily in that absolutely-real horse knight from when the Middle Ages gave way to the Renaissance: someone who took care of and spread joy among the weak and defenseless while vanquishing the evil and injustice in the world, and who could afford to play it gentlemanly and modest in his interpersonal interactions because his superior skills and honorable actions did more than enough attention-grabbing for him, consequently earning him immortality as a legend who would never die. If Robin wanted to, he could at any point read up on Bayard and decide to start following the example of someone who proved it was possible to be this heroic in real life rather than someone who only ever did so in fiction. But alas, we're all products of our environment, and Robin Hood was too proud an Englishman to ever look up to some bloody frog-eating Frenchie.

…Aw, I wasn't fucking done yet with weird coincidences. So the suburb of Bayard wasn't named after the Chevalier, Bayard is still a fairly common surname you'll see around and this particular place was probably named after the Bayard family of Delaware politicians. And yet when an eager then-recent culinary-school graduate wanted to open up a fine French restaurant in the Nottingham metro area years back but couldn't afford property prices in the city, it was sheer coincidence that he found himself putting his scant money into a place in Bayard. And when he was brainstorming names for his new venture, it just so happened that he consulted a friend who'd studied French history in college, and when this friend realized what town the establishment would be established in, said friend was dumbstruck by the dumb luck of falling ass-backwards into the perfect name and theme for such a place. And it is through this incredibly stupid series of events that on the night of Saturday, June 25th, 2005, a fox who bore a striking similarity personality-wise to The Good Knight himself should wind up taking his long-lost fiancée to Le Bon Chevalier, Bayard.

The limousine arrived with four passengers plus its driver. Earlier in the day, the llama had been confused when he got a call that two guys in the suburbs wanted to buy out his chauffeur services all day long for several trips back and forth across town. But when the fox and bear entered his vehicle, he immediately realized who he was dealing with and had to stop himself from letting out any starstruck squealing. He was more than happy to let them get changed into some disguises in the back as he slogged through weekend traffic towards the beaches, and he waited patiently for them while they went off because even though they didn't divulge exactly what they would be doing, he understood they had a method for their madness. He was cool with it when they returned with the bear soaking wet and the fox covered in sand, hollering as politely as possible for him to gun it, before they once again got changed, this time into rather nice duds, and asked him to take them to a bunch of high-end hotels all up and down the shore, and various banks across town after that, which he gladly obliged to do. They bought him lunch and helped him clean the mess they'd made in the cabin of the car before they let him join them in tossing wads of cash indiscriminately out the window of their moving limousine while cruising through the rougher areas of the West Side, and gave him their autographs on a wanted poster along with a five hundred dollar tip before they asked him to pick up two ladies at a seemingly random intersection in Georgetown around sundown; one of the women he instantly recognized, the other he could infer but eventually came to remember from the wacky summer of 2001. The girls seemed like they'd had a long day as well with their nice clothes seeming a bit ruffled and rumpled, but they were nevertheless in good spirits and were just as kindly to the driver as the boys were. Then it was off to their final destination for the night, the hidden-gem fancy French restaurant in the otherwise-unremarkable middle-class suburb, a place where truly wealthy folks probably wouldn't be found because it the establishment wasn't hoity-toity high-class enough for them, so showing up in a limo wasn't too risky of a move. And those four tipped much, much better than any of those rich cocksuckers ever would, either.

When they walked in, it took the hostess a good few moments to recognize them, too.

"Bonsoir," said the hippopotamus maître d', "et bienvenue à Le Bon Chevalier, je m'appelle Julie, avez-vous un réserva-?" And then it clicked. "...-tion?"

"Oui oui, mon chérie!" replied the tod, wearing his famous charming smile; he knew that the hippo simply would not be maître d'oing a lowly job like this if she'd come from any kind of money, and that she'd either already figured out who they were or was about to. "We're friends of David's and he's set us up tonight for two adjacent tables of two."

There was no David; there was never any David. But you already knew that, and she knew how to play along; hearing his accent confirmed her suspicions. "Ah, you… you know David! You talked with David!"

"Yeee-ep!" added the bear. "He told us Mademoiselle Julie would take good care of us!"

Unfortunately, as much as she wanted to help, the maître d'idn't have the power to make tables appear out of thin air. But then the tod offered her a gentle, gentlemanly male-to-female handshake with his casted right arm which she accepted, upon which she felt something papery in her palm. She quickly stuffed it into her pocket, but she could see in the brief moment she had that there were at least a couple Benjamins in there. It was at that moment that the maître d'ecided that she could bend the rules just once and maître d'o something for these local legends.

"Well, uh… if, if that's what David promised you, uh… I wouldn't wanna let him down!" With this, she grabbed four menus from the seating station and turned to lead them on a search for open tables. But while those four guests were content, four other guests waiting on the bench to the side were not so much.

"Uh, excuse me," said a buck with a doe by his side, "if I heard correctly, they asked for two tables for two, the two of us were waiting here first, and these two people we don't know were here before we were." He gestured to a muskrat couple on his other side, who gave the hippo an angry nod to cosign.

"Ah, y-yes, but .. these folks have reservations–!"

"So do we," said the doe sternly.

"They didn't even say what time their reservation was for!" added the husband muskrat.

"Yes yes, but…" the maître d'efended, "they're friends with… my manager."

"Who's also the co-owner!" the vixen added with a smile to back the hippo up.

The wife musket huffed. "I think I'd like to speak to this managing co-owner."

"Oh, he's on vacation in Cabo!" the bear answered with a chuckle, waving a dismissive paw at them. "He hooked us up over the phone… don't know why the guy's hangin' out in Mexico during the hottest part of the year but eh, whatever floats his boat!"

"Or rather his yacht!" the tod quipped.

"Ah, classic Dave," the ewe cooked in a very convincing neutral American accent, "always vacationing in the wrong place at the wrong time!"

"Oh, yes, yes, yeah, um…" The maître d'esperately hoped she was doing a good job improvising with them. "That sounds… that sounds like David alright!" And she led them off once more, this time not looking back at the glares of the other, more ornery patrons.

The restaurant didn't go so far as to recreate the dining hall of a medieval French castle or anything, but given the architecture of a modern American building, Le Bon Chevalier still did plenty to utilize its theme: walls painted to look like the rolling hills of the European countryside with paintings of battle scenes hung here and there, fleurs-de-lis and other Gallic symbols and insignias all over the pillars throughout the dining area, and suits of equine armor and period weapons wherever they would fit. It really was a nice place (which I'm clarifying because I originally wrote "it looked like Olive Garden but French" but the people who were actually there told me I wasn't doing the place justice, it was actually pretty classy).

The hostess stopped at a certain point and looked about the room. "Uh… you said you wanted… two separate tables?"

"And that gentleman at the entrance certainly won't let us forget it," remarked Robin, smiling warmly nevertheless.

"If it's not too much to ask," explained Marian, "we'd just like an arrangement where we could be a group when we wish and two couples alone when the moment calls for it." When she said this, she and her tod gave each other those lovers' eyes, while Annie and Johnny just looked embarrassed and let their eyes wander at anything else besides each other.

But luckily for them, Julie didn't notice. She was busy trying to fulfill what was actually kind of an annoying request, trying not to let it look like she was intimidated by the task. "Uhhh… I can give you… are these tables too far apart?"

She gestured to a booth behind the group and a table behind herself. You could draw a straight line between them without intercepting another table, but it was at a very narrow angle like the hypotenuse between two ends of a capital L, and probably about twelve feet apart, maybe more.

The foxes, looking cheerful, turned to their friends, who were not.

"Well, what do you two think?" asked the vixen sweetly. "Are you alright with that?"

The ewe winced. "Och, what do we think!?" She didn't even try concealing her Scottish accent for that.

The bear just looked confused. "I mean… you guys wanted us here," he said, pointing to the foxes before gesturing to himself and the sheep.

But Robin and Marian weren't bothered. "This will be good, thank you," the tod said to the hippo.

"Très bien! Your servers will be with you shortly." And with that, the maître d'eparted.

But the group didn't go to their seats just yet. "Hey, I'm not angry," Johnny explained, "I'm just saying… what's the point of me and Kluck bein' here as your bodyguards if we're that far away from you?" Annie nodded along with him as he said this.

Robin, however, just chuckled. "Ah, Johnny old boy, I do appreciate your diligence, but you and Annie needn't worry too much; a place like this might be far more high-end than anything we're used to, but the people who truly hate us? They'd still think this place is a podunk suburban dump beneath their dignity. I assure you, we're safe here."

Back at the seating station, Julie found that there was another couple waiting, a pair of antelopes who already looked frustrated.

"Bonsoir," she greeted, hoping for the best, "avez-vous un rés-?"

"No, we don't 'avez-vous' anything," the male antelope spat. "We did have reservations for somewhere decent downtown leagues better than this sorry excuse for fine dining, but when we were at the beach- goddammit," he swore as he put a hand over his face for a second. "First there was this homeless coyote-like thing - my crazy wife thinks he was a fox, but he was way too freaking tall to be a fox-"

"Ronnie, everything else about him besides that looked like a fox!" said wife interrupted.

"So this coyote's bugging us for, like, five minutes to give him change to pay for his broken arm, we're telling him to buzz off and get a job… and then a few minutes later, some stupid drunk mauler, knowing full well he doesn't know how to swim, goes way out into the water and starts drowning, it took every lifeguard on the beach for a mile to drag this fatfuck out of the ocean… and me and my wife, we had gotten up from our towels to watch them get him, as you do, everyone else was… just for the stupid drunk to stand up as soon as they get him to shore and say 'thanks, I'm fine now, I'm gonna split,' and we get back to our spot and some piece of shit stole all our valuables from our bags!"

Julie hoped her acting was passable. "Oh, my- I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, and you know the worst thing they stole? Our hotel key."

"Keycard," his wife corrected. "They also grabbed the scrap of paper with the code for the safe in our room."

"We get back to our hotel, everything's gone, we go to the nearest Chase branch and our bank accounts have been fucking depleted," the antelope seethed, then threw his arms up in frustration. "So now we have to survive off the cash we were hiding in the spare tire compartment of our car - and thank God the parking lot at the beach was a madhouse so they probably couldn't find our Beamer or they probably woulda looted that, too - so that leads us to this little podunk suburban dump!"

"Hey, buddy."

The antelopes looked toward the voice coming from their right.

"You weren't the only ones who didn't expect to change their dinner plans for tonight," the buck said bitterly, arms folded as he gestured with his head to his wife and the muskrat couple next to them. "Take a number, stand in line."

Meanwhile, the quartet had split into their pairs and taken their seats.

"Ah, Marian, my love, I never lost faith that we'd have another moment like this," the tod cooed as he pulled the chair out for his vixen; of course, we know this is bullshit, he had lost faith several times that they'd ever be together again in peace, but he wasn't about to ruin a romantic evening with some unflattering reality. "Though I must confess… I was beginning to lose my patience waiting for it to come!"

"Thank you, Robin," she replied softly as she sat down and watched him seat himself. "But you'll have to thank my Uncle John for providing me room and board in exchange for being live bait to ensnare you."

He chuckled. "Oh, well if this is what he considers ensnaring me, then I must say, I'm quite enjoying it! Tell me again how you and Annie escaped his goons to meet us here today? You said you lost them on the tube somehow?"

"It was just one goon he's having follow us everywhere, actually, and Klucky and I lost him by pretending to realize at the last moment that we were at the stop we needed and slipped out just as the train doors were closing," she stated proudly. "To his credit, he reacted quickly, but being a rhinoceros, he simply couldn't fit through the gap before it closed."

Robin looked pleased. "That's my Marian, just as clever as I remember."

"Yes, but it's a crying shame that the bodyguard assigned to us is such a nice lad," the vixen added, genuinely seeming a little bummed out about it. "He really is a gentleman, he's merely been conscripted to the wrong side of the fight."

The tod shook his head in disappointment. "I do not doubt it; these things do happen. But perhaps he can be swayed to mutiny against his boss?"

She gave that some real thought. "I'm afraid he can't afford to jeopardize his source of income. But if he were ever to jump ship, it might be after all that ridiculousness my uncle pulled at the racetrack this afternoon."

He snickered under his breath as he recalled what she'd told him about that day's events. "Well I say let the mayor keep making an arse of himself! If he keeps it up, the public might finally start doing something about him!"

Marian giggled at first, but when she took a moment to think that entire statement through, she realized that he had worded that in a peculiar way. She was about to ask what exactly he'd meant by that, but then, the reason why they'd come to a restaurant: their waiter had arrived.

"Bonjour - or, uh… pardon, bonSOIR," greeted the Arctic fox in his summer coat, trying not to make it too obvious that he was reading off a piece of paper up his sleeve. He seemed like a college-age kid who most likely wasn't majoring in French. "Uhhh, je m'appelle est Trent, et je vous, uh, je vais avoir vous- uhhh…"

He trailed off as he finally looked up at his guests, the two red foxes smiling kindly at him. Other vulpines were always taken aback to see a pair of specimens as cartoonishly large as these two redheads were, that was normal; but this then led the fox to his next deduction, which was that he'd heard tell of this Englishman before, along with a few rumors of his legendary lady.

"Ah, Trente, comment le numéro!" greeted the local hero himself. "C'est bon, très bon! Bien, notre frère de renard, s'il vous plaît, pour mon mademoiselle belle et moi, nous voudrais ton bouteille de vin à le maximum chère! De la rouge où de la blanc, les couleurs n'est importante pas! Et si n'est pas du problème, deux verres froides de la eau! S'il vous plaît, merci!"

Oh my God, I think the French government would actually sentence Robin to the guilloutine for brutally murdering their language like that. But for as wrong as he got it, he spoke it confidently wrong, and that confidence came across clearly. Marian was giggling because she knew how badly he'd just butchered francophone grammar, but anybody who didn't know a lick of French would never think Robin hadn't just smoothly ordered for himself and his fiancée in the language of love. Trent sure didn't.

Not at all used to patrons actually replying in French, the Arctic stopped caring about hiding his cheat sheet and just pulled the whole thing out; turns out it was written on the back of a receipt.

"So… une bo-tei-ille de vin de… rouge ou blanc? Okay, ummm…"

The biggest fox laughed as he put a hand on the shoulder of the smallest fox. "Ah, I'll put you out of your misery, lad! But you put up a valiant effort. Please, a bottle of your finest wine and a vase of water, if you would." And to make up for screwing with the poor kid, he slid him a hundred-dollar bill.

Trent's head was spinning. First he meets a guy he wasn't even sure existed, then he gets challenged in a language he was promised during onboarding he'd never need to actually know, and now he was a hundred dollars richer for just existing in the right spot at the right time.

"Oh, uh… th-thank you, sir! Merci!"

"You needn't call me sir, sir. It makes me feel elitist. If anything, it's the common people like you who hold everything together who should be held in reverence."

The Arctic tried not to grin too goofily. "Uh, y-you got it! Yeah, most expensive wine, coming right up!" And off he went.

"Merci, notre cousine de la neige!" Robin bid the waiter while Mari tried to contain her laughter.

"I remember just enough of my French that I was tempted to join in and call him Thirty," she confessed, "but seeing how flustered the poor lad was just from your antics, I think that might have constituted excessive cruelty!"

The tod just chuckled again. "Well, the old boy handled it splendidly. And evidently, Trente and I both need to brush up on our French!"

It wasn't the funniest thing in the world, but once again, the vixen giggled. They both giggled. They were just enjoying each other's company. Honestly, it wasn't mere euphoria that made sure they couldn't help but smile widely just looking at one another; it was also a symptom of a sort of madness, rooted in their shared struggle to believe that this moment, at long last, was finally actually happening.

"Ah, but in all seriousness," Robin continued, "I'm relieved to see that the wait staff don't speak much better French than we do. Not just to save us from embarrassment, but… I feel less bad about putting our friends at arm's length now, actually! Does Annie remember any of her French from school?"

Mari smirked. "Likely more than you do, Robin, but probably not much more than that."

He smiled softly as he looked over at their bodyguards on their performative date. "Well, I know Johnny Boy doesn't speak a word of it. With any luck, they'll get the same waiter!"

But they would not get the same waiter; in fact, if the foxes hadn't been so busy giving each other goo-goo eyes, they might have noticed that the sheep and bear had actually been served before them.

"Bonsoir!" the chamois had greeted as he laid plates and cutlery out on the table. "Moi c'est Gaëtan, et je m'occuperai de vous ce soir! Mon patron m'a dit de vous accorder une attention toute particulière, et au début je ne comprenais pas la raison d'un tel empressement. Puis je vous ai reconnu, monsieur, quand j'ai réalisé que vous viendriez avec ce renard étonnamment grand. Bien sûr, vous êtes Ti-Jean, son ami ours! Je ne suis pas de ce pays, et encore moins de cette ville, mais mes collègues m'ont parlé de vous! Et maintenant que je suis payé au lance-pierre et que je regrette de m'être installé ici pour aller à une université hors de prix, je comprends pleinement l'ampleur et la gravité de la pauvreté américaine, et j'ai le plus grand respect pour le travail de messieurs! Bref, je vois que vous êtes en plein rencard avec un mouton. Normalement je n'approuverais pas une telle relation, mais de la même manière que je n'approuve pas les origines anglaises de votre ami, je vais faire une exception pour votre convenance! Bien sûr, tout cela ne vous dit rien, puisque je vois bien sur vos visage qu'aucun de vous ne me comprend! Mais je ne peut pas vous blâmer pour cela, vous les américains êtes si mauvais pour apprendre une langue étrangère, ce n'est pas de votre faute si vous êtes bêtes; comme les gens que vous aidez, vous êtes surtout des victimes délaissées par le système! Ah, mais c'est que je m'ennuie de vous taquiner de la sorte! Et si on passait à la langue de Shakespeare désormais, qu'est-ce que vous en dites?"

The bear and the sheep gave each other a look like they were begging for backup. The only reason Johnny spoke first was because he could just imagine Robin chiding him for being ungentlemanly if he didn't.

"Hey, I dunno about you," he said to Annie, "but I took German in school, not French. I didn't understand a lick of what this guy just said."

"Ermmm… I can try…?" She cleared her throat and turned to face the waiter: "...Pardon, er, nous ne parlons pas-"

But Gaëtan held a hand up to stop her, smirking as he did. "It is not an issue, madam; I can switch to English."

The fake couple looked like a great weight had been lifted from their shoulders.

"And so, mes amis, can I start you out with something to drink? Have you had time to look at our wine menu?"

"Uhhh, no sir, we basically just sat down when you showed up," answered the bear, trying to convey his agitation as politely as possible. He turned to the ewe. "So, um… I'm not a big wine guy; do you… have any particular, uh, something-or-other you want?"

She looked just as flustered as he did. "Er… well I'd hate to order somethin' ye wouldn't like-"

"Don't worry about me. Our job tonight is just to go with the flow. We're in a French restaurant, we gotta get wine, ain't we?"

"I mean, och, if this is about 'our jobs tonight,' shouldn't we stay sober?"

"What the fuck's gonna happen if we don't, is Rob gonna kick my ass?"

Johnny paused and realized that the adjacent tables were silent, giving him a judging side-eye. And Annie just looked stunned.

"...Uh… pardon my French," the bear muttered. "...N-not-! Goddammit, not like that…!"

The ewe had to contain her sudden urge to laugh, while the chamois was wearing a sardonic smile of his own.

"Um…" Johnny pondered, "...just, uh, just get- get us the most authentic French wine on the menu."

"It's all authentic French," Gaëtan replied matter-of-factly. "If not, it's authentic Swiss or Walloon Belgian."

The bear rolled his eyes.

"Erm…" the sheep cut in sheepishly, "...if it's fine by you, Johnny, I'd say let's just get the most popular wine on the menu."

He shrugged; he just wanted this to be over already. "Fine by me."

"And some water, please."

The waiter just nodded firmly. "I shall return momentarily." And off the chamois went.

Johnny ran a paw up his face and back between his ears, sighing like he'd just worked a twelve-hour shift in a factory. "A-and hey, I'm so sorry if that seemed like I was snapping at you-"

"Och, no, no, Johnny, I didn't take it that way!" Annie insisted, hooved hands up as she denied the accusation. "I… it seemed ye were more frustrated at Robin and Mari and… the situation than anything."

"Hmph… ya got that right…" he muttered as he slouched in his seat. "I don't usually get anxiety like that anymore, but… Jesus, this is just too weird of a situation."

Johnny had a strategy going into this: he was going to be as awkward and vulnerable and as much of an open book about his insecurities as possible. Because he knew Klucky couldn't have wanted to be in this situation any more than he did, so this was entirely for her comfort. The bear knew that for a guy his size, projecting confidence wasn't endearing, it was just scary and threatening. He didn't want it to seem even for a second that he was using this as a chance to actually win her over when she couldn't possibly have reciprocated. So if people at the neighboring tables thought he was bombing this fake date, then he'd be doing it right; the last thing he wanted was for her to incorrectly get the impression that he was attracted to her.

Meanwhile, the sheep seemed surprised by his admission of uncertainty: "...Really!? Ye'd never strike me as someone who's ever had anxiety!"

Johnny just rolled his eyes. "I… did not know the meaning of self-confidence before I met Rob…" he grumbled. "...And hell, I still gotta do the worrying for the both of us because that kid doesn't have enough anxiety about his crazy ideas!" Note that he'd give Annie eye contact for a moment here and there, but was otherwise looking everywhere else around the room.

Kluck just nodded, also not looking at him, afraid she might have struck a nerve - and afraid she might have already slipped up with her own strategy. Johnny clearly seemed uncomfortable, and her saying he struck her as a man without self-doubt felt like the least she could do… but she didn't want to be overbearing (no pun intended) with her praise. She knew she needed to control herself that night. The sheep kept thinking about that buffalo who'd informed her as politely as he could that when big species get crushed on by little species, it's always gonna put the big one in an awkward position. Combine that with how she still didn't know whether what she felt for him qualified as a fetish, and she wouldn't be able to live with herself if she treated this big handsome gentleman goddammit she was doing it again if she treated this sweet bear as an object. Johnny could never know that on the way to meet the boys she'd been reminiscing about the dance they'd shared four summers ago that she'd hoped was more than a gregarious guy grabbing the first single person he saw, nor could he know she'd caught herself that morning staring for forty-five uninterrupted seconds at the life-size sailor teddy bear Marian had bought her as a joke. She was going to play this as platonically as possible; the last thing she wanted was for him to correctly get the impression that she was attracted to him.

"By the way," he said, daring to face her, "I'm sorry, it's been four years… do you like being called 'Kluck' or 'Klucky' or whatever, or is that just a nickname that you tolerate?"

This question surprised her. "Oh! Och, no, it's… it's a nickname the foxes gave me at uni, so those close to me can call me that-"

"Alright," the bear said with an understanding nod, "so I don't know you well enough to call you that, my apologies."

"Och, no, no, Johnny, ye're, er…" The sheep chuckled nervously and hoped this didn't come across too strong. "...Ye're on the list!" But a lad who understands boundaries, that's hard to find these days…

He smiled softly. "Well, I'm honored to be. But, uh… I feel like I better at least know where that comes from before I start using it. Uh, it's your… it's how your last name is pronounced, if I remember?"

She didn't remember the last time a guy had been this interested in her. "Er… yes, Clough, that's roughly how my family says it, but… och, ye spend so much time around foxes like I did, ye develop a taste for poultry! The 'cluckin'' jokes really started after I put away a hundred and fifty-seven McNuggets in one night!"

And now he looked very interested in her - in some way, at least. "Heh! …My kind a' girl!" he laughed.

She grinned and laughed right back. Good Lord, Johnny, don't give me hope.

The bear continued: "But… yeah, I ask because… a lot of people are under the impression that I wanna be called 'Little John' - no the hell I don't, Rob gave me that nickname and I put up with it because he's Mister Cool-Guy and I knew everyone would call me what he called me whether I liked it or not. Like…" He propped his arm upright on the table and placed his chin upon it as he glared off into space. "...Our friends still call me Johnny, but our fans don't. And that bugs the shit outta me."

Well, that certainly put the ewe's amorous thoughts on hold. "Och, well… that's not right! My God, Johnny, I'm sorry stupid Robin did that to ye! I hope ye at least get the chance to correct these people when ye meet them!"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I do, but these people've known me as 'Little John' for so long, it's hard for them to just… relearn my entire identity. I try to take a page outta Rob's book and play it cool, tell 'em that's my stage name but I'd prefer they call me Johnny now that we've met. Lotta the time, I'm lucky if they call me El-Jay. Sometimes I don't even try to correct them." (Yeah, like how this narrator made it about half a million words deep into this thing before I realized nobody was really calling him 'Little John' to his face in their recollections, at which point I asked him straight up if he doesn't want me referring to him as that in my writing and he replied much the same way: "Aw, if that's what everyone called me, that's what you should call me, too." I still feel like an asshole getting it wrong that whole time, but I don't have time to go back and rewrite this whole damned thing.)

But Annie was irritated on his behalf: "Och, that's not even the first time Robin's done somethin' obnoxious like that…"

"I'll be fair, he doesn't call me that himself much anymore," the bear conceded, sounding like he was just sick of discussing this. "But what's done is done, he's had his effect. And I get it…" Something between a groan and a sigh. "...Everyone's more inclined to listen to the handsome motherfucker in charge instead of his funny-lookin' backup."

Oh, now this line made the sheep worry. "Johnny, lad, don't say things like that about yourself-"

"Well, shit am I wrong?" the bear interrupted, then quickly looked apologetic. "...I'm sorry. Again, not angry at you, just…"

He trailed off and turned to look at the foxes, who were busy staring deeply into each other's eyes and softly speaking singsong to one another. They seemed like they couldn't be happier.

"That's what's pissin' me off about tonight," he explained, still scowling at Robin and Marian while they were none the wiser. "Look at 'em in beautiful-people love having their beautiful-people date with their beautiful-people romance before they go home and have beautiful-people sex. They're the main characters and we're the sidekicks in our own lives, and we don't get to have what they have, we can only get the cheap dollar-store brand of what they have because we can't be in the leading roles of this picture we call our lives because we're not beautiful."

Fuming, he turned back to look at his pretend girlfriend for the night. She looked horrified.

"Oh-!" He wasted no time burying his head in his hands when he realized his faux pas. "Jesus, I am so fucking sorry, I did not mean to drag you down with me like that! I don't think you're ugly, I just-"

"Johnny, Johnny, it's alright, calm down!" she urged him. "I didn't think ye were sayin' I was ugly!"

And she meant it; that horrified look had been due to how alarmed she was that this guy thought of himself this way when he'd shown no signs of it before. That said… she was actually telling herself to start interpreting it the other way. That's right, lass, he doesn't think you're beautiful, it's never going to happen, now stop fantasizing about it!

Johnny looked relieved - both that she wasn't offended, and that his plan to spill his guts right off the bat and seem as non-threatening as possible seemed to be going swimmingly. "Oh! Well, uh… glad you understand!"

"But what I don't understand is why ye said it!" Indeed, as far as she was concerned, he'd just spoken outright lies. "Ye aren't… disqualified from love like those two have based on ye looks… and ye aren't ugly anyway!"

The bear didn't look flattered, he just looked skeptical. "That is… an extremely controversial statement."

The ewe winced. "Have a lot of people told ye that you are?"

The bear winced right back. "I mean, how often does anybody just up and say that out loud to anyone? Alright, lemme put it this way: I have been called ugly plenty of times, versus exactly zero times being called handsome or any similar word."

Annie just nodded, wanting to show she was a good listener. And good God how she wanted to make that last part instantly inaccurate, but she told herself no, at least not yet. She had to have restraint.

"Whereas Rob?" Johnny continued. "Exact opposite. We really have had people we meet on the street say things to him like oh my God, you're just as handsome as I've heard! And I'd bet my bottom fuckin' dollar that nobody's ever called him ugly and meant it. Unless it was someone who just didn't like foxes, but I'd say those don't count."

She glanced over at the foxes, then back at the bear. Yeah… Annie didn't disbelieve Johnny's claim. But saying that would be the furthest thing from helpful.

"Just because he looks good doesn't mean ye don't," she explained, sounding like a professor stating a mundane fact.

"Doesn't it, though?" He remained steadfast. "Okay, y'know what? Fair enough, I'll rephrase: he outdoes me, and there ain't no arguing that. And anybody who's left the house in their life can tell ya that people just like people who look good better. Not even a sexual thing, just an 'us being dumb animals' thing. You can see it when people meet us, even when they're my fuckin' height, they're paying more attention to him."

The sheep was almost afraid to speak, not afraid of him hurting her, but of her hurting him with arguments that he'd heard and dismissed before. But she had to try.

"Well, Johnny, looks aren't everything-"

"Tell me about it! He's better than me at everything people like! Better looks, better personality, better skills, I know he's smarter than me…" He paused to stare out the adjacent window and think, a faint growl audible in his throat. "...And at the end of the day… this whole operation was his idea, so he gets points for a better heart than I have, too."

Annie forced a scoffing chuckle. "Well… ye're certainly stronger than him-!"

"I'd better be, I'm a fuckin' mauler! It'd be weird if I wasn't! But am I in better shape? God, no. Maybe if I was apple-shaped instead of pear-shaped…"

"...I'd say Robin's more celery-shaped."

"Eh, I'll give him carrot-shaped. But…" Johnny turned to glance at the couple again, but this time he just looked heartbroken - with the love he'd lost being that of his own life. "...It's down to the two of us and still, he's the leader and I'm the sidekick, and it just seems like that's the way the universe wants it since he just looks the part so much better. For fuck's sakes, I'm not even on the newest version of the wanted posters, it's just him! And I'm just supposed to be okay with that? That that's just my lot in life? Fuck, I don't even wanna be above him, I just don't wanna feel inferior."

He stopped to look back at Annie to see whether she'd tuned out of his whining yet.

She was hanging on every word.

"I love the guy," he continued, "he's my brother. But damn if I don't hate him for the way he makes me feel about myself…" And then he devolved into a self-loathing chuckle. "...And the worst part is… he's not even doing anything wrong! I just suck!"

The sheep really didn't know what to say. A conversation like this had been the last thing she'd been expecting tonight. But for the right reasons or not, she liked this guy, and she had to say something.

"Well… saying and believing these things about yourself won't help, lad-"

"I know!" the bear replied, not yelling, just speaking sharply. "But neither will saying I'm handsome when I know I'm an ugly fatass. Because you…"

He stopped and looked her in the eye, giving her the most fragile look he'd had all night. It almost broke her to look back.

"...You're saying all the right things to try to cheer me up. You are, and I appreciate that. But I don't just want comfort to deal with the things that suck. I either wanna fix the things that suck about me so they don't suck anymore… or better yet, let's make the world stop caring about the things Robin blows me outta the water at without even trying, then all us losers can be level on the playing field with people like him."

And he relaxed, feeling actually pretty good that he'd had the chance to vent about that all to someone new, and feeling confident he'd successfully made himself look pathetic enough that she'd never erroneously think he was hitting on her and subsequently get creeped out by him.

Annie just blinked, taking the sight of him in. This was a guy she'd only met once before in her life, and yet he'd trusted her with his deepest and darkest feelings. One thing she valued in people was the ability to be open about their flaws and their struggles. And after having encountered so many guys - such as Robin - who were far too cowardly to be as vulnerable as Johnny had been just now… oh my God, there was nothing better he could have done to steal her heart.

Johnny winced. "...Are you okay?"

The sheep didn't even realize she'd started breathing heavier. "Er… yeah, yeah, I…" She put her hands on the edge of the table and kept looking at him as her heart fluttered.

He cared about her safety! And he'd appreciated her efforts to make him feel better! And he wanted to take action and fix his life, how heroic! And his goal was to make the downtrodden not feel like losers anymore! That was at least as noble as Robin's venture, and she trusted this bear would do it without the fox's obnoxious bravado that she found so nauseating.

His mouth was hanging open from his sheer confusion. But then, it seemed to hit him: he'd overdone it! He hadn't just come across as pathetic, he'd come across as toxically self-loathing. He hadn't seemed pitiable, he'd just seemed like an asshole, a big angry bear who'd taken his frustration with himself out on an innocent. Oh… oh, shit.

"Wait, a-am I scaring you!?" he stammered. "FUCK, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-!"

"No," wheezed the ewe who'd begun panting. "I… you're fine, lad… you're… you're fine…" And how fine he was, making a point to ensure he wasn't inadvertently making her uncomfortable, something she rarely encountered in guys. Jeez, even her reflecting on how fucked up it was that this was how low her bar for men was didn't do anything to deter her excitement. Nor did seeing his own obvious discomfort dampen her mood; at this point, she'd do anything for a sensitive boy.

Indeed, to this bear who had, to the best of his knowledge, never encountered a female who'd found him attractive, this was one of the most perplexing things he'd ever seen. He squirmed in his seat and struggled to watch, his biggest concern being whether he should be more proactive just in case she was having a heart attack or something.

"...You're sure you're okay?"

"I'm sure, Johnny…" she moaned softly, running her hand through her head wool as she forced herself to look out the window and away from the grizzly of her dreams. "...Oh, God, I'm sure…"

Thoroughly convinced he'd just freaked this poor ewe out to the point that she was having palpitations, the bear clutched his head and looked down at the table. "Goddammit, Robin, why did you hafta put me in this situation!?" he muttered to himself before turning his head to look off at his friend. "If the police don't kill you, I will."

Luckily for the false couple, though, Annie was able to contain herself and never got too loud, so very few others in the restaurant even noticed her being physically overcome by euphoria. But one did, an antelope woman who'd just been seated with her husband across the dining room, having happened to gaze in the sheep's direction.

"Heh…" she nudged her husband, "I guess I'll have what she's having!"

He was paying no attention to her; he was preoccupied scowling at the menu. "They call themselves high-class but they list their prices? Do they want homeless people to eat here!?"

"Ronnie, calm down!" his wife hushed him. "I'm not excited about this place either, but it's not that much of a dump. Look around the room… none of these people look like they've ever spent the night sleeping under a tree in the woods or anything like that. There are no homeless people here."

Ronnie played along, but still didn't like what he saw. "Maybe not literal bums off the street, but a lot of these people look like they haven't earned the right to live like we do," he grumbled. "I mean, look at this guy! I bet he's gonna pay for his meal using food stamps!"

"I beg your pardon?" asked the kangaroo at the next table, turning around in his seat to face the antelope, the roo's wife joining in giving them a dirty look. Note that the guy didn't sound very Australian, however.

"Am I wrong?" Ronnie asked unabashedly while his wife buried her face in her hands. "Look at the way you're dressed." And in fairness, the antelopes were dressed much better than the roos, who seemed to be going for something a step above business-casual.

The female kangaroo answered: "Aw, are you really gonna tell me husband to his face that you think we're a couple a' bogans on account a' how we're dressed!?" (Now this lady had an accent, good God.)

But her partner put a hand on hers to mellow her out. "Lisa, don't get worked up over it, you're better than that."

"I don't care for people who speak ill of me husband," Lisa said to the antelopes, much more calmly.

"And you're sure you're not trailer trash with an outburst like that?" snarked Ronnie.

"Because it's somehow not trashy to accuse people two meters away from you of being poor!?" Lisa shot back.

"And if you must know," added the male kangaroo, "my girlfriend and I were planning on going to La Haute Couture downtown tonight, and we had much nicer attire set out for ourselves, but after a financial emergency devastated our vacation budget and we wound up here, we decided we'd best not overdress for a place like this." The stress he put on overdress was the tonal equivalent of an ahem.

But Ronnie still didn't look embarrassed. "I didn't work as hard as I did to succeed just to not have everyone around me know I'm more successful than them."

The roo man just raised an eyebrow. "You needed to work hard? Getting rich is easy if you're smart, sir."

Now Ronnie looked embarrassed.

But finally having a chance to speak, his wife cut in. "Uh, pardon me, sir, but… you mentioned coming here after a 'financial emergency' made you cancel your plans?"

"I did."

"Well… the same thing happened to us!" she explained, seeming overjoyed to have encountered another couple who could understand - who Ronnie hadn't already pissed off past the point of conversation. "We were at the beach and-!"

"Towers Beach?" the male kangaroo interrupted. "Which was supposedly the nice quiet one?"

"Th-the very same!"

"And then some fox with his arm in a cast started harassing you to pay his medical bills for him!?" added Lisa, prompting her boyfriend to again put a paw on hers.

"He bugged the shit outta you, too, huh?" growled Ronnie.

"And I was about to give him a few bucks," said the roo gentleman, "but then Lisa here told him off - and I was about to tell her to simmer down again, but then she reminded me; I grew up on this side of the Pacific, you see, but she didn't, and I'd forgotten just how much red foxes have ruined the homeland."

"Bloody poms," Lisa muttered, "colonialist cunts…"

"Sounds about right," the female antelope chuckled awkwardly, "the little sneaks… though this one was huge-"

"Which is why he was obviously a coyote," her husband interrupted. "But beyond that… why in the hell would you give a loser like that your money?"

The yankee kangaroo just smirked. "Because that's how I convey that I'm better than others: because I can always afford to give to beggars, every single time." He straightened out his collar. "And maybe they'll be inspired to get their act together like I do, you never know."

Once again, Ronnie looked gassed.

So his wife spoke: "But you guys think that fox stole our stuff while we all got up to watch the bear drown!?"

"Of course he did!" Lisa spat. "They're bloody foxes, it's what they do!"

"Though I'll concede," added her partner, "managing to figure out my pin number and empty our bank account? Pretty clever, I'll admit."

"Well, if they were really that clever," Ronnie sneered in an attempt to make himself look smart and cool again, "they'd've figured out which car in the lot was ours and looted that, too!"

"You mean your rental car," the kangaroo man corrected without missing a beat.

Ronnie thought this was his chance to one-up this guy. "No, we don't have to rent a car! We own it outright!"

The guy who still wasn't saying his name just to make it harder for me to refer to him chuckled. "You drove here?"

"Or do you live in this shitty city?" added Lisa. "We just assumed you were on holiday like we were!"

The antelopes had opposite reactions: while Ronnie's mouth hung open as he struggled to fight embarrassment and speak, his wife who also hasn't given her name yet perhaps specifically just to piss me off as a writer didn't see what was so mortifying about these accusations.

"Oh, yes, we drove here for vacation!" she answered politely. "We're not too far from home, we're from Baltimore!"

Lisa burst out laughing while her husband gave Ronnie a wry smile:

"You wanna accuse us of being poor while you're from Baltimore?"

"H-hey!" Ronnie protested. "There's nice parts of Baltimore - and I run them!"

"You're a politician in Baltimore?" the roo dude scoffed. "Sounds like you got rich doing a bad job, considering the state that city's in-"

"Not like a politician! I-I meant I'm a head honcho in the city's high society! Besides, where the hell are you from that's so swanky!?"

"Grew up in L.A., spent my adult life in San Francisco," the roo said with a shrug. "Wanted to see what all the fuss of Rehoboth Beach was, so I came here on my private jet… something I'm surprised you didn't do."

The antelope blinked and didn't say a word.

"...You have a private jet, don't you?"

Yet another one-up that at this point had Ronnie feeling not only like he'd been caught with his pants down, but also like they'd pulled down his underwear, laughed at what they saw, and kicked him in that region repeatedly.

"...No?"

The kangaroo shrugged. "Well, sometimes hard work just doesn't pay off, I guess."

"Well, dick-measuring contest aside, boys…" Ronnie's wife said as she gave her husband a dirty look. "It sounds like we're here under similar circumstances! Maybe we're not so different after all! By the way, I'm Marcia," she said as she offered the male kangaroo her hand.

He shook it while wearing a self-assured smile. "Ashley Underdown, the Fourth. The pleasure is mine." (Thank you, God, I was seriously tempted to cheat and awkwardly stick them introducing themselves in earlier.) He turned to Ronnie and offered a handshake. "It's one of those names Americans turned female but it's still male name in Britain and Australia, just like… eh, I dunno, Leslie or… or Robin. Before you say."

"I was about to say…" the antelope gentleman laughed nervously before accepting. "Uh… Ronald Hurd. Nice to meet ya, Ashley."

"Oh, please," the roo smirked. "Ashley is my father's name. Call me Mister Underdown."

Marcia rolled her eyes and turned her focus back to the table across the restaurant where the sheep had gotten a little too excited, at which point she realized that the bear she was sitting with looked oddly familiar.

As she did, vintage music played softly over the dining room speakers to set a relaxed tone for the evening. Hey, there's another way Le Bon Chevalier was more classy than a French equivalent to Olive Garden: while Olive Garden just played Italian-American artists like Frank Sinatratto singing in English, Le Bon Chevalier was playing actual French artists singing in actual French:

Non… rien de rien…!

Non… je ne regrette rien…!

Ni le bien qu'on m'a fait…

Ni le mal…

Tout ça m'est bien égal…!

But unbeknownst to the patrons, the restaurant's kitchen had music playing on a small boombox with lyrics in a different Romance language altogether:

Tengo la camisa negra…

Hoy mi amor está de luto…

Hoy tengo en el alma una pena…

Y es por culpa de tu embrujo…!

"...Dom, will you turn your fucking Mexican music off!?" the deer chef grumbled to his tayra coworker.

"Hey!" Domingo snapped right back. "This singer ain't even fucking Mexican! He's from Colombia!"

The third chef scoffed without looking at either of them, focusing instead on his work. "You really expect Jace of all people to give a shit?" said the hippo.

"Kwame, back me up here!" the buck protested. "There's no way you like the stuff he plays either!"

The hippo gave him all of a half-second glance. "Oh, I'm not lovin' the stuff he bumps, but I still respect that it's his turn to pick the music."

"I'm not disrespecting that it's his turn! I'm just saying, why's he gotta play something that he knows we're not gonna like!?"

Kwame sneered. "Jace, somebody lie to you and tell you I like the corny-ass whitetail music you play?"

"And he still puts up with it!" observed the tayra. "But you can't even pretend to tolerate it specifically because it's in Spanish!"

The deer stopped looking annoyed. "...Wait, I'm confused, are you angry because you think I'm not respecting that it's your night to pick the tunes or because you think I'm being racist?"

"BOTH!" hollered Domingo with his arms in the air. "Man, I was debating switching to Slayer, but now I'm gonna keep playin' my fucking Mexican music just to piss off you."

Jace rolled his eyes and got back to his cooking. "C'mon, Dom, if I was actually racist, I'd probably be too racist to let myself work here alongside you," he muttered as he took a hasty drag off the cigarette that had been hanging out of the corner of his mouth, blowing his smoke directly into the exhaust vent above the stove so as not to set off the alarm.

The tayra chuckled to himself. "Right, because you can totally get a better job than this without your rich-ass parents pulling strings for you-"

He was cut off by the buck picking up a frying pan just to slam it back down, sending droplets of grease flying everywhere. "MotherFUCKER-!"

"HEY, HEY, HEY!" the hippo barked as he restrained the deer from going after the mustelid. He paused to spit on the stove to put out a tiny fire that had started before continuing: "Hey, Jace, for the record, I don't think you're racist racist, I wouldn't let myself work here if I thought you were," Kwame explained as he let the buck go, "I just think you're really fuckin' stupid."

"WHAT!?"

"Hey," added Domingo, "it's not your fault you're an overprivileged rich kid who was never taught to behave yourself! Hell… heh, if you defended yourself by saying we were being assholes because we shouldn't reasonably assume that you know how to talk to people like us without sounding racist because you've never had to do that… man, that woulda been a legit argument!" the tayra laughed. "I wouldn't a' known what to say to that!"

Jace stopped trying to argue, just shaking his head and ashing his smoke into a pot of used cooking water.

Welcome to the kitchen of Le Bon Chevalier on a typical Saturday night. Under ideal circumstances, these three would handle the entire restaurant's cooking as such: the tayra would work on orders for smaller patrons, the hippo would take on dishes for very large customers, and the deer would handle cooking for everybody in between. And at this point, you might be wondering how big or small this place was that three chefs could handle the cooking for an entire restaurant, which would absolutely be a valid question. Well, uh… about that…

"Man, why the fuck are we so busy tonight?" Kwame asked the room. "This place is never at capacity!"

"Funny you should say that," Jace remarked, "I was talking to my ex-girlfriend from culinary school today, she works at Chez Marcel downtown and apparently they're getting a bunch of cancellations. Maybe a bunch of 'em realized they were being scammed into buying overpriced food as a status symbol?"

The hippo blew some air out of the side of his snout. "What, so this place is so much better?"

The deer just shrugged with a half-sarcastic smirk. "Hey, at least this place, you get what you paid for," he chuckled.

Meanwhile, the tayra came back from the fridge. "Yo, Jace, I might actually need your help with European stuff."

"Dude, just because I've been there a few times on vacation doesn't mean I'm an expert on the entire continent!"

"Yeah, but you're talking to two guys who ain't ever even been on an airplane, sooooo… you're the closest thing we got." And with this, Domingo held up a package of camembert, pointing to its expiration date. "Over there they write days before the months, right? Oh-five oh-nine oh-five. This cheese still good?"

Jace and Kwame gave spooked looks to one another.

"That's… actually a really good question," said the deer. "I, uh… I don't know, actually."

The hippo shrugged. "Just use it anyway. Can't be that bad. French cheese tastes like ass anyway, customers prolly won't even notice."

"Kwame, that's disgusting!" Jace protested.

"Aw, yeah, says the guy who literally be chain-smoking as he cooks."

"Hey, well since apparently I'm such a fucking expert on France now, lemme tell ya that everybody over there smokes like a fuckin' chimney! Adding sublte hints of tobacco probably makes this shit more authentically French than Chez Marcel could ever hope to be." The buck turned back to his smaller coworker. "Was that cheese made over here or over there, Dom?"

"Doesn't say," answered the tayra who'd been turning the package over in his hands trying to find exactly that information.

"Well, is it written in English or French?" asked the hippo.

"Both. Man, I ain't never seen this brand before in my life. What kinda stuff did Danny start buying?"

"Should we just ask Melanie?" wondered Jace. "She off the phone yet?"

Speak of the devil, she was: "GodDAMMIT!" the middle-aged hare growled as she rounded the corner. "That was my husband, he just got a call from the police, Allison got a fucking DUI! OOOHHHHH, that girl is in SO much trouble!"

"Oh no, a college-age kid getting cut off from their stable-income parents after getting a DUI!?" jeered Dom. "Well, God forbid she winds up working in a shitty restaurant kitchen-!"

"Oh, hush!" spat Jace. "I blew a point-oh-NINE! That was under the legal limit when we were kids! Don't call me an asshole for doing something that wasn't considered immoral in our lifetimes!"

"Nobody said the word asshole but you, man," noted Kwame nonchalantly.

"And nice to see you're making my daughter's mistake all about you, Jace," the head chef muttered as she walked briskly around the kitchen, doffing her apron and chef's jacket while collecting her necessities.

"Hey, Dom started it-!"

"Can I please leave you boys to fend for yourselves tonight?" Melanie begged. "God fucking dammit, Julie's gonna kill me for leaving her here alone…"

Indeed, Le Bon Chevalier's owner and founder, Chef Daniel Beach, virtually never showed his face at the restaurant anymore, spending all his time at his second restaurant, an experimental and fledgling Greek/Ethiopian/Korean-Barbecue/Puerto Rican fusion kitchen in Rehoboth Beach (no relation), while Executive Chef and de facto General Manager Trevor had the power to set his own schedule and therefore always gave himself Friday and Saturday nights off. So on weekend evenings, operational duties were left to be split jointly between Head Chef Melanie and Julie the maître d'.

The hippo shrugged. "Ain't gon' be easy, but I'm guessin' we ain't got a choice in the matter."

"Ya got that right…" the hare grumbled. "Jace! You're getting ash in your pot again!"

"...Shit, my bad," the deer muttered bashfully as he grabbed a spatula and pushed the cigarette droppings away from the food.

"I shouldn't even be letting you smoke in here anymore, the only reason the health inspector passed us last time is because Domingo busted him not flushing his shit in the men's room."

"You're welcome," quipped the tayra. "...Uh, by the way, Mel, is this cheese still good?"

"I don't know, my background's in Italian cuisine, where the cheese doesn't taste like coagulated vomit. But… guys…" She paused by the door before walking out, and despite letting out an exhausted sigh, she had a faint, grateful smile on her face. "...Thank you. Tonight's gonna suck, but it'll all be over soon. Just remember that."

"Yeah," the buck muttered to himself, "if I blow my fuckin' brains out first-"

"JACE! Negativity is not conducive to teamwork!" But Melanie softened one more time before seeing herself out. "If you boys need anything, find Julie. Good luck."

"Good luck dealing with your irresponsible daughter," Domingo said to the door that was flapping shut.

And I think that's quite a good introduction to the Three Stooges in the kitchen. Alright, I think it's safe to move on to - no, wait, wait, hold up, hold on. Someone else was here.

"You'll never guess who's here," said the Arctic fox waiter as he went through the door mere seconds after Melanie had left. "...You guys know about that crazy-tall British fox dude who lives in the woods?"

Kwame and Domingo's faces lit up immediately.

"Yeah, of course we know him!" the mustelid beamed. "He's a badass!"

But Jace just looked confused. "I'm sorry, did you say he lives in the woods? Are we talking about a homeless guy?"

"Well he's here with his girlfriend who I was starting to think wasn't even real," Trent explained as he made his way towards the wine rack closet.

"And not just him, mes amis!" added the chamois who walked in not long after the Arctic had. "His ursid companion from the Américaine South is here as well!"

"For real?" asked the hippo. "God damn, those two are living legends! Lemme know what the mauler wants, Frenchie, I wanna get his order right!"

"Wait, a British guy and a Southern guy?" The perplexed deer couldn't help but draw connections to earlier points in the conversation. "You guys think that I'm racist but you're fawning over a couple a' guys from the two cultures that basically invented racism as we know it?"

"Assuming they're racist because of where they're from? That's pretty racist, Jace!" joked Domingo. "Plus these guys don't get reallyfuckin' angry whenever they hear music in Spanish! These dudes are cool! Unlike you."

"Well then, what's so cool about them!? Don't just leave me in the dark, enlighten me!"

Kwame chuckled to himself. "Naw, we're gonna leave ya in the dark on this one, man. Someone like you wouldn't get it!"

Jace wanted to counter that such a sentiment would simply not be productive towards mutual understanding, but even more than that, he wanted to make this about himself again, completely misreading the reason why the hippo thought he wouldn't get it in the process.

"Trent?" he called back to the Arctic fox. "Do you think I'm racist?"

"Jace asks the Eskimo…" the tayra narrated under his breath with a snicker.

"Uhhh, I wouldn't say 'racist'," the server called to the cook as he and the chamois disappeared into the back. "I would just say 'sheltered'." And before the buck could respond, the waiter was out of sight.

This did not stop the buck from responding anyway, loudly: "SHELTERED!? You think I'm sheltered!?" he fumed in the general direction of the wine chest. "I'm the only one of the three of us who's left the fucking country, let alone the continent! Hell, the Mexican guy hasn't even ever been to Mexico! He was born in, like, Nebraska or Iowa or something! I've traveled the world, how much less sheltered can you be!?"

Unbeknownst to him, Domingo rolled his eyes at this while Kwame muttered quieter than Jace could hear: "Shit, he really don't get it…"