69. "Without Fear and Beyond Reproach (The Good Knight), Pt. 2"

A few minutes later, Trent returned with a bottle of red wine for his fellow foxes.

"Alright, my personal favorite of the wines we have on selection," the Arctic explained as he uncorked and poured the wine into a pair of glasses. "Un vin rouge très bon et très… très, um… très beaucoup!"

"Merci, merci, nos monsieur renard à la nord!" Robin replied as he watched the waiter serve the drink smoothly and skillfully.

"Oui oui," added Marian, "merci, Thirty!" She then covered her mouth as she chuckled. "Oh, I'm sorry, Trent, I had to say that at least once!"

Trent didn't know his French numbers beyond twenty, so he didn't get it; all he knew was that the vixen had just called him the same thing Gaëtan often did. "Aw, it's… it's fine. Um… by the way, sir," he said as he turned to his fellow tod, "uh… the chefs in the back recognize you too, and they want me to let you know how much they appreciate you and your friend's work, and that they're gonna be taking good care of you guys tonight on the food front."

"Ah! Well please, Monsieur Trente," said Robin cheerily, "pass along the word to them that the pleasure of service is all ours, and that my friend and I would surely love to meet them ourselves after our meals! But in the meantime…" He started digging in the breast pocket of the suit-jacket he was wearing. "...How many chefs recognized me?"

The server was about to say three, but he realized he probably shouldn't include Jace the Spoiled Former Rich Kid. "Uh… two?"

The Englishman stopped digging and raised an eyebrow. "Two chefs? For this whole restaurant?"

"...Two who recognized you." Technically true.

"Ah, alright then!" Robin then pulled out a bunch of folded sheets of paper and placed them on the table. "And simple arithmetic tells me that two… plus tu…" He pointed at Trent, very impressed with his own wordplay. "...equals three! Would you have a pen I could borrow, sir?"

Trent gave him the one he used for his notepad. "Uh… sure?"

The famous fugitive accepted the pen and spread out the papers to reveal what they were: Wanted posters; specifically, the first draft that had featured both of the remaining Merry Men, not the new version only bearing the face of the fox. And upon these, Robin began to do that thing he'd done for the two women he'd met at St. Ursula's the other day, 'signing' his name by printing it calligraphically, turning some straight lines into arrows and some of the circles into targets.

…He got as far as the 'R' on the first page before he realized the pain of writing his signature that way was just going to be too much. It had been moderately uncomfortable for him to sign for the ladies that day, yes, but this time it was just excruciating. And something about writing on a flat surface this time actually made it harder to hold the pen with his cast. Therefore, reluctantly, he switched to cursive; yes, he thought it was classist and elitist, but a vague scribble would be much easier and less painful to render than a bunch of deliberate lines. And while it still wouldn't look anything like his actual signature thanks to his limited range of motion, in all likelihood, the recipients wouldn't know that. So he powered through the pain; this was for them.

And though he put up a valiant effort to smile through the discomfort and obfuscate any hints that he was in profound agony, he was still mortal. Mari and Trent could both see his smile morph into more of a grimace as he soldiered on, and Robin's eyebrows were getting kind of squirrelly. And the waiter found it especially jarring when he put the pieces together; with the Englishman's suit sleeve covering most of his arm, the Arctic hadn't seen the green-painted plaster sticking out and covering the redhead's hand - yeah, Trent had noticed how thick the sleeve was compared the other one, but he'd just figured all that archery had given Robin a seriously jacked right forearm.

"Uh… this is none of my business, but um… can I ask what happened to your arm?" the server asked reluctantly. "Like, is it a sprained wrist, or…?"

"Oh, you needn't be bashful!" warmly replied Robin, who had very much been hoping Trent had been bashful so he didn't have to focus on his arm screaming in agony. "Clean break after falling out of a tree during a skirmish. But with all my swashbuckling, gravity and I have never had the most jovial relationship, so after all this time, I can't fault her for getting in one good swing at me!" With this, he finished his sloppy signatures, but as he handed them to the waiter, his fan certainly didn't seem to mind their quality.

"Oh, uh… th-thank you, sir! I… I wasn't expecting this! But if I knew about your arm beforehand, I would've told you not to worry about it-"

"Oh, nonsense!" Robin scoffed with a dismissive wave. "The pleasure of seeing someone smile outweighs any pinches and pangs I might feel! Now then, Monsieur Trente, if you see my friend down there…" He pointed to the bear with the pen before returning it to the Arctic. "...he'll gladly sign for you as well. We love meeting fans. But please, as a favor to him: when he sees I've already signed, mention you just happen to be my server. He's a good lad; he doesn't deserve to feel like he's second-choice."

Trent smiled and gave a tight, firm nod as he accepted his pen. "Thank you so much," he said, then he started off - and got about three steps before stopping to address them again. "Oh! Uh, by the way, did you two know what you wanted to actually order? Like… food-wise?"

"Oh, we'll just need a few more minutes," Marian answered sweetly. "We have a lot of catching up to do as it is, so please, Trent, don't hurry yourself for us!"

"If, uh, if you insist! And, and don't hesitate to call me over if you need me!" And off he went to get a signature from the second half of the band.

And thus she turned her eyes back to her beau. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Feeling splendid as sunshine, my love!" he beamed - before he toned down the chipperness. "...Was it that obvious?"

"It was, unfortunately."

Robin forced himself to keep smirking as he looked down at his busted arm and shook his head, groaning under his breath. "...Right…" he murmured, "you wouldn't think I'd need to brush up on my acting skills considering it's essentially my daily work, but-"

"Oh, Robin, don't fret over it," the vixen implored him, "some things are just too much to hide. Nobody's thinking less of you for having a minor moment of weakness."

The tod glanced at her for hardly a second as she said this, otherwise continuing to give his arm a melancholic gaze. But he then suddenly perked up and raised his wine glass - with his other arm. "But cheers, to love and life itself!"

Marian reciprocated. "Cheers!"

Their glasses clinked; she took a dainty sip and he took a very hearty gulp or four.

"Ah, pardon my boorishness." He sounded apologetic, but he didn't look it. "After that, I could stand to deaden my nerves!"

She covered her mouth and chuckled. "Oh, there's nothing to pardon, Robin - you are a self-proclaimed merry man after all, aren't you?"

He chuckled right back. "Isn't that the truth? Johnny and I actually tried to cut back for a while there to keep our minds sharp, but we realized just the other day… if we're not the Merry Men, then who are we!?" He paused to chug the rest of his glass. "When there's joy in the resistance, even if we lose, we still win! But without joy… we'd never win!"

…Okay, now it was Mari's turn to flex her thespian muscles, by not letting her face show that once again Robin had said something she'd found to be… unplaceably off, at least coming out of his mouth. And not the part where the boys had experimented with sobriety and decided it wasn't for them - no, that sounded exactly like the Robin she remembered. In any case, she decided not to dwell on it and instead changed the subject.

"But that was very nice of you to tell Trent not to let Little John feel like an afterthought. No wonder you two are so close; you really are a good friend to him."

"Ah, I appreciate the kind words, my dear, but don't praise me too much," the tod said as he tried to refill his glass by pouring the bottle with his non-dominant hand - spilling a few drops here and there, but using the napkin in his lap to sop them up when he was done. "He's been feeling dreadfully low about himself lately; he's grown bitter about being seen as my sidekick."

"Oh, dear…" The vixen snuck a glance at her fiancé's ursine companion. "...I can see why that would eat the poor lad up… I must ask, is he seen as an unequal partner in your… er… well, your partnership?"

And to this, Robin looked at her lovingly; he was looking at the only person in the world he could trust with the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth (well, except for… some things). He felt completely comfortable saying exactly what he was thinking.

"Well… he is my sidekick…" He seemed to trail off, wanting not to talk about him but just to take in her visage.

Said visage looked completely blank as she gave a tight nod. "...I see."

"Of course, I'd give him a better title than that if this were anything formal - lieutenant to my general might be fitting! - but he does most certainly fill the role of the sidekick." A pause as he took another swig. "...He's a good sidekick… he's my favorite sidekick… he's the sidekick I've always delegated leadership to when there were still a bunch of us and I knew I wouldn't be available for something… and he knew that, he knows that, and he was happy with that until these last few weeks, but now he's suddenly begun taking it as this great personal slight that that's his role."

"...I see," she repeated. "Well, I, er… I can understand if he finds it frustrating that he's… well, the number two in a group of two-"

"He was also number two when there were five of us," he interjected, starting to sound frustrated himself. "That doesn't mean I don't see him as an equal as a person. He knows I love him like the brother Robert never let Will be for me, he knows I'd do anything for him… but in our line of work, as it were, yes, I am most assuredly the leader and he is the foremost among my followers. I'm the one who comes up with eighty percent of our ideas whereas his greatest asset is his loyalty. And as my follower, he's been getting more respect than the poor lad had ever received before in his life, and only recently has that ceased to be good enough for him."

Mari wasn't afraid to look unconvinced. "...Would you say you see yourself as his boss?"

Robin looked vaguely displeased. "When we're simply hanging out? Of course not. But when we're getting down to business? …Of course."

"...That still sounds rather unequal to me."

He took a breath before continuing: "And leadership often can result in inequality, it often does, absolutely, you're right about that. But not inherently. When done properly, exerting good leadership will not make one's followers feel inferior; they'll feel like their specialized role is equal to the one who happens to excel at strategy and decision-making. Of course, good leadership has always been scarce to find…"

And he trailed off with what seemed to a rather, shall we say, bitter chuckle, shaking his head at the empty space next to her head; but soon enough his eyes met hers again and he put his good hand on hers, giving her a look that was deeply earnest… and just a bit flirtatious.

"Marian, darling… don't kid me. You know that my rare ability to be an inspiring and compassionate leader is one of the things you find so… so able to have you smitten over me. You all but said so yourself that night four years ago."

Feeling called out, she was flummoxed for a second: "I… I did say that-"

"Which is why I frankly find it so baffling that you seem to be siding with him on this one." He wasn't sounding flirty anymore.

And as such, she pulled her paw out from under his. "Well, Robin, unless I'm mistaken, my intellect and my courage to disagree were things you always professed to find attractive about me."

The tod's face slowly morphed to wear a smile that made him seem confident to accept that he'd lost that point - but she knew him too well, she knew he was embarrassed. "And there indeed is that lovely wit of yours! Ah, tell me, my love: what specifically do you find objectionable about what I've said?"

The vixen's face twisted for a moment as she tried to formulate her feelings into words. "...A few things. For one… I simply don't think you can be serious with your philosophy on good leadership; even with perfect leadership, the best you can hope for is that your followers feel happy and fulfilled to serve someone above them-"

"While those good leaders, in turn, serve those below them!" he interrupted as politely and jovially as possible. "My apologies for cutting you off, but I've heard this argument before, and honestly, I think we agree on all but the semantics. Yes, leaders are definitionally superiors, but if they're doing their jobs correctly, it will all balance out. The fact of the matter is that I'd be a bloody hypocrite to have devoted my life to serving the servants of society if I didn't regard myself in kind. I couldn't afford to see it your way even if I wanted to. Again… it's not you I'm frustrated with."

He then took another long sip of wine, and this seemed to make him smile.

"And honestly, Marian… I do miss our stimulating debates! Challenging, riveting… please, continue."

Classic Robin: according to him, they never argued, they merely debated. "...Well, my other major point is… blimey, Robin, you said it yourself: it's down to just the two of you! You shouldn't be treating him like an accessory when he's all you have left!"

Still smiling, Robin nevertheless raised an eyebrow. "...I have you back now, don't I?"

…That cheeky, faux-innocent look of his. So much of her wanted to reassure him that he did have her; but even more of her wanted to give him a lesson in empathy that she would never have guessed he needed.

"...But who else does he have, Robin?"

That did the trick. Immediately the tod's self-impressed smirk melted away, replaced with a look of someone who'd just forgotten something important.

"...I see your point," he confessed, sighing through his nose as he looked off at his bear friend a few tables down. But then another cheeky grin came upon him: "Well, he and Annie would genuinely make an adorable couple if they wanted-!"

"Oh, for the love of God, Robin!" the vixen growled as she buried her face in her hands for a moment; when she looked up at him again, he was wearing a particularly awkward smile, seeming like he knew on some level that he was legitimately pissing her off but not wanting to believe he was capable of such a gaffe.

As for her… oh, there were a lot of juicy things she wanted to say about such a potential relationship between their plus-ones, plenty of things, but now was not the time for any of them. So she got back on topic:

"...You said you would do anything for your friend, yes?" she began carefully. "...Would you stop touting yourself as his boss, then, if you knew it made him feel bad?"

But that question only made Robin seem confident all over again. "Ah, but I assure you, there is no need! I treat him no differently than I have for any of the past seven years-"

"But that's the thing, Robin!" she pleaded in what bordered on a harsh whisper, not wanting neighboring tables to overhear. "Things are different! With just the two of you, your dynamic isn't the same as when there were several of you! It just isn't! You can't treat him the same as you always have!"

…Need I even tell you, Dear Reader? Robin looked nothing but calm, cool, and collected. "I see your point, Marian, and in another situation, I'd very well be inclined to agree. But I must beg you to simply trust me on this: it's been down to him and I for nearly two and a half years now; it's only recently that he's gotten crabby. He was fine with our dynamic until literally just these last few weeks. Therefore I have reason to believe that the issue doesn't lie in the way I regard him nor myself; what has changed is…" Only now did he start to look a little less composed. "...we've become preoccupied recently with the idea that we're not making any progress towards our goal. If anything…" He pulled up his right sleeve to show off more of his cast. "...we may be losing momentum. Now, another reason I see myself as the leader? Because this has always been my passion project-"

"And Will's."

He blinked and took a moment to breathe through that. "...And my brother's, yes. But I was the one who put it into motion - Johnny merely accepted the invitation to go along for the ride. And for that reason…" He looked off towards his friend again. "...I fear the poor lad may be getting some buyer's remorse. He's devoting more of his life to this than he expected and now he's growing dissatisfied. To put it bluntly, my dear…" He turned back to look at her. "...I fear after all these years, he may be going mad."

Marian looked spooked, but skeptical. "So…" she nodded slowly, "what you're saying is…"

"Is that the old boy's losing his bloody marbles. Acting like such a baby, whining that he's missed his chance to find true romance like we have and refusing to even talk to women when I offered to help him play catch-up! And… and asking me plainly to start talking more about the things I'm not good at so he can feel better about himself!" He blew some air out the side of his snout. "...And I say this with love because I know he's so much better than that! But when a man is… just devolving before your eyes… what other conclusion can I draw other than that I haven't changed, he has?"

She looked understanding, but still deep in thought as she gazed back at him. "Well… would you say… he hasn't realized he's changed?"

"I would," he nodded emphatically, "absolutely."

"...Well, who's to say you haven't changed and haven't realized it yourself?"

To this, the famous outlaw's face seemed to show a slideshow of emotions in the course of hardly three seconds: first confused, then offended, then curious, then finally amused. "...Ahhh, clever girl!" he chuckled, shaking a finger at her. "Clever, clever girl! You caught me making a logical fallacy fair and square there! Oh, but it would not be enough to simply say I think not…" He put his paw together and up to his chin as he stared at her with a look of pensive determination, then pointed at her again. "I'll tell you what… who knows me better than you? If I seem in any way to be different from the man you remember, you speak up and say so, and I will listen, as you are the expert on the topic, after all. And don't you hesitate to do so! I'll let you decide if I've gone mad me-self after all this time in the forest."

And she nodded understandingly. "I will. I won't hesitate."

She said this as she was hesitating. She was already getting the vibe that something was different about him, but it was less of a notion and more of just a feeling, something she couldn't quickly and eloquently put into words. She wasn't scared of angering him, but she was terrified of hurting him - and as much as she felt it had needed to be said, she feared she'd already done that by mentioning Will. So she would save such a statement for when she could more confidently enunciate what exactly she felt was not as she remembered of him.

Not that he gave her much time to speak in the moment, either. "Ah, pardon my rudeness, my darling," he began as he stood from his seat, smiling nevertheless, "but my arm is still screaming at me for making that mistake and now I think I ought to see the man in question about that!" He pushed his chair in, gave her a quick peck on the cheek, took a swig of wine for the road, and went to go check in with his friend-slash-sidekick.

It all happened so fast, Marian didn't have a chance to reply even if she wanted to. "...Okay?" she said the half-empty wine bottle on the table.

But what had their friends been up to during all this? Let's rewind a little:

Right around the time that Trent was delivering wine to the foxes, Annie had been returning to her table from the washroom to find Gaëtan delivering the wine they'd ordered as well as a plate of complimentary French bread with butter and assorted cheeses. Johnny sure looked excited for it.

"There ya are!" the bear greeted the sheep as she sat back down. "Just in time for the baguettes while they're fresh! I swear, this is some of the best bread I've ever had in my life!"

But that didn't totally add up for her. "Er… but the bread just got here, laddie. How would ye know?"

Her pretend date looked markedly less excited now. "Uh…" he chuckled nervously, "this mayyy or may not be the second plate-"

"Third," the chamois cut in without even blinking, keeping his eyes on the wine he was pouring.

Thoroughly annoyed, Johnny rolled his eyes at this, but then leaned in towards Annie, put on an awkward smile, and put a big paw up alongside his snout to whisper something he didn't want the waiter to hear: "Well in my defense, you were gone for a WHILE!"

She replied with a little nervous nasal laugh of her own. Okay, yeah, that was a little less than charming. She couldn't help but think that that entire trip to the ladies' room could have been rendered unnecessary if he'd just been that… like that a little bit earlier. Eh, but then again… she was old enough to know by now that no man is perfect…

"Would you be ready to order?" the waiter asked with an air of patience that was clearly so fake that it would have sounded less impatient if he'd just told them point-blank to hurry up and pick an entrée.

"Uh… hell, I ain't actually looked that close at the menu yet…" the bear mumbled as he made a point to start looking now.

"No, no, monsieur, do not let me rush you," Gaëtan insisted unenthusiastically, "I will be back in a few minutes." And with nothing more to say, he left.

With the chamois gone, Johnny could now more openly scoff at him. "Shit, if you needed proof the waiter was a genuine Frenchie! Just rudely correcting me when he coulda said nothin' at all… And the son of a bitch didn't even ask if you wanted anything yet!"

Still shaken that her fake partner had been very observant of her leave of absence, she found herself struggling for words: "Och, well, I… I haven't looked too closely either, so it's no problem to me…"

But the outlaw just shook his head while his eyes looked somewhere up and to the right. "I'm really tempted to undertip the cocksucker, but if word gets out that I did that… HOO boy, that'd be bad for our image! But, uh…" He leaned in again and spoke to her in a soft, quiet, genuine voice: "...for real, though, were you okay in there?"

"I… why do you ask?" she winced.

"Well…" He sort of shrugged and smirked nervously as his eyes darted around for a moment before returning. "...Truth be told, I decided to use the men's while you were in the women's, and while I walked by the door, I definitely heard screaming in there."

Klucky looked downright haunted. "I-I-I, uh-"

But to his credit, Johnny clearly understood that this was an uncomfortable conversation topic and made it as gentle as he possibly could: "Hey, hey, don't worry!" he said with his paws up. "You're among friends! With all the trash I eat, I scream going to the bathroom more often than I'd like to admit… God knows on at least one occasion, Rob's threatened to shove an arrow down my throat so I don't blow our cover when I'm using the latrine! And, y'know, you mentioned you love junk food maybe as much as I do…"

…Was this his sense of humor or did he seriously not get it? "Er… you said you… could hear me-!?"

"Don't worry, don't worry! Like I said, I only heard ya because I was walking by. Pretty heavy door, I don't think anybody else in the dining room noticed." A beat passed before he started fishing in his back pocket. "Hey, I carry some imodium with me at all times for stuff like this if you need it, not really convenient to have stomach issues when you're always on the run… d'ya need some?"

…Oh my God, he wasn't screwing with her. He actually thought she'd… wow, he actually didn't get it. A lot of women might find that naiveté to be a major turn off, but there was something she liked about his strange sense of innocence, and not to mention how he was willing and able to help her… No, Annie, we just got that out of our bloody system, don't start that all over again!

"I mean…" he continued shyly, "...might hafta smash the pill up because it's supposed to be for a guy my size, so, y'know, for you-"

She waved her hooved hands to urge him to desist. "No, no, Johnny, I, er… I, er, I think it's all out now!"

"You sure?" he asked, looking concerned. "You sure there ain't more comin' down the pipe?"

Och, there might be if you keep being so bloody adorable, lad… "I know me body, I'm fairly certain."

"Ah, you're right, my bad," the bear said as he sat back in his seat, putting his paws up while his arms and wrists stayed on the table. "You know best, I shouldn't a' prodded-"

"No, no, it's fine, I… are ye alright?"

She was right to ask; he clearly looked unhappy. But not with her, per se.

"Aw, you didn't do nothin' wrong, I'm just pissed at myself for making things too weird," he explained without ever looking directly at her. "I was tryna play it just a little weird because… like, I was thinking, 'hell, if I play this pretend date straight, she might actually think I had Rob pressure Marian into arranging a FAKE-fake date for us so I could make a real pass at you-'"

"Och, lad, I assure you, the thought never crossed me mind!" she worriedly assured him. Now she was anxious that she'd made him uncomfortable - again.

But he just put on a sardonic smirk. "Course it didn't; to get that far, I'd have to play it smoother than I'm capable of!" This was followed by a very discontent sigh, then: "But what I mean is… truth be told, I've been making a point to make myself look like as much of a high-strung dweeb as possible so you wouldn't feel like I was any kind of a danger to you."

He finally looked at her. And she looked bewildered.

Oh shit, she'd taken it the wrong way! "Not, not, shit, not, uh… not like I was trying to trick you or anything, just…" A quick pause to catch his breath after stammering. "...I mean, we both got dragged into one of the most awkward situations I can think of, you don't wanna be here any more than I do. I'm doing this all for your comfort. But just like before, it looks like it's backfiring."

Little did he know, though, she didn't need that much convincing. The sheep was tempted to reply as quickly as possible herself, but she knew she'd be a sputtering mess just as well if she did, so she took a moment to compose a thoughtful answer. "...Well, laddie," she began as she put a hooved hand on one of his, "let me start by sayin'... I appreciate that ye'd do all that to make me feel at ease." (Oh, God, did she ever.) "But… ye needn't be anybody but yeself around me! Please, Johnny, don't be someone else for me! I already know ye and I already like ye!"

But Johnny looked… less than convinced. "We met once, and that was almost half a decade ago."

"Aye, and we shared a dance, didn't we?" Klucky asked, daring to smile wider as she did.

This did not reassure him. "Yeah, and that was completely platonic, but I dunno if you knew that, and that's part of the reason why I was afraid you'd think this night was a setup."

She giggled in a way that she hoped would inspire confidence in him, as if to signal that this was a safe and lighthearted conversation. "Ayyye, and ye also called yer coyote friend babe, dinnae make me think ye wanted to get into his pants!"

He seemed to physically flinch at that. "I said that to Alan!? You REMEMBER that!?"

…And she was quiet for a moment as she reflected on whether she'd said too much by admitting she was hanging onto that memory of the two Merry Men she had enormous crushes on, starting to actually kind of worry a little that he would now put the pieces together and realize she had on at least a few occasions fantasized about a scenario where Johnny's line to Alan that night hadn't been in jest, but quickly enough she realized that the poor bear was too spooked himself to jump to such a conclusion, and decided instead to try a new way to give him comfort:

"...What I remember, lad, is that ye were quite the gentleman!"

A moment passed as he processed that, and soon enough he looked like a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He let out a faint snicker himself as he squeaked: "Uh… yeah, that's right! I'm a Southern gentleman, so you don't have to worry about me! A Southern gentleman knows better than to bother a woman by hitting on her!"

Och, Johnny, don't you bait me like this. Indeed, a lot of other women would find his excessive self-deprecation off-putting, but she was here for it. And emboldened after such a perfect set-up line like that, she had to shoot her shot and come the closest she had so far to straight-up flirting with him:

"Heh, er… well then, I have to ask… if ye don't put yeself out there, how will ye ever know when a lass would welcome the opportunity to get to know ye?"

He stopped smiling, seemed to ponder that for a moment, and finally shrugged. "Fuck if I know."

…And a moment after that, after waiting for some sign that he was just making witty commentary on how difficult courtship was but never getting any such signal, she finally realized he wasn't joking.

"...Honestly?" he continued after a time, again only meeting her eyes for a moment here and there as he spoke but otherwise looking everywhere else. "...It really seems like one of those things where you just gotta get lucky. All the people I know who're in stable relationships basically fell ass-backwards into them after meeting them at work or in college or something. Like…" He threw his paws up and gestured at the foxes. "We're playing bodyguard for a couple who've known each other since before either of them even knew what a libido was, for fuck's sakes. And… I know that's just one example, but…" He looked very intently off into space. "...swear to God, it seems to me that the best romances all came about by dumb luck. If you gotta look really hard for love, you're probably forcing something that was never meant to be."

Annie was speechless - not for lack of ideas of what to say, but for a feeling none of them would be appropriate. The only thing she was thinking with regards to his little monologue was how much she would love to be his luck - but clearly she wasn't gonna say that, so she decided to carefully backtrack a little.

"...May I ask a bit of a personal question?"

He shrugged. "Be my guest," he said flatly.

"So… me dad made a point to teach me brothers how to talk to women… and I always just thought all fathers did that with their sons. Did… did yer dad not do that?"

She was barely done with that sentence before he groaned and covered his eyes with his paws.

"Och, I'm sorry!" she squirmed. "I-I shouldn't have assumed your dad was around-"

"Naw, my old man was in the fuckin' picture alright…" he grumbled as he raised his head again. His eyes addressed the wine glasses they hadn't touched as he spoke: "Papa Bear was a… well, he was a bear, we famously make shitty parents. So I was… I was pretty sick as a cub, I guess ya could say, with a condition that I… grew out of, as an adult, ahem… but he never saw that, and by the time I… by the time I was supposed to hit puberty, he'd already made up his mind that no female would ever wanna fuck me anyway, so he never bothered telling me about the birds and the bees." He blew a lot of air out of his nose as he buried his mouth into the crook between his thumb and forefinger, staring out the window for a moment before continuing. "...But to answer your question about whether that's a father-son thing? Well… my brother was even more of a fuck-up than I was, but unlike me, he was one of the most popular guys in school; Dad probably thought Baltimore would be the kind a' guy who'd knock up women left and right with casual flings, so in his head, my brother didn't need any extra help. So… I dunno actually whether most dads straight-up teach their sons how to pick up chicks. Sorry."

The ewe was sorry she'd asked. "...Your dad sounds like a fucking arsehole."

"He was," the bear answered to the dusk outside the restaurant.

"...I'm sorry, what was your brother's name!?"

"Baltimore, it runs in the family, he's the Third, but he was a fucking hipster who was into jazz and shit, so he had this stupid fucking nickname-" But Johnny put a hand over his eyes again and cut himself off. "I'm sorry, I really don't wanna talk about this-"

"Och, it's okay, it's okay!" Annie insisted. "I'm sorry, Johnny, I wouldn't've asked if I'd've known it was… somethin' so sensitive…"

He looked around for a moment before looking back at her. "That's alright… honestly, still preferable to talking about my complete lack of game in terms of… y'know, the game." He scoffed. "This is the part where if Rob were here, he'd go on a fuckin' lecture tryna teach me exactly what to do, which would all boil down to no advice at all, just basically 'be yourself,' showing he once again doesn't realize how fucking easy his life is because it doesn't even fuckin' register with him that we aren't all as inherently fucking attractive inside and out like he is, so that 'be yourself and people will like you' hippie shit doesn't work for a good majority of us-"

"Johnny," Kluck suddenly said sharply. "We've already had this conversation. I like you as ye are, lad, ye don't need to keep comparin' yeself to him. We don't need to keep talkin' about stupid Robin."

The bear seemed to think about that for a moment before replying with a tremendously sarcastic chuckle. "...Right… we ain't gotta talk about him… not like he's the main character or anything…" He turned his head around to give the foxes a look again. "We don't need to talk about how our Jesus-freak friend told me to my face that ol' Rob might as well have been Christ Himself while I'm his Saint Peter, we ain't gotta talk about that…"

His eyes seemed locked on the fox who he'd been finding himself struggling to call his friend recently. Robin, in a lively debate with Marian, was none the wiser.

Johnny guffawed. "Hell, maybe this story ends with that limey bastard gettin' crucified, too…"

Annie, meanwhile, was stunned. "...Someone said that to ye!? That Robin was Jesus and you were only Saint Paul!?"

"Mmhmm," the bear barely hummed in response, not looking at her, his gaze focused on the one everyone called his leader. He looked determined at first, like he was going to somehow find a way to get the respect to which he felt entitled - but then his expression shifted to something that looked a lot more concerned. "...Wait…"

The sheep didn't notice at first. "Who said that!? Was it Tuck!?"

He still didn't look at her, faintly mumbling his response: "No, it was… Otto… um…" He suddenly shook his head violently as if trying to jar loose an unpleasant thought stuck in his noggin, but just looked horrified afterwards, staring down at the table for a moment, eyes wide: "S-sorry, I, I just… I think I just realized something right now as I was saying it out loud."

She could see now that he looked deeply unsettled by something, so she tread carefully: "...What did ye realize?"

"...About Robin," he told the tablecloth.

"...What did ye realize about Robin?"

Surely you get the gist by now, Dear Reader: when flustered, Johnny would make eye contact with her here and there, but even more now than before, his eyes were all over the place.

"So… one of the things I just plain don't like about the son of a bitch is that he's a really proud guy. It's like pullin' teeth tryna get him to admit somethin' embarrassing about himself - I tell him friends should trust each other with that shit, but… he just thinks it's an unnecessary distraction. He thinks I won't trust his leadership as much if I see his flaws."

"He says ye won't trust his leadership!?" Annie was incredulous. "He says that!?"

But Johnny didn't answer; he just kept rolling. "Well it took him breaking his fuckin' arm for him to admit that… he does have a fear of death… but, like, a conditional fear. He's only… he's only afraid of dying… I think 'needlessly' was the word he used. Dying needlessly. He's not afraid of dying a hero, he's afraid of getting hit by a bus on a Tuesday afternoon and going out that way. Wait, maybe meaninglessly was the word he used. But… I think you get what I'm saying. Do you get what I'm saying?"

"I… think?"

He nodded at the light fixture on the wall. "And it took him breaking a bone for the first time in his life for him to realize he might not necessarily have his happy ending, he might die first in some stupid way like… falling and hitting his head on the curb in the worst possible spot. That's what it took for him to admit to me that he has fear, like, inside his brain."

She remembered something about the Englishman and thought it might be helpful to bring it up. "Erm… this really isn't me story to tell, but… I know his mother was a nurse when a football stadium right near where he grew up was overcrowded and… lots of lives were lost just because there was no room to breathe. We were teenagers when it happened, and… he's admitted it traumatized him more than a wee bit."

Johnny perked up at this, then wagged a finger towards her. "...That. He mentioned that, he actually did mention that. I remember now, that's what he said started the whole fear of his that he might die without warning and with no greater purpose. And that the time, he said that that was why he wanted to be Mister Fucking Action Hero, he wanted to make the most of his life while he still had it, which makes sense and all, but…" A deep nasal breath and he scrutinized the texture of the minute dents and divots in the paintwork on the walls. "...One of the things we've been getting at each other's throats about these last few weeks was the fact that… for all of his brilliant fucking leadership, pfft… he doesn't have an exit strategy. I think when he started this journey, he honestly thought history would eventually bend towards justice and someone or some group of people would pardon us when they saw how righteous we were, but now he's starting to realize that there's probably no way we get out of this without getting imprisoned or killed. And that's on me too, I agreed to join him on an impulse because I had nothing better to do with my life, b-but what I just realized about Robin… and God help me if I can tell you why I just thought of this…"

He paused to turn his head and stare at Robin again. He didn't look angry; he didn't look worried. He looked unhappily accepting, like he was about ready to start writing his friend's eulogy.

"...Robin wants to die this way."

"...Wh-WHAT!?"

"He wants to die this way," Johnny shrugged. "He wants to go out in a blaze of glory. I mean, think about it: the kid's an actor by trade, he's gotta be a narcissist on some level. He wanted to play heroes in movies, but then he got the chance to be a real one - and you don't devote your entire life to playing real-life Adam Bell unless you wanna be remembered for fucking centuries like Adam Bell was. Rob definitely does care about these people he helps, I know he does, but I know him too well; part of him is doing this for a chance at a legacy too, a legacy even fuckin' Hollywood couldn't give him. He wants to be remembered as a great hero - well, what's the most heroic thing you can do? Hmph… lay down your life for the cause you fight for. Just like a folk hero who was so beloved that people made an entire religion about him; you may have heard of him, his name was Jesus."

The sheep's lips were open just a little as her jaw was sliding open.

"It seems so clear to me now," the bear continued, now looking straight at her. "He's afraid of dying meaninglessly… because he wants to die meaningfully. He's not just unafraid of it, he wants it. And… shit, I mean, what's a more anticlimactic way to die than… dying of old age?" He put his paws flat on the table. "I rest my case."

That had made too much sense for Klucky's comfort - but not to say she was convinced, rather afraid at how thoroughly Johnny had convinced himself of it. She could just feel intuitively that for as much as it all added up, it just didn't feel right, and now she tasked herself with trying to convince this bear that he'd driven himself mad.

But since she wasn't saying anything yet, Johnny kept talking: "And I… because I'm a fucking dumbass… took seven years to realize that, and now I'm stuck with him on his suicide mission. Either I die with him or I go to prison alone, but either way, Otto was more right than he realized, Rob's gonna die heroically for the common man and it's gonna be my job to spread the gospel of how great he was-"

"Johnny, Johnny, Johnny!" Annie implored him to slow down. "...I can see how ye came to that conclusion, but… I want to reassure you that it's surely not that dire! Mari dinnae tell me everythin' about last night, but she mentioned that Robin still seemed optimistic that they could still have a happy life together as professional actors! Either he wouldn't say that if he had no plans to do so… or he lied to her, which would be a whole new low for that lad!"

He seemed unsure for a moment, but soon put up a finger. "Y'know what? You're right, that's a good point, lemme amend what I said… because he has been freaking out too about the idea that he'll never be a Hollywood actor living happily ever after with Marian… but that's the thing! I don't think he realizes that's what he wants!"

…She was listening.

"If you ask him to his face, do you plan on being a fuckin' martyr for these people?, no, I don't think he'd literally say that he would, absolutely not. I think…" He pondered his words. "...I don't think this is a conscious, front-of-mind thing for him, I think this is subconscious. All his actions point to him not seeing a life for himself after all this. So when he's… shit, don't tell him I mentioned this, but when he's crying to me because he's afraid he'll never have a happy life with Marian and he'll never have Hallmark moments like opening presents with children he'll never have on Christmas morning, and letting slip that sometimes he regrets throwing away what he had, I think… I think…"

He trailed off with his mouth open a tad and his eyes looking somewhere above Annie's head, at something far behind her.

"...I think that's his heart and his brain fighting each other," he explained. "I mean… I dunno which one's his heart and which one's his brain in this analogy, but I think you know what I mean: part of him wants his happy ending riding off into the sunset, part of him wants to burn brighter than the sun itself as he sees himself out of this life. And maybe the part of him that wants to retire to a quiet life is winning now, but if it is…" He looked down at the table and blew air out his mouth, cheeks puffing as he did. "...He shoulda thought of that sooner. We're married to this shit now, no going back now."

The ewe nodded slowly. "That… that makes more sense now."

"So… you're right," he conceded, "I don't think that's one hunnerd percent of him, and come to think of it… yeah, the… the people we try to help've been fuckin' assholes lately, so he's definitely been showing signs of buyers' remorse…" One last glance at Robin. "...But that side of him that wants to actually die a hero is definitely in there, absolutely. And I think maybe he's been bummed out because he's realizing he's been letting that side of him win when he shouldn't have."

Annie didn't know what to say that wouldn't just make everything worse. Now that Johnny had elaborated, that was indeed a much more coherent and convincing hypothesis. The Robin she knew absolutely loved being the star of the show, both literally as an aspiring Hollywood leading man and figuratively in everyday life, and she could easily imagine him wrestling with the thought of whether the show that was his real-time autobiography should end with a storybook romance… or a legendary heroic sacrifice. But she couldn't say that out loud; that would just reaffirm his poor friend's fears.

Y'know, it was weird: she actually was kind of hoping that fox was even more of a glory hog than she'd already taken him for. Reason being? Allow her to explain:

"Erm… so… ye say he might not be satisfied with the, er… praise he is or… is not getting from the people you help?"

The bear looked unsure for a moment, letting his head wobble and his eyes point up as he debated that with himself. "We… we have our good days and our bad days," he explained as he made a weighing gesture with his paws. "Good moments and bad moments. But damn if the bad moments and interactions don't seem to be getting more common."

She nodded. "Well… och, maybe that's a good thing! In a strange way. Because… maybe then he'll realize this isn't worth… literally dyin' for! Maybe if the lad isn't satisfied with the adoration he's gettin' here and still wants that star on the Walk o' Fame… maybe he'll be more careful with himself!"

Johnny seemed to be giving that a lot of thought.

Annie forced a hopeful smile as she continued: "I'm not at all a fan o' self-proclaimed hotshots like him but I still don't want the daft bastard to die! …Though I'll spit on that bloody Englishman's grave if he gets himself killed after poor Mari waited so long to be with him again, the lass doesn't deserve that! And you, Johnny…"

She paused to make sure he was looking her in the eye.

"...You don't deserve to have it be a foregone conclusion that ye're gonna lose yer friend in such a horrible way," the sheep said as gently as she could. "You're a good lad, ye don't deserve that."

The bear pursed his lips as he gazed out the window again, still looking somewhat uncomfortable; he didn't want to be rude, but he just didn't feel right agreeing with her. "...It's not about what we deserve, though, it's about what we get-"

"Ah, isn't that the truth, old boy!?"

"GAH-!" Johnny had to bite his tongue hard to keep from yelping and drawing the entire restaurant's attention, but neighboring tables still heard the distinct sounds of a very large man jumping and landing in his booth seat as well as the scraping of the table moving, having been caught by the bear's belly as he bounced up. "Jesus, Rob, don't fucking sneak up on me like that!" he told their visitor in a growling whisper.

The redhead simply chuckled contentedly. "Foxes sneak! It's what we do, lad! But while I do apologize for interrupting your special evening, you two-!"

"Oh, shut the fuck up, dude…" the bear grumbled as he covered his eyes with his paw. "You know we don't wanna be doing this, why the fuck are you going out of your way to embarrass us?"

The classy Englishman kept wearing his confident smile, but after a quick glance at the ewe and seeing that she was also thoroughly unimpressed by his sense of humor, he added the slightest hint of modesty to his countenance.

"Ah, you're right; I said that for my own amusement without considering how you'd feel about it. My apologies, my friends, that was careless of me." But he was still smiling warmly as he conceded this - once again, his training from those damned etiquette classes when he was a lad wouldn't allow him to do anything that might disenchant his audience and jeopardize his control of the conversation.

And Annie - who remembered very well that Robin's biological father had sent him to those lessons - was acutely acutely aware of this. A couple pages ago, Johnny had muttered something about Robin feeling the need to play the role of the charismatic leader even among friends, and… well, here he was, seeming to do exactly that.

"To what do we owe the pleasure, Robin?" Kluck asked with a hearty dose of snark.

"Ah, I just need the attention of my partner in crime here! Not to cut you out, Annie, it's simply a personal matter."

"Understood," she replied flatly.

"So what's up?" asked Johnny. "We need to go outside to talk, or…?"

"Oh, there's no need," the fox said as he got himself and his friend into a two-man huddle, each with an arm upon the other's shoulders and heads down, turned away from the sheep to speak towards the backboard of the bear's booth seat, because it was just so very personal indeed.

But between their lively tones and bassy voices, Annie could still hear every single word without issue:

"I'm sorry, Johnny, but I think it's about that time-"

"Oh, for the love of God-"

"I'm not proud of asking for this again, Johnny-"

"For Christ's sakes, Rob-"

"I'm coming to you with me tail between me legs, please don't make this harder than it already-"

"I don't have 'em."

"...I beg your pardon?"

"I don't have the fuckin' pills."

"...You don't have my pills."

"Why would I have them?"

"Did you lose them!?"

"Do you think I'm fuckin' stupid!? I didn't lose them, I didn't bring them!"

"Why the bloody hell not!?"

"Because you've already had your dosage for the day!"

"Johnny, you're supposed to have them for when I need them-!"

"You. Have. Already. Had. Your. Dosage. For. The day!"

"Johnny-"

"If not more! We mighta miscounted!"

"Johnny, I trusted you to hang onto those for when I need them-!"

"And Geoff trusted me not to let you take more than you needed so you didn't get hooked on 'em!"

"I'm not going to get hooked on th-!"

"Like my old man. I've seen what those little shits can do to a guy."

"Well, I would have hoped by now you'd see me in a better light than you did your father, I'd know better than to mishandle medication-"

"Do we gotta ask to borrow the phone so we can give Geoff or Thor a ring and they can remind you that this isn't a fucking personal resilience thing, these things are addictive as crack by their chemical fucking nature or whatever!?"

"Johnny, mellow out-"

"Oh, don't fucking tell me to mellow out!"

"...Need I remind you this isn't the hard stuff?"

"..."

"These are just over-the-counter drugs the lads cut up for me, remember? We're still waiting on Thor to experiment with a safe version of the hard stuff."

"..."

"...Do you remember?"

"...I was just thinking about my dad, Rob."

"I understand."

"I do not want you to wind up like him, man."

"And I have the utmost appreciation for your concern-"

"I do not."

"These aren't addictive, these are just Tylenols and Advils."

"Yeah, but… Geoff still said even with these, taking too many might… shit, was it your kidneys he said it would mess with, or your liver-?"

"Whatever it is, I'll manage. Now please, Johnny, my arm is in agony."

"...I don't have them, dude. They're not physically here. I can't make them appear."

"..."

"...There's a gas station at the corner, run over there if you really can't bear it."

"No, no, I… I can't leave Marian alone, I'll suck it up-"

"D'ya need me to?"

"No, no… you've done more than enough, Johnny. Thank you for having my best interests at heart."

"Anytime, brother."

The fox gave the bear two firm pats on the shoulder to signal to break the huddle and bother lifted their heads, and without really having anywhere else to look, they each looked at Annie.

"Thank you again, Miz Clough, for letting me borrow your gentleman friend over here…" Robin smirked with a tip of an invisible cap. "...You heard every word of that, didn't you?"

"I did," she answered as disinterestedly as she could, trying her best to convey to this fox that if she wasn't impressed ten years ago by the old-school gentlemanly vibe he sought to give off, she still wouldn't be impressed by it now. Still, she didn't hate him, so she grabbed her purse and began digging through it. "If ye need it, lad, I think I have some Advil in me handbag-"

"Oh, no, no, that won't be necessary!" the Englishman insisted. "Johnny made some fair points, I likely have had my dosage for the day and mustn't be too cavalier with medications of any sort! Besides, this is a perfect opportunity to practice mind-over-matter and be as strong as the people of this city believe me to be - a task that ought to be much easier with a good bit of wine, eh!? Ah ha ha! I'll leave you two at it now, thank you for your audience!" he bid them as he walked off, good hand raised to give them the slightest and slowest of waves goodbye.

"...I'll be honest, Johnny," the sheep began again, turning to her pretend partner, "perhaps this was foolish o' me, but I just sort of expected that he would turn… that off when he was among his guy friends."

"I mean… he's not always tryna be Mister Fuckin' Effortlessly Suavé…" the bear explained as he spared one more glance at his friend, who had arrived back at his own table, "...but he does it often enough that it seems clear to me that… that's how he wants me to think of him. That's the version of him he wants me to have in my head when he's not around anymore."

"Och, can we please stop talkin' about death, lad?" Klucky asked with a nervous chuckle, hoping she hadn't come on too strong. But she quickly seemed to adopt an air of vague sadness. "I will say, though - och, I said let's nae talk about him and now I'm talkin' about him - I do see what ye mean, though. I do think the daft bastard cares about ye and I do think he means to be a good friend to ye, but… he just cannae stop thinkin' o' himself as the main character in a film, can he?" (Her observation that the two bickered not unlike a married couple, though, and how that played into her theory about the boys that she found herself believing sometimes more than others? Yeah, she had no interest in saying that part out loud.)

And a good thing she didn't ruin the moment, too, because Johnny had a look on his face like he'd just read a very profound line in a book. "...Can't HELP but think that this is all a movie… that may be the best way I've ever heard anybody put it." He then sighed and shook his head as he put on a smirk that looked to signal that he was forcing himself to come to terms with utter ridiculousness. "...Fucked up thing, though, is that he's still the best friend I've ever had. Now, is that a sign that I have bad luck and I'm just a magnet for assholes? Or is it a sign that everyone's an asshole and he's just one a' the… lesser ones? Hmph… my guess about that usually depends entirely on my mood."

"Uh… excuse me, sir," a voice approached meekly; it was a server who wasn't theirs. "You, uh, you two came in with the, uh, British fox couple, right?"

"...We did…" answered the bemused bruin while the ewe didn't understand the question much better herself.

"Alright, just, uh, just making sure I'm at the right table… um…" The Arctic fox pulled the three sheets of paper out of his server's pouch and started unfolding them to show to the gentleman whose face was printed on them. "So I'm their waiter and, uh… I, I mentioned that I appreciated what you guys did, and he just, just, out of the blue, your friend gave me these and signed them for me and some of the kitchen staff, and uh… can I get your sig, too?"

Somewhere along the line, Johnny's smile had gone from a dejected one to an elated one. "Aw, absolutely, bud!" he said as he accepted the papers. "It'd be my pleasure! Got a pen, man?"

"Uh, yes I do," and Trent gave him one, feeling relieved that this had gone over well. You may have noticed, Dear Reader, that a lot of time had passed since the Arctic had gotten the wanted posters from Robin until he finally got to Johnny and Annie's table; yeah, he'd seen them in the midst of the deep conversation described above, and just sort of circled around the dining room for, like, twenty minutes until one of his other tables complained that their food was taking forever and Trent realized he hadn't even put the order in yet, at which point he decided to nut up and approach the second half of the famous duo.

"Who'm I makin' these out to?"

The fox realized that his fellow vulpine hadn't even asked the other two's names. "Uh… Trent… Kwame and Dom." He then realized the bear was writing out entire little messages in the middle between his own visage and Robin's.

"He prolly wanted to give ya more than just his autograph," Johnny explained, "but the poor guy's arm is fucked up, I'd cut him some slack. Don't worry, I'll make up for it."

"I, uh… wow, I appreciate that!" Trent stammered. And he appreciated it so much that he recalled what the Englishman had said of his friend and decided to toss in some reassuring words. "But, uh, yeah, it's just like… can't have Mike without Ike or… Ben without Jerry, or, uh…" Wait, shit, is this guy gonna think I'm making fat jokes if all the famous duos I'm coming up with are junk food? "...like, it'd feel weird if I had one but not the other, you guys really are like an inseparable pair. So, uh… thanks for taking the time to do this."

And when it seemed Trent was done talking, the bear paused from the doodle he was doodling; it depicted himself swinging around a certain lion by his tail while a fox dressed like Peter Pan holding a bow and arrow (who was noticeably drawn to be much closer in size to a regular red fox) seemed ready to practice hitting a gyrating target, all while another, slightly smaller fox (who, for absence of denotative color, might have been this Arctic fox before him, or might have been another fox the Merry Men had had on their minds recently) seemed to be urinating in the mayor's stupid top hat in the style of a Calvin decal on the rear window of a Ford F-150. It certainly wasn't a Pablo Pigasso, but for a simple cartoon, it was actually pretty well done. But the artist felt the need to to interrupt his process to smile uncontrollably at his recipient:

"Mike and Ike, huh?" he guffawed. "Shit, that's a new one! Well… at least one person sees me as an equal partner!" And back he went to writing, signing, and drawing.

Sitting there quietly, the sheep was very tempted to interrupt with a single word: Two. But she simply felt that despite the good intentions behind it, this interaction between an unsung hero and his fan wasn't the time for it, and that such an act would just make things weird. And looking at the awkward look on the waiter's face after Johnny said what he'd said, Annie felt vindicated that keeping quiet was the right decision.

Yet Trent wasn't the only one who'd been keeping a distant eye on the fake couple's uncomfortable conversation.

"That stupid fox bugged the shit outta you guys, too!?"

"God, I thought we were the only ones, I guess not!"

"Really negligent of the lifeguards to not toss the son of a bitch off the beach-"

"Well, hey, if lifeguards were so smart, they wouldn't be working as lifeguards, now would they be?"

"Heh, ya got me there!"

"I knew I had a bad feeling when I laid eyes on that frickin' thieving fox!"

"How much you wanna bet that cast on his arm wasn't even real?"

"Shit, I'm seriously wondering whether that was some other species entirely dressed as a fox, I've only seen foxes that guy's size in cartoons where they don't bother to get the scale right!"

"Which is why I'm telling you guys it was clearly a coyote!"

"Please, Ronald, we're trying to have an adult conversation here, we can do without outbursts."

"Sorry…"

"Besides, he definitely smelled like a fox, you don't even need to have a good nose to tell that. Jesus, as a society, we talk so much about how foxes are conniving little shits that we don't talk how those guys fuckin' REEK-"

"Aaron, chill out, we don't need to get racist against foxes-"

"YES, we need to get racist against foxes! A people known for being shifty goddamn liars just out-shifted all of us! This cocksucker went above and beyond living up to stereotypes and we were negatively affected because of it! If that's not justification for prejudice, I dunno what is…"

Somewhere along the line after the antelopes and kangaroos had shared their similar experiences at Towers Beach, the patrons at neighboring tables found the nerve to speak up and mention that the same thing had happened to them. All of them. It seemed like a thirty-foot radius drawn around Mister and Missus Hurd all had the same story: they'd had plans to dine somewhere even higher-class that evening, but after losing most of their cash and having to cancel all their credit cards, they all suddenly found themselves on a budget and wound up at Le Bon Chevalier. In fact, they'd even pieced together that that was the reason several parties among them had dusty tables: they were at tables that simply weren't usually used.

But as all the wealthy couples grumbled together trying to figure out how something like this could have happened to them, at least one of them had tuned out. Marcia was actually hoping their collective muttering and murmuring wasn't loud enough to attract the attention of the people she was openly staring at.

Her husband scoffed at nothing in particular to tee up another clever quip of his to impress his fellow rich people: "Pfft, well whatever species this guy was, he must've been stupidly clever if he could trick all of us! People like us didn't get to where we are by being dumb!"

"Well, as we've established, Ronald," Ashley quipped right back, "some people who aren't smart or talented enough to deserve wealth find it anyway by working their tails off until they just get lucky." The kangaroo certainly seemed to be enjoying putting down the antelope at every opportunity he got. "Now, if somebody used that as an argument against capitalism, heh, I wouldn't know what to say…"

Successfully cowed into submission once again, Ronnie sat back in his seat, crossed his arms on the table, and looked around at anything but the eyes of his fellow diners, who he suspected would be laughing at him after that - they weren't laughing at him, but not because they didn't see him as a joke, but rather because he was a joke that wasn't even funny anymore. He eventually turned to his wife for comfort, only to realize she hadn't even been paying attention.

"...The hell are you looking at?" he pressed her.

She didn't take her eyes off her target. "Him," she said, pointing without moving anything above her wrist.

"HIM!?" Without even seeing who she was pointing at, he didn't like hearing that word. And when he saw the brown bear she was referring to, he was confused and enraged. "Why the fuck are you ogling at another man!? Especially that fatass!"

"Ronnie, will you control yourself!?" Marcia finally looked at him to give him a pair of evil eyes. "I'm not looking at him lustfully, I'm…!" But she trailed off and dropped the anger as she turned back to gaze pensively at the stranger. "I… somehow, the idea got in my head and I can't shake the feeling that… that's the same bear who was drowning at the beach."

Her husband had to admit, the idea intrigued him. But taking another look at the guy, Ronnie remained unconvinced. "How can you tell? Those maulers all look the same!"

"Except when they don't," his wife rebutted. "A lot of them have… really wide heads. The one at the beach didn't. And a lot of them have really fat necks to the point that they basically don't have necks… that guy had a distinct neck, and I know we're at a bad angle for it, but… I think this guy does, too."

Once again, that struck him a certain way; he hadn't thought of that, but remembering the scene now… yeah, perhaps the drowning man didn't look quite as generic for his species as Ronnie had originally thought. And while, yes, as Marcia had said, they didn't have the best viewing angle…

"...Oh, my God…" he mumbled to himself.

"You see!?" asked his wife.

Oh, he saw alright. He saw an opportunity to impress Ashley and Lisa and all the other moneyed couples in the vicinity.

"Mister Underdown!" he addressed the kangaroo, hushed but excited. "Hey, uh… this is gonna sound crazy, but hear me out! I just noticed something-"

"What, was it whatever your wife was staring at?" Mr. Underdown replied unenthusiastically.

The antelope's mouth hung open as he was tempted to ask How did you know!? but didn't want to seem too mortified… again.

But he didn't even need to ask, since Ashley answered him anyway: "Because I saw her staring scrutinizingly at something, but I was waiting for you to ask her first because… y'know, she's your wife-"

"Was he about to try to take credit for something his wife figured out!?" Lisa spat.

And Ronnie looked even mortified-er - and, like, I know that's shitty grammar, but English words literally cannot describe how embarrassed he looked. There aren't enough words in this language for that.

Mr. Underdown raised an eyebrow at Mr. Hurd, the kangaroo looking at once condescending and pitying. "A real man doesn't try to take credit for his wife's ideas, Ron. This isn't the Fifties anymore; if you want a wife you can show off around high society, you'd best be looking for one who you can brag about how smart she is." But as disinterested as Ashley seemed in Ronnie, he seemed very attentive when he turned to face Ronnie's wife. "Now, Marcia, what was it that you noticed?"

And all the other eyes and ears in the class-conscious congregation turned to her as well.

"So… um…" She was a little nervous herself at pitching her outlandish idea to all the other couples now watching her, but something deep inside her felt like this needed to be addressed, and that pushed her to be brave enough to speak. "...Call me crazy, but I could just about swear that… that guy across the room is the same bear who was drowning at the beach when we all got robbed."

All at once, the dozen or so couples turned to take a peek in the direction she was pointing, looking for a brown-furred gentleman; some of them tried not to make their glances too obvious, others had no qualms about plainly staring. But no matter; when they all located the only ursid anywhere near where the antelope woman had been pointing, it was clear that he was deep in conversation and wouldn't be noticing their collective gaze anytime soon.

"...Well I'll be damned," Ashley remarked, not showing any smiles but still nodding to convey that he was impressed.

Not everyone in the gaggle of plutocrats was convinced that this bruin was the same one who had drunkenly stumbled into the Atlantic Ocean before their eyes a few hours prior. But most of them were.

"Well, wait," said the doe from the deer couple Ronnie had pissed off earlier, "even if that is the same guy… what do we do with this information?"

"Well, think of that beach's clientele," said the muskrat gentleman from the other couple Ronnie had pissed off earlier. "Maybe he's one of us, too! Maybe he just got plowed and started acting trashy despite still being, y'know, respectable when he's sober."

"Maybe he got robbed by the fox while he was drowning, too!"

"That sick fuck probably would rob a drowning man, wouldn't he!?"

"Is that why this bear's here, too!? He's in the same situation we are!?"

"If I didn't know better, I'd think the fox was an employee of this place who arranged this all just so we'd all have to settle for here."

"In cahoots with all the concierge workers who all just so happened to guide us to the same restaurant!"

The group chittered and chattered amongst themselves in agreement; it seemed clear now that there was a conspiracy afoot. But the one who seemed to have risen as their unspoken leader wasn't quite ready to call the case closed.

"Hrmmm…" Mr. Underdown pondered, "...I could see how that might make sense… but who's to say that a bunch of other dumpy restaurants across town aren't seeing a sudden spike in traffic, too?"

"Maybe the waiters at restaurants like these told their friends who work at hotels to point us to their places of work so they could make tip money!" someone suggested. "You know how that class of people are, they all seem to know each other…"

"And the fox is tight with all of them!" someone else proposed. "He robbed us on their behalf and now he's gonna cut the profits with them!" (And I gotta say, as the narrator who knows both sides of the story, um… that wasn't too inaccurate of an assessment, actually.)

"Hmph! Well then I'm definitely not tipping tonight!" said somebody who sucks and is also an asshole.

"But are these people that smart?" Ashley asked the crowd. "I believe in letting smart people born poor rise out of poverty, and for all we know, a bunch of these people might just be working their way through college, but all of them…? If you're an adult who's still working in a restaurant or a hotel, you're probably not that smart. I have trouble believing they all pulled off a coordinated effort to screw us all over."

And being surrounded by people who very much viewed wealth as the greatest indicator of intelligence and value as a person, he got a good number of nods and murmurs of agreement out of his audience.

But the kangaroo wasn't content to just dismiss this wild mass guess without a better conclusion. He felt like they had somehow been gifted a clue in finding that bear here, but now they had to prove how clever they really were by correctly interpreting it. Deep in thought, he steepled his fingers before his mouth and stared at the stranger, and Ashley wouldn't break this pose until he had his eureka moment.

"...Maybe he knows something I don't," he said as he stood from his seat. "I'm gonna reach out to him-"

But he was stopped in his tracks by the first palpable dissent he'd encountered that night:

"Nononono!"

"Wait a minute, hold on!"

"Stop stop stop stop stop!"

"Sit back down, sit back down!"

"Not now!"

"LOOK!"

Trusting they couldn't all be freaking out about nothing, he sat and looked.

And what a sight it was. The bear they'd all had their eyes on was being approached by someone none of them had noticed in the restaurant until then. The ursine gentleman was surprised to see this newcomer at first, but soon enough it was clear that these two already knew each other. And the second stranger was a red fox who was taller than any vulpine any of them had ever seen before - or, rather, exactly as tall as the tallest vulpine they'd ever seen precisely once before.

"Wait…" Ashley mumbled to himself, "it… it can't be…" And several others around him muttered similar sentiments of disbelief under their breath.

When the bear and the fox got into a huddle, few among the wealthy needed any more evidence to feel confident in their new conclusion. Especially when, his back now turned to the audience he didn't realize he had, the fox had inadvertently given them another enormous clue - quite literally.

"Jesus, how does he put pants on with that big ol' thing below the belt?" the buck among them asked in a loud whisper, gesturing to the fox's ridiculously thick tail.

But a boar sow noticed something else: "Uh… so I don't know about the rest of you, but something I found odd about the beach beggar is that… well, at least most red foxes I've seen have these, um… either black or white markings on their… arms and legs and tails-"

"But this one doesn't," her husband observed, sounding aghast. "A-and I remember now, that one didn't either!"

It was clicking in every single one of their minds. And even though this might have sounded like another wacky conspiracy to an outsider… no, they were spot-on this time.

"They were the ones working together!" Ronnie gasped, struggling not to shout it loudly. "The bear's job was to distract us while the fox looted us!"

"Ronald, please, we're all adults here, we all figured that out on our own, we don't need you spelling it out for us," the kangaroo gentleman chided the antelope before turning back to the rest of the crowd. "Alright, so let's recap: the bear was working with the fox to divert our attention and give the fox a chance to snag our stuff."

"And now they're here," added his girlfriend, practically hissing as she spoke. "I knew not to trust them bloody swipers!"

"Um… guys?" the boar gentleman piped up meekly. "I… I think I know these guys."

"You know them!?" several people said, practically in unison, some shocked, others appalled.

"I-I mean… I know of them," he corrected himself, his wife nodding as he did. "Our family used to live around here ourselves until… something happened to us."

"What happened!?" asked Marcia urgently.

"So…" the boar's wife began, "...we lived in the northwest suburbs, and we were taking Sherwood Forest Road to, y'know, circumvent the toll road… and as we were driving through the woods…"

"We came upon two guys who were dressed…" the husband boar trailed off to look again at the fox and the bear, then began gesturing vigorously at them. "...well, like that! Smart. Classy. Trustworthy. They said their car broke down a few miles down the road and they'd been walking against traffic trying to find… anybody who could help them out, and they offered us fine wine out of a suitcase-"

"And they were a gigantic fox and a gigantic bear?" Ashley pressed.

"That's the thing," said the sow, "we thought they were a rhino and a short wolf, but… but we found out later that those were costumes. Really good costumes."

"Hey, in our defense," her husband added, "it was the dead of night in the middle of the woods, it was hard to see. But yeah, uh, when we woke up, we'd been robbed-"

"When you WOKE UP!?" someone asked, and plenty of others sounded just as concerned.

"That's right. Hell, we barely even remember seeing their faces; whatever was in that wine knocked us out good. The cops told us later that it's a miracle we even remembered anything about that encounter-"

"-because most people they found passed out and robbed at the side of the road didn't remember anything," said his wife.

Gasps and whispers floated around the tables as the couples processed this revelation.

"Good God," remarked Ronnie before he faced the sow directly. "Did those monsters do anything to you!?"

"Oh, my GOD, Ronnie!" Marcia growled. "You don't just ask a woman that so casually!"

"Well, in his defense," said the boar, "I had the same worry about my wife when we came to, and they took us to the hospital to examine exactly that."

"So…" the sow began slowly, speaking into her folded hands with the delicateness the topic deserved, "...full disclosure, I've been blessed to have never had something like… that happen to me, so I don't know what it feels like after that happens… if it feels like anything. But I always just sort of assumed it would - like what, I don't know, but something, something bad. But after we woke up… no, I… I didn't feel like anything… new and bad like that must have happened to me - I felt violated about being robbed and having our car looted, but nothing… physical, thank God. And when the doctors ran the, uh, the kit on me… yeah, no signs of any of that. And maybe I'm foolish, but I believe it. Those bandits took a lot, but they didn't take… advantage."

The group murmured and nodded solemnly, understanding what she meant.

"So, uh…" Her husband decided to move the conversation along. "...the cops basically told us that this was far from the first time this happened, they had no clue how to catch these guys, that we'd best just make peace with what happened, because they were already trying their best but it wasn't enough."

"And that we didn't meet a rhino and wolf…" the sow added, "...they were - most likely, if these were the same guys - a really big bear and a really, really big fox. The fox being the brains and the bear being the brawn."

They all nodded, unsurprised but unhappy that their suspicions were confirmed.

"But they really told you two to just deal with what happened to you?" asked Ashley incredulously.

"They told us plainly," answered the boar, "this was an embarrassment to their department, and that they'd appreciate if we kept our mouths shut about it - they implied they already had plenty of their previous victims to deal with, and if we tried to raise hell and publicly embarrass them, they'd never even attempt to help recover our stuff and we could kiss any hope of closure goodbye."

"Well, why didn't ya raise hell anyway!?" asked Lisa. "Get the public behind you!"

"Because they raised a question we couldn't answer," said the sow: "...do we want to be known in our social circles as the ones who got fooled by the likes of them?"

Hushed, the congregation looked at the outlaws and at each other, looking lost; they each silently agreed that that would be more embarrassment than they would be able to handle.

"So we didn't," explained the boar. "We didn't tell anyone we weren't close with until… well, until now. And they kind of hinted that… they suggested that the public wouldn't be on our side if we raised a stink about it. Not because they'd like the cops sitting on their asses, but because… apparently these two have a lot of public support."

Looks and sounds of disgust abounded among the gathered.

"They run a sort of Adam-Bell-like operation and they were targeting us specifically because of how nice our car was," the sow concluded, "and… finding out about that is what led us to moving to Cape May. To get away from this… craziness."

All of the well-to-do diners murmured and whispered to each other once more; some were furious, some were frightened, and still others were simply struggling to believe any of this was real.

"Ah, I knew I shoulda told a lifeguard about that fox!" the female kangaroo fumed. "You can't trust any of them - hey, waiter!"

"Uh, yes?" said Trent, walking back to the marsupials' table.

"You even put our order in yet!?" Lisa demanded to know. "I've seen ya walking in circles around the whole bloody restaurant!"

"Uh, y-yeah, I'll, I'll go check on that," the server stammered before walking off.

She slouched in her chair and folded her arms as she huffed. "Bloody swipers, ya can't even trust the ones who aren't red!"

"But why didn't you two mention earlier that you knew about these guys!?" asked the doe of the boar couple.

"Admittedly, it took us a bit to realize it ourselves," answered the wife, "that these were the same guys."

"And I think subconsciously," added her husband, "our brains just couldn't accept that this had happened to us twice."

"Jeez, you're right, that sounds ridiculous," Ronnie said, shaking his head, before again addressing the sow in particular: "You shoulda lied and said they did something to you, then maybe the cops woulda cared-"

Out of the large crowd of barons, a few of them verbally expressed agreement with the antelope, but they were drowned out by a disgusted, exhausted, and embarrassed chorus of oh my God's and man, shut up's and oh, that is SICK's and one very sharp brain did you not hear the part where a doctor debunked that!?

"We should call the cops!" said the muskrat gentleman once the cacophony of dissent died down. "If we make a citizens' arrest, they can't ignore us now!" And many among them seemed to think that was a brilliant idea.

"Yes, but it can't possibly be that simple," Mr. Underdown said with a strong air of authority as he watched the fox walk back to his own table. "These two won't be an easy catch if the cops don't even have a lead on them even after… Aaron, Paula, how long did this happen to you?"

"Uh… probably about two years ago?" the sow theorized, giving her husband a quick look for nonverbal consultation; he nodded. "Yeah, definitely sometime in Oh-Three."

"But like we said," joined the boar, "the way the cops were talking, these guys have been operating for a while."

The kangaroo nodded as he silently started strategizing. "Well… as long as it looks like none of us are going to have a nice dinner tonight anyway…" He paused to look around and make eye contact with as many of the group as he could. "...do we all agree that we should use this opportunity to get back at them?"

They smiled, they nodded, and they cheered as quietly as they could. "YES!"

Ashley glanced over at their enemy, the tod having joined his vixen. As the gears turned in his head, a Frenchman crooned above them:

Viens voir les comédiens…!

Voir les musiciens…!

Voir les magiciens…!

Qui arrivent…!

"...Alright, then," he said with a few small claps to himself. "Let's gameplan."

Como la flor (¡como la flor!)... con tanto amor (¡con tanto amor!)...

Me diste tú… se marchitó…

Me marcho hoy… yo sé perder…

"Alright, Jace," said Domingo, "we'll take away Racism Points if you correctly guess what country this singer is from."

The buck raised an eyebrow at the tayra. "Wait, do I want more or less Racism Points?"

"Uhhh, less. Golf rules."

"My dude, it's racism," observed the hippo, "course you want less points!"

"Hell, you can even hypothetically get a negative score, but we ain't there yet!" the smallest of the chefs summarized. "Three guesses, Jace - and I'll even give you a hint! This singer is not from Mexico."

Jace pondered that. "She's not Mexican?"

"She is not from Mexico," Domingo said very carefully.

The deer looked down and stared at the multiple pots and pans he was cooking with, trying to think of countries that spoke Spanish that weren't the big one. "Is it a trick question? Is she from Spain? Like, Spain Spain?"

"Ehhh, no, but good on you for thinking outside the box and not just guessing random countries," the mustelid said with a secret smirk.

Jace took a drag off his cigarette as he pondered. "Hmmm… Puerto Rico?"

"Oooh, actually pretty close!" And he was.

"To be fair, I'on know who this singer is either," noted Kwame.

"C'mon, guys, they made a movie about her after she died," Domingo jeered jokingly, knowing this information wouldn't help either of them.

"...What's close to Puerto Rico, then?" the buck asked under his breath as he wracked his brain, desperately wanting to lose Racism Points. "...Cuba?"

The tayra just started cackling. "It was a trick question! This is Selena! She's American!"

"She's AMERICAN!?"

"Texas born and raised! She's like the queen of us Mexicans born north of the border!"

So great was the deer's frustration that he tossed his spatula behind him as he threw his arms in the air. "How the fuck is being American close to being Puerto Rican then!?"

"You know Puerto Rico's a U.S. territory, right?" Domingo snickered. "Puerto Ricans are American citizens, dude."

Jace just glared at him. "Okay, well if you're so smart, what's this Selena chick's last name?"

Dom's smile evaporated on the spot and he looked down forlornly at his own cooking. "...Wait, fuck, what was her last name?"

"Alright, here's another chance to lose Racism Points," the hippo piped up. "Jace, name five rappers - any five, except one specific one."

The buck waited for further explanation that never came. "...Which specific one?"

"That's the test! Figure out which one I don't want you to say, and don't say them!" Kwame chuckled.

"...How am I supposed to know who it is if you don't-?"

"It really oughta be obvious." The hippo sounded less amused now.

With a huff, Jace picked up a new spatula and flipped and moved some things in his pot as he tried to think of five rappers who wouldn't have been unmentionable for any reason. "Alright, well… first rapper who comes to mind is B-Rabbit, of course-"

"HA!" the hippo suddenly guffawed and gave one sharp clap. "Very first one and you're already done!"

Needless to say, the deer was flummoxed. "He was the one I wasn't supposed to say!?"

"Mmmmm-hmm!"

"Why him!?"

"Because that li'l white bunny is the only rapper someone like you would know about!" Kwame cackled. "Every rich suburban kid knows B-Rabbit, you were supposed to realize that and name anybody else!"

"He makes a good point, Jace," said Domingo from his station, who then proceeded to go back to grumbling to himself under his breath: "Shit, what was Selena's last name!?"

But the buck wasn't accepting the terms of his defeat. "Okay, fine, maybe it's predictable that he's the first rapper I think of, but so what!? If I hated rap music, I wouldn't have watched 8 Mile! Go on, quiz me on it, quiz me! B-Rabbit's character's rap name is M-n-M because of the brown rings around his eyes that look like chocolate candies! HA! D'ja expect me to know that!?"

The hippo barely glanced at the deer before simply shrugging. "Man, I ain't watched 8 Mile!"

Jace was slackjawed for a moment as he struggled trying to decipher whether his coworker was just screwing with him. Then the door to the dining room opened.

"Dom, Kwame," said Trent, pulling some folded papers out of his server's pouch. "I got us autographs."

The two chefs immediately stopped paying attention to their cooking and turned to face the Arctic fox.

"Autographs?" asked the tayra, looking like he was restraining himself from getting embarrassingly excited.

"I got us autographs," the waiter repeated. "...And a fuckton of orders I've just been sitting on, buuut that's neither here nor there."

"Man, we don't give a fuck about that!" the hippo cheered. "Something cool finally happened around here!"

But as excited as Kwame and Domingo were, Jace looked like everyone in the room had suddenly switched to speaking Swahili. "Wait, are these the homeless people from earlier!? Now they're handing out autographs!?"

Perhaps needless to say, the others ignored him.

"Uh, hold on, Dom," said the Arctic when the mustelid tried grabbing the first signed poster he saw. "That one's Kwame's. This one is, uh…" Trent examined the other two pages. "...this one's yours, this one's mine."

"They personalized them!?" asked the tayra, pleasantly surprised.

"The bear did, the fox seemed like he wanted to, but he… broke the arm he writes with, I guess. Seemed like he was pretty uncomfortable signing his name."

"He did?" asked the hippo. "Damn, man, hate to hear that, but just shows he's a badass that he signed them for us anyway!"

"If anybody wants to clue me in on these guys, it'd be greatly appreciated," the buck bitched to the room in general. "Still not too late."

"See?" The waiter pointed to the doodle on his poster. "Mauler even drew me peeing in the mayor's gay little top hat."

Domingo squinted to examine it, but if he was impressed by the artistry, he didn't show it. "Damn, I… I'm glad you told me that was supposed to be you because… otherwise I probably would've assumed it was the fox's brother."

Now this fox joined him in looking somber. "...Shit, I… didn't even think about that. He didn't actually say that was supposed to be me, I just… sort of assumed that."

The two chefs didn't know which interpretation was correct, and the conversation was becoming a downer, so they both just nodded and didn't say anything more as they folded their gifts and placed them in their pockets.

"Why is everyone acting like someone just died?" asked the deer.

"Somebody just died?" Oh, hey, another crazy new character! Everyone say hi to Zach the zebu! The busboy was coming back in with a large tub full of dirty dishes.

"Naw, we're talkin' about…" Trent trailed off for a second as he tried to think whether Zach was someone who it was safe to talk about the local legends with, before he realized the zebu was probably just as familiar with the bandits as any of them. "...Wait, you're from Phil Hill, right?"

"Yeah?"

"You know that big-ass British fox dude and that redneck mauler he hangs out with?" asked Kwame.

He certainly understood who they were talking about, but rather than looking excited, he looked nervous - and a bad and obvious not-so-quick glance at Jace made clear he was wondering himself whether it was safe to talk about them. "Uhhh-"

"Jace isn't gonna squeal," Domingo assured him, "he doesn't even know who they are."

"Which any of you could remedy but you're all choosing not to!" the buck protested again to anyone who cared to listen, which was nobody.

The zebu looked much more relieved now. "Yeah, of course I know them! They helped me pay my rent once!"

"Yeah, well, they're here," the waiter explained rather flatly as he pointed to the door.

Zach managed to do a double-take without even changing his line of sight. "Wait, they are!?"

"Tables fifteen and twenty-three."

The busboy opened the door ever so slightly to peek at the tables in question. "...Shit, I walked right past them! I didn't even recognize them wearing those fancy-ass clothes!"

"You seriously didn't recognize a fox who's five goddamn feet tall?" asked the hippo.

"Hey, I wasn't looking directly at anybody, they were just… shapes and colors in my periphery while I was collecting dishes." He peeked out there one time to double-check that his eyes and his coworkers were not deceiving him. "They're not exactly next to each other, I think if they were, I prolly woulda recognized them the first time. Fuck, what're the chances!?"

"They actually signed some wanted posters for us," said the tayra, holding his up to show him.

"They did!?" Zach asked incredulously as he grabbed the paper to verify it. "...Man, why didn't I get one!?"

"Because you were out collecting dishes when we were talking about him," answered the Arctic fox. "...Or maybe you were in the back washing dishes with your headphones on. Either way, you weren't talking about them with us."

"Zach," the deer cut in, "will you decide not to be a fucktard and actually explain to me who these two guys are and why they're so special?"

"Don't worry about him, Zach," said Domingo, "we already all agreed he's too sheltered to get it."

"HOW THE FUCK AM I TOO SHELTERED!?"

"What the hell are you guys screaming about now?" In walked another server, a porcupine named Lillian. "They can hear you in the dining room."

"Lil, yes or no question…" Trent began very carefully. "...do you recognize the people at tables fifteen and twenty-three? Or the guys, at least?"

Curious, she too peeked out of the door and tried to locate the tables. "...Can't really see anything from this angle…"

Without saying a word, the zebu pushed a crate over with his foot and the porcupine agreed to stand on it to give herself a better view.

"...Oh my God…"

"We know!" said Kwame with an uncontrollable smile brewing. "We got broke-person royalty in here tonight!"

"So she knows them, too?" Jace grumbled.

"Well," answered the porcupine, "I grew up in Hardscrabble, so-"

"What does that have to do with anything!?"

"Guys, we got guests complaining about too much noise coming from the kitchen," were the stern greeting words of the next waiter to walk in, a tiger. "I take no pleasure in siding with these snooty fuckers but they make a valid point."

"Desmond," Lillian said with an air of urgency, "without elaborating further… 'fox and bear who live in the woods.' You know who I'm talking about?"

It hardly took him a second. "...Why are we talking about them?"

"Tables fifteen and twenty-three," Trent stated matter-of-factly. "With their respective dates."

Now Desmond peeked out, only to duck inside and jump up and down while covering his mouth with his paws, trying to contain his excited squealing.

"They said they'd love to meet the staff after we close," the fox continued.

"Aw, I've run into them before, I'd love to again!" the tiger said once he got his composure back, still grinning ear-to-ear all the same. "I kinda wanna ask the bear if it's true what my mom says that he used to be roommates with my biological father, I didn't know that the last time I met them."

"Nobody's gonna clue me in, huh?" muttered the deer who nobody was going to clue in.

The next server to walk in was wearing their street clothes and entered with an exasperated groan. "Howdy, fuckos," greeted the fisher.

"Christian, what're you doing here?" one mustelid asked the other. "I thought you were off tonight."

"Well, Dom, I was off tonight because I was supposed to work my other job at The Chuckle Bunker, but after the dipshittery that happened there last night, that place is closed for at least the weekend, and I need money, and since apparently this place is swamped tonight, I told Trevor I'd-"

"Wait," Trent cut him off, "speaking of needing money… you're from Georgetown, right?"

"Yeah, that's why I'm working this shit-ass job so I can barely pay for community college," the fisher sneered.

"Dude, tables fifteen and twenty-three."

"...Hm-? HEY! What're you-!?"

Desmond didn't waste time picking the little guy up and opening the door so Christian could see.

"...No way…" the mustelid started chuckling as the big cat put him down. "No fuckin' way. God… I remember one day in high school, my mom served me expired Dinty Moore for dinner and I was sick of being poor, and I was this fuckin' close to asking around at school how I could start selling drugs, but then the very next day… these two guys pay my mom a visit… and we didn't have to eat expired soup anymore." He just kept laughing under his breath, in pleased disbelief.

"Right, literally everyone else knows who these guys are and I just suck I guess," said the buck who sucked.

"It's a broke-people thing, Jace, you just ain't never gonna get it," the hippo snickered.

And finally in walked one last waitress, a moose named Kayla. "Um, guys? I, uh… I hope I'm not stereotyping, but I know a lot of you guys are from the West Side, and… there's two guys, with two women, at Fifteen and Twenty-Three. Do you guys… recognize them?"

Everyone else in that kitchen besides Jace started cheering.

"Oh, C'MON!" Jace hollered. "Kwame here just said knowing whoever these people are is a 'broke-person thing,' but Kayla's parents are richer than mine are! Her dad's, like… a lawyer or something, right!?"

The moose looked unamused. "My dad's a public defender who specifically chose that line of work to help people who can't afford an attorney and my mom's an administrator at that school downtown for mentally-handicapped kids," she retorted plainly. "These two guys were about to rob my parents, but then they got to talking about their lines of work, and now they leave a Christmas card in our mailbox every year along with a cash donation for the school."

The others all cheered again, save for the deer, whose face was twisted in bafflement.

"...Wait, what was that about robbing you?"

"Well, the coyote guy they used to hang out with still didn't like my parents after that, but the other three told him to shut up because my parents were some of the good ones-"

"Nono," Domingo interrupted, "Jace doesn't even know who they are. He's too sheltered."

"Okay, you can't reasonably expect me to know what the hell you mean by sheltered when you aren't defining your fucking terms!" the buck barked.

But the terms would not soon be defined:

"...Heh…" Kwame giggled to himself, "...Jace is so sheltered, I bet he grew up with a housekeeper."

Everyone except you-know-who broke down laughing after that.

"...Yeah, so my family had a maid, so what!?" Jace demanded. "How does that shelter me!?"

"Jace is so sheltered, I bet he's been to summer camp," said Domingo.

"Jace is so sheltered, I bet he's been skiing," said Zach.

"Jace is so sheltered, I bet he's been on a boat," said Lillian.

"Jace is so sheltered, I bet he had his own car in high school," said Desmond.

"Jace is so sheltered, I bet at some point he's drunk lemonade out of a mason jar," said Christian.

"Jace is so sheltered, I bet he had a TV in his room growing up," said Kayla. "Even I didn't have that!"

"Jace is so sheltered," Kwame began again, "I bet-"

"QUINTANILLA!"

Everyone stopped and stared at the tayra who'd just made a very sudden outburst.

"...I remember now," said Domingo, "Selena's last name was Quintanilla."