And HE won (For Drewit)
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Friday the 13th! A day when things famously go wrong. Full of bad luck! Yet today, for one mammal… Things go very right.
Note: This is an AU/ For-want-of-a-nail fic based on Merc_Marten's Fire Triangle story. In particular, something very different happens at about chapter 90 or so of season 1. Obvious spoilers for that, and a bunch of other stuff that occurs near the end of the fic, though I'd say it certainly wouldn't ruin your enjoyment of the story would you wish to pick it up. Either way, if you wish to proceed, enjoy!
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'When the going get's tough, the tough get…'
Conor's paws darted down to his pocket and pulled the phone out, driving it up to his ears before he could even chastise himself for being that slow.
After all, whenever 'Tuff-Guy-Tufts' was on his phone, that was the ringtone that alerted the young silver fox to the news. And sure, it was pretty much all mundane calls with the little Kaibab jerkwad grumbling about this, that, custody and complaints… -But you bet your tail that the time you didn't pick up, it was because he was about to catch it.
As it happened, whoever the squirrel was calling sure as heck was taking their time to pick up. Something the fox could certainly understand, given how many…
"-Yes…" Conor's ears pulled back as he heard the tired, bored, already fed-up voice of Nick Wilde over the phone. So, police business at least.
"-Has anyone come in yet?"
"Well, given that it's a public locker room…" The silver fox's blood ran cold.
"-Don't give me that! You know what I mean."
"You mean someone coming to pick up the package we saw getting dropped off. You know, I think you calling has just doubled the chance he's going to walk in riiiiggghhhhttttt now!"
"Don't give me that."
"Okay, okay. But thanks for reminding us to call you when we see someone. I knew there was something the academy forgot to teach us."
A sciuridaen hiss filled the line, almost covering up the slight sound of lapine on vulpine corporal discipline in the background.
"-Hopps, do that again. And call me when you see something."
"-How long till he calls again Fl…"
The line went dead, Conor slowing putting the phone down. Slipping it into his pocket, he walked around the corner, the stairs to the lockers up ahead. The sun was warm, mammals walking about happy, free…
His friends were out there, enjoying themselves.
He had his life to live, and for want of an impatient squirrel, he still had it.
Keeping it together, he walked down, keeping to the other side of the hallway to the locker, its Bluefang lock still firmly in place. Other megafauna lockers were in use, but a few were empty and into one he placed his gear, locking it up.
And with that he walked out, the sun warm again.
Phone by his side, checking for any news, any updates, etcetera…
Nothing.
And as he spent the day playing volleyball, relaxing on the boardwalk, nothing came about.
At least until his phone sung out once more, lifted to his ear in a second and an even more unamused rebuke coming from Wilde.
And with that, with the day approaching an end, Conor began making his way back. He paused though as he saw a scrap of paper, skipping across the brick pathway, trampled down and dusted with fur and footfalls of however many mammals. Leaning down, picking it up with a piece of tissue lest he contaminate it, he happened to have a quick pen on him and so, finding a shaded area, set to work.
Writing a few things out, using a piece of plastic as a ruler to make sure every line was straight and of no relation to his normal writing, careful to ensure he didn't touch it, a message was written out. And, after shaking it down to clean off any fur or skin of his, he joined a large crowd walking in the right direction and, seeing what he was looking for, tossed the folded up paper into a buskers hat.
Returning to the locker room, he picked up his stuff, taking his time in his locker to open the app for the Bluefang lock and opening it up. And with that he left, walking up the stairs and mounting his bike. Helmet on, for the benefit of the cops, he took off, slowly making his way back the way he usually did. Changing stations, weaving his way back up towards his loft.
It was as he exiting the subway station that his phone pinged. Not a live recovery of a Tufts conversation, but a recording of one just a few minutes passed. Nick and Judy, dialling back Tufts number, reporting what they saw.
"We think we've got somebody…"
"You do? About time."
"Sorry, we weren't concentrating hard enough. We'll do better next time."
"Rrrrrrrrr… Just give me the details, Fox."
With a rustle, the phone was pulled across and Judy was speaking out. "Looks like some old homeless bighorn, doesn't seem sure but… -The lock is off, he's pulling it out. Walking away."
"Well, are you going to do something!?"
"I hardly think this is the Phantom. Most likely a courier, we'll follow and see if he goes anywhere with it."
Conor slipped his phone away and, entering up into his loft, sat down and rubbed his brow. He looked over at his memento's, the things he'd gathered from this new life. And honestly, they meant jack-diddly-squat compared to his friends, his peace of mind, his everything…
Paw on his head he massaged the bridge of his muzzle, unable to stop it then balling into a fist and slamming the desktop table. This close… This close to losing it all…
But… He hadn't, had he?
He finally let a smile grow on his face, beginning to laugh and smile. This was it. The whole loaning thing, done. Finished. Finito! Case frickin' closed.
Sure, he'd made a loss dropping that last payment but screw that, he was never in it for the profit.
It was done…
And now?
Don't walk the line, stick the heck away from it. Don't even touch it with a barge pole, that was what he was bringing out.
He moved over to the great gilded furaday's cage of the Furrison hotel only for his phone to ring once more. He held it up, listening in. "Uh, Sir?" Judy's voice broached the subject and he couldn't help but smile just a little. Going all formal like that only meant one thing for the hunt for the Phantom.
"What!?"
"The bighorn in question has broken out the money of the case and is… Keeping it. Wilde peacefully approached him…"
"-AND!?"
"He handed over a letter he says he found in his pan-handle. -No clue who put it there. 'Free money for a good cause. Large mammal lockers by fishing pier. LB6. Case is yours. Keep paper. Tell Tufty Bye-Bye."
Conor couldn't help but laugh out at the nuclear tantrum that erupted over the line, along with all the other stages of grief played out like a royal flush. Slipping in after being bumped to second place, denial came up next. "'NONONONONONO'" Then bargaining: "WELL THERE'LL BE PRINTS ON IT, RIGHT?"
And, after a quick mention by Wilde that it was by far too dirty, stained, scented and pawprinted to be any use, even if they had a mammal they could link to it, depression. "No…. How did that…" A long, withdrawn sigh was blown out.
And last but not least, acceptance. "Right. That pest is cleverer than we thought. And I suppose must have a soft spot for Wesselton or something. Didn't want his plea bargain to go out… -Might even be a contingency between those two and nothing to do with this phantom."
-Scratch that, he'd gone straight to stage six. Conspiracy theory.
"Duke gets busted, they play this card or something with Duke's life savings to make sure he doesn't get sent away for good. -I wouldn't put it past those weasels! Right, pick up that money, I want it dusted for prints, traced, give it the works."
Nick cut in. "You're not gonna take a homeless mammals money are ya Albert?"
"No. You are! To his face!"
"…Can we promise we'll give it ba…"
And with that, it cut off. Conor smirked before relaxing. Well, he figured that his charitable donation might run into some slight legal issues, and while it certainly distracted them from his whole suite of activities, he certainly didn't want any undue attention being put on those weasels…
Well, one of them at least.
But that was beside the point.
Right now…
He slipped into the Furrison hotel and relaxed back in the zero gravity chair, a chuckle growing from his throat.
Once again, he'd fought the law.
And he'd won.
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He first heard about it with a ping from Mike on Discorps, his phone app twinging up and the vulpine raising an ear. He was busy doing some work at the Peace Rock Guitar Co-Op and, finishing off his first chunk of the shift, retreated to the break room in order to look at it.
J^W^I: "Hey, these those cops we saw?"
Conor looked down at the video, pressing the screencap and watching as Zoo-Tube loaded up. At first he was confused, only to… Uhhhh, okay? So they were a thing then. Right, not his thing but… Oh Fluff, they really were a thing then, good for…
His ears pulled back, a snarl at the back of his mouth. Opening the discorps messenger back up, he typed out.
Eljaysliver: "Who the rut posted that!"
J^W^I: "No clue. Just pinged up, them getting inter in the station."
Eljaysliver: "That look like a station to you?"
J^W^I: "Rut. That messed up."
Eljaysliver: "Yeah. F that."
And with that he put the phone away. Sure, he didn't get that inter stuff, sure pred and prey doing the thing… Well, it wasn't his thing was it? But at least he and the others had standards. It wasn't like those two cops were parading it around in the street next to the preachers outside the stations or something. That was their own home and some piece of scat had come in and…
He then got slapped round the side like he'd been hit with a riot-control beanbag launcher. Again. When that windbag hyrax got a hold of that video.
And Erin…
By the time his shift had ended and he'd returned home (at least before going out to a planned jam session with the crew) he'd been hovering his paw over the app to contact Erin, thinking and waiting…
In the end he felt it best for her to come to him. After all, sure she was his generation, but she was a farm bunny as well and who the fluff knew where she lay on this spectrum.
-Scratch that, he'd been physically educated as to where she lay.
Let her come to him first, that was the way to do it.
He hoped she was okay. He hoped they all were.
And so he left off with his guitar on his back, joining with his friends and the group playing around a bit. Saad especially had been performing with a newfound vigour, ever since they'd won back his eloped guitar via formal over the table methods. Indeed, they all sat back and just appreciated the fast layer of improv he was laying down. Four-Four rhythm like any classic old surf song, but the beat rate raced up to make it sound almost Two-Two, by a cheetah on steroids. Paws danced across the strings, plucking and typing into them like he was a sewing machine or hot rod engine, the latter the one most likely given that it'd probably be the subject of whatever song he'd be singing.
As it turned out, it was a boarder song. Snow-boarding that was. Conor could only laugh, a few months ago the Tundratown Bobtail Slopes had held their annual end-of-season festival. Party music, bikini clad arctic mammals and loose shirted non-arctics seeing as a blast of warm air had blown in, raising the air temperature up to the mid-seventies higher up the mountains.
Yup, that had been a fun little instruction by Dana, their resident winter sports mammal. While at every other winter sports venue you'd go up to get the better snow, here you stuck around the middle, where the cold air sunk inside Tundratown wasn't getting blown away and mixed with the natural warmth coming in over top. Add to that the fact that the trees offered protection from the blazing sun, and you could still get freshly bashed and crisp corduroy if you got up early and stuck to the shadows.
Well, she had.
Jason had followed, slowly following her instructions on the skis, enjoying his time and getting better despite repeated falls over.
Saad and Conor himself had opted for the snowboard, given the sandcat's practice on the surf. Yeeeeaahhhhh… Those skills hadn't translated at all, and the two had spent most of the time in what Dana dubbed the natural habitat for those on the darkside. Sitting down with a freezed up tail in the middle of the slushy piste.
While eventually Conor had made some progress, much to the cheers of some very scantily clad arctic vixens and wolf gals who'd been pulling jumps and tricks on the piste-side ramps, Saad had ended up quitting halfway through, retreating to the opened-up umbrella bar and downing a hot chocolate. And then another. And then more.
Yet, right now, as he sung a hot song about what for him had been a cold and miserable day, with parties on the slushy snow and the white fluffy chicks with their trick playing hip, you'd think it'd been a slam out success. Heck, Conor was certain that were it not for the meme pics they'd (read: Jason) all spread over from that day, that Mike, who'd been absent, would be convinced that the sand cat had enjoyed the day the most.
The fox relaxed back as Saad pulled into another chorus. His own lyrics, chords, composition… He looked on and couldn't help feel a pang on longing. How… How did he just pluck magic like that out of thin air? Sure, he himself could play, he could improvise, he could mix and match and remix. Heck, ask Mike about the time they'd played about with a mixing set and their instruments, creating some unholy K-pop classic-rock fusions like they were Dr Frankenschwein and Igar hard at work. The fox had even yelled out 'IT'S ALIVE!' at one point.
He could take something and spin it out and out and out, improvising off a base…
-But he needed that base. He needed that foundation to work off. Sure he'd tried, he'd played around, making his own songs or lyrics, and sometimes he might have a fragment or a riff or an interesting chorus. But they were like spare parts to a dozen and a half different car makes, smuggled out of the factory and needing assembly. Of course, he knew they weren't going to fit together, they'd be a laughing stock, and it wasn't like he had Erin here saying 'Honey, take me for a spin.'
He froze, tail buzzing up for a second. Where the heck had that come from.
Either way, every time he had something of his own… It felt not good enough, or too stunted, or most often too derivative. Like he'd sing it and then one week later, he'd been in court like George Hareison, learning just how close his masterpiece actually was to someone else's work.
The last time that'd happened, he'd been actually feeling ready, feeling he'd got something of his own, something good and unique and all his. -Only for it to be pointed out that the whole core riff and tune was a tracing paper copy off of the fourth song from Warren Zebron's Ramsverse City album. Heck, one quick look up and he was flashed back to the hospital, Kieren by his bedside, playing a short excerpt of the Russian language verses of an unnamed song. The sea mink had told him what the translation was, and that he'd made sure that it was what some of the last members of the Staliny Volki had heard as they were huddled up and terrified, under siege, minutes away from paying the ultimate price for their crimes.
The fact that the tune had remained forgotten for so long before resurfacing, Conor resurrecting it in a minor key with happy lyrics, whereas it'd originally been the reverse, was just salt in the wound.
Still, a sudden flourish from Saad pulled him from his blues, Conor clapping along as they moved on to the next bit.
It was only then that Dana cut them off. "I… I got some sensitive news," he said. "You remember the cops who busted the nighthowler case?"
Conor nodded, Saad saying that they'd met in person, Mike piping along in agreement.
"-Well," she sighed, her muzzle starting to riven up a little. "Not only did some piece of scat hack into some security cams or something and take videos of their personal relationship, but this conservative jerkwad Rocky Hard-assy is plastering it all over his show. Knowing it'll just get pieces of filth to pile on to them. I…" She sighed. "I was thinking we could do something. -In solidarity."
And so discussions came about as to what to do. The idea was simple enough, take a well known song and do a lyric change or such. Solidarity with pred-prey lovers. The more they talked, the more Dana seemed to take it personally, as if Nick and Judy were good friends. As if the next two up on the guillotine would be her and Jason.
-In the end it was Mike who came up with the idea they chose to push with. Behind Blue Eyes, only from the perspective of a female prey, caring for a male pred lover. Jason had suggested they swap the perspective and genders, though Conor had said that maybe that would be a bit too unsubtle.
And so they started penning the lyrics down.
"My love is my pred boy," Conor sung, "That can never be…"
And so, they got the rough idea together and finished off performing all the sundries: Ordering an Interspecies Pride (Red, white, tan-yellow and black cantons, a thick lined heart in the centre made out of each opposites colour) and Pred-Prey pride (Orange and green halves, the same style heart motif in the centre) flag; hashtagging and contacting any sympathetic mammals, LGBIT+ or not; Conor shotgunning acoustic lead.
They'd record it quickly and put it out, before their better judgement inevitably realised just how cringe it was and they rightfully abandoned it. And with that last laugh they parted for the night, Conor returning home and falling asleep.
When he woke up, he found he had a message from Erin. Stating firmly that if he heard about it, the video was a deepfake, her sister's honour bound. The fox messaged the others, the whole project put on pause for a while. In the end, it slipped away when the very buried truth came about.
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A few types on the screen, a moment or two, and the message from Guild came back.
'Can't find any traces. Whatever doors they opened, they closed.'
'Or are just well hidden.'
'Point.'
And with that the silverfox signed off, unplugging himself from the Furrison hotel and stretching his legs. A classic issue with building a backdoor into a system, and keeping it open for protective monitoring, was that someone looking through their own system might find the keyhole and sneak back in. Keiran had known that and built in protections, emergency shutdowns, things that only a genius like him might be able to recognise, and even then it'd just be a slight blip hidden in the noise. An untestable variable as that part of the gateway closed down…
Of course things like this came about regularly. The ZPD didn't want their system being spied on so cyber security sweeps were conducted. Nowhere near able to hinder him of course, but a poorer quality intrusion with more reckless operators and that was it. Bye-bye time.
What had piqued his interest though was repeated references to Nick Wilde and Judy Hopps. He didn't want to see them too lay-wayed by whatever scat-brain had made the deepfake, so he'd set up his system to listen out for any mentions.
And indeed, there had many.
What most interested the fox the most was that the location was not faked. It was one of their own safehouses, where the pair had conducted some secret planning sessions in order to combat an ongoing set of arson attacks.
The fur pricked up on Conor's back at the mention that it was a possible gang war being set up, just waiting for some Gazielo Princip wannabe to come along and snap. He'd been there, he'd seen that, no-way ho-zay did he want it in his new home city.
Either way, the fact that the deep fakers had used their presence at that place and then built up on that meant that they had to have gotten pictures. I.E. Hack into the systems. Henceforth Tuff-Guy-Tufts was doing what he could to find the entrance, probably hoping it was some gung-ho wannabe troll or something.
As it happened, nothing had come up.
And Conor had gotten worried about a new possibility. Sure, it was so remote it'd make that island the Bounty mutineers ended up on look like a downtown apartment, but if someone else was in the ZPD system. Unseen, undetected…
Could they not get into his system?
He didn't live the life he did now by not being careful, and so a set of countermeasures and monitoring had gone on, along with their own slight offensive against whoever this was. Looking for signs, scrolling the forums, ear to the ground to see if they had any clues.
But it seemed like these mammals had been as careful as he was.
Much to his slight disappointment. He'd heard from Erin that many in their family were turning against Judy to some degree. All while he'd heard from his monitoring in the ZPD that some mammals were making one big stink about it.
Well, if he couldn't protect them that way, he could settle for shooting the messenger.
But while it'd give him unfathomable schadenfreude to find a video of Rocky Hardesty pictured in a pred-play session with a professional huntress or better yet hunter… -Alas, no dice.
And so that would be what would happen, except…
A pinging caught his ear and, walking back into the gilded cage, he looked at his web-monitoring and frowned, a worrying pit starting to eat away at the edge of his stomach. It was one of the Rocky-Hardesty forums, and the hyrax's lemmings were right now up in arms about a possibility of catching Nick and Judy in the fur.
At…
He scratched his head, not knowing why that place was relevant unless the two were going flower shopping or something.
Either way, he couldn't not do something.
He typed up discordance and Erin's profile. Ack, she'd probably be asleep now. He could only hope that her farm-girl genes outmatched her teen-girl genes. And then, she might see it or… -Scratch that, not like there was any losses.
'Hey, heard someone posting about getting a mob to ambush your sister and her partner. Here's the link, you might wanna warn them.' And with the forum link pasted in, off it was sent.
Out into the void…
The fox helpless again.
-Unless…
He began working through his backdoors, if he could… A few types and he smirked. The jam camera networks, and if he took this one here and… Zooming in on the fisheye lense, he saw the front of the shop in question.
Now, if he could find somewhere around the back…
He huffed a little, anything there must have been localised CCTV, so unless…
He paused, bringing up the website of the shop and then finding the email address. A few look ins, narrowing down the IP address, and he was about to make the Danish resistance to their invasion in World War Two look like the Finns holding the Mahmaheim line in comparison.
A few clicks and… -He was in.
The system was simple enough. Basic security cameras downloading to an in-property hard drive. And… -He coughed, shocked at what he saw. Razorbacks, armed to the tusk, lying in wait.
And then he realised it.
If this was going to be where the next attack in the mob war was coming, scratch the winter war, this was going to be the Cowbodian invasion of Vietnam.
-He needed some popcorn.
A while later, nibbling on his bowl, he waited and watched, the video recording this for prosperity. Sure, for all his slightly morbid curiosity he figured he would not want to see this again, but he knew 'did you record it' would be the first thing off of Guild's keyboard.
An hour or so later, worming his way through a podcast, Conor saw it. A Minks armoured truck arriving. External audio off (not that he could access any from the scene) and he saw polar bear forces moving out.
Dammit, what were the scats thinking!
Scratch any well deserved payback, he was about to witness the Black Hoof spark the conflict and set it all off in front of him. Mammals were going to die. Innocents, bystanders, those who didn't know better.
In they charged, the trap sprung, the bears fleeing back into a bathroom, the boars outside. Jeering, laughing… And then.
He regretted every kernel he'd chowed down, now trying to force its way back up. He knew this. He'd lived through this. This wasn't possible without the pain and suffering he and the others went through… And now…
He winced as he saw the carnage go on, the bears fleeing as they left their arson device. Soon it was smoking, one then two of the internal cameras blinking off, the heat breaking them.
Checking on the outside, he saw the ZPD arrive, moving around, establishing a large perimeter.
Some arguments and shouting were going on and only then did he notice that he had a message from Erin.
Thx. Judy knows.
He breathed a sigh of relief not long after as they left the side-alley, a conspicuous distance apart. Not that anyone could see.
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…
Leaving the Furrison hotel, he legged it to the bathroom, gagging up and almost emptying his stomach regardless. Either way, he was left shivering, cowering.
That piece of scat…
He didn't have the ZPD in his paws, so what better way to take down one mob he didn't than with another. Two birds, one stone.
Okay, Foxy, maybe focus here! Hello? Mob war?
"Crap…" And with that he went back to the Furrison hotel, suddenly a million times more than thankful that he'd chosen to record that for Guild. Send that to the ZPD… -Scratch that, send it to Mr Big and the Red Pig too. Tell them that they were being set up. Tell them who by. Tell them what happened to the last mammal that crossed that person and…
He froze, thinking.
Sure, in open warfare one mob boss wouldn't be able to take on La-Peigne…
But two?
Two with the advantage, the surprise. Get a drop on the giant hare and take him out…
He'd be free. No more sword of Deermocles over his head.
Still, for all he knew he'd be leading them off like lemmings, right…
"Holy yiffing scatballs!"
The Rock Hardesty mammals had known about this before it had all gone down.
They were being led by the same mammals who were doing this.
Jack La-Peigne was behind the deepfake! Why on earth would…
He facepawed, the answer so obvious and stupid you could call him B'rer Fox and he'd still get it. That dumb bunny was after Judy Hopps, and whether romantically involved or not, he wanted Nick Wilde out of the picture pronto.
Pinching the brow of his muzzle, he began typing everything out, ready for Guild. This was fursonal. And if La-Peigne wanted a war, he was gonna get it.
Mr Big.
The Red Pig.
And the ZPD.
Oh yes, they were going to get an anonymous video, and a pointer in the right direction. And, the piece-de-resistance…
Opening up the laptop and scrolling through the encrypted of the encrypted, the videos he knew were there but dare not look at… The ones that made his heart beat fast and the massive furadays cage around him feel tighter, colder, the bars thicker and the atmosphere more cloying, strangling, gripping down and…
He slapped himself, focussing forward and steadying himself with a few breaths before looking on through.
He wouldn't risk exposing himself…
But there were others.
Others he could save.
Others he could pay back.
One or two clips showing the massive bunny in full frame. And one or two of a certain former blockmate of his. One of the pair in the same space, the lapine watching on as his latest concoction was tested on the mad mustelidae.
This time Conor had to take a break. He had to get some fresh air.
After exiting his loft and staying himself, up he went again. Finishing it off. Adding a few more documents that he found.
He hadn't really had a look in any of this, but in doing so he saw more stuff that confirmed what he thought, or suggested what he feared, or just plain sowed new stuff on virgin fields.
In the end he had to call it quits.
He had enough.
Plenty more was still left, in case he ever did need all of this as leverage. But with a last search, ensuring any mention of him, even down to the species, was absent, he compiled and added it in. Guild had stated he'd already done his best to get in contact with the mob bosses, telling them that they were being threatened by the same force that had sunk Jim McCrodon and that they should meet up, let him think they were still at each other's necks, while letting him play into his own demise.
Compared to that, the anonymous whistleblower providing info to the ZPD, along with the mention of the forum finding, was a doddle.
With one last message, it was done.
Conor, feet shaking, stood up. He was halfway out of the cage when he chose on fitting word for this moment. "HAVOC!"
And off he walked, knowing he had just let slip the dogs of war.
.
.
"Told you I'd be there to see you."
Erin just tilted her face, scrunched up and pouting, and stuck her tongue out at him.
"Eh, she likes you Co-nah!"
The silver fox looked back over to Jason, shrugging. "The outcome was never really in doubt."
He received a light punch to his side, looking down at her and unable to resist the temptation. "Isn't that a sign of affection in bunnies?"
The change with the white bunny was immediate, the pink parts of her ears going beet red and her face becoming adorably, adorably mad. Any further reaction from her was cut off by Dana, coming over. "Don't worry about them," she said, offering to help the white doe bunny with her things. Erin's foot-drumming was sated, for now. "Just a big bunch of dumb-dumbs, come on."
She led Erin off, Jason sniggering a little as they went.
"Alright," Conor said. "I bite."
"Ah, she's probably gonna tell her there ain't no shame in the pred prey game," the painted dog laughed, giving Conor a punch on the shoulder.
Oooohhhhh-kay, were he a less composed mammal Conor right now would be coughing out 'no's' and 'don't be dumb's' and 'she's a bunny's!' but, right now, the silverfox could keep himself composed amongst friends. And most certainly give as good as he got.
"Yeah, but I still don't think Dana's gonna like it when you drop the lucky doe's name."
He smirked as Jason laughed it off, a slight coughing breaking the pair back to the stand. Saad was standing there, an ever so mild frown on his face. "This queue isn't going down by itself, and Mike was going around asking…"
"Sure," Conor said, splitting ways with the others. He found his rat friend working on some of the lights, quickly joining him. While the silver fox may have had the best computer skills here by far, in terms of practical applications the rigger-rat had him beat. It was a certain annoying fact that, being a school that roped in the most artistic of the mammals, the tech wizzes who'd otherwise be the ones dealing with this stuff were rather underrepresented.
Sure, Mike was the exception having been very much encouraged to enter the performing arts via the route least travelled when his parents were not the rich mammals they were now. And sure, he actually did enjoy the role. But putting all your skills in one rat (for the music school at least, drama had a few riggers of their own, though the demand there was waaaayyy higher) certainly had its risks, and limitations. One the fox was helping to negate as he stretched up and plugged in some cables.
A thumbs up from the rat and Conor joined him in, following along as they tested up the electrical systems and coding. He was learning quickly, and come the new academic year it would play dividends. There were certain rumours that, along with the requirements to assist in other school's performances, there would also be a requirement to learn an assisting skill of some kind. Rigging, tech and all that jazz was certainly preferable in his mind to stuff like makeup, costume repair and so forth.
Regardless, things were soon set up with plenty of time to spare. And, with more audience members heading into the amphitheatre seating, Conor made his way out to guide them in.
Seat after seat, down they went, settling in and…
"Oh, hi there!"
Conor looked down, smiling as he saw a familiar little bunny. "Hello Cotton." And, looking up, some familiar larger ones.
"Hi Conor."
"Judy," he introduced, the grey bunny shaking his paw. She began to say something only to pause, stepping forward and guiding in some more members of the family. The silver fox took the time to step back. After all, it wasn't like he could just go out and ask how the investigation into a certain giant bunny was going. Or, for that matter, just broach a rather sensitive matter involving a certain fox.
In his odd talk with Finnick, he'd gathered that things hadn't been getting any worse, which was something. And from Judy? Well, no news was good news.
Indeed, most of their conversation was the standard pleasantries. How had things been, how were his friends, in response he had a few questions. Did she know anything about the Guildford case (sure, he knew but he wanted to give her something to say). And indeed she did, talking about how Mac Cannon was in town to try and read that coyote his rights. Nick was even at the precinct, the officer who collared him ready and waiting in the wings in case the Deputy wanted to deploy him as a trump card.
"I get ya," Conor nodded. "He doing good. Nick?"
Judy paused, thinking. "I'm… I'm not sure what you've heard…"
"Erin told me about the deepfake. I'm sorry."
Judy nodded, running a paw up through the fur on her head. "It's… It's calming down," she said, smiling. "Thanks for sending word down about that forum." She laughed a little. "Nick got a little too close when that fire went off, and was in a bit of a state…" She let out a chuckle. "If we'd been together coming out when those mammals got there."
"I follow what you're bringing out."
"But yeah, hasn't been so bad after that. And hopefully if news about my new relationship gets out, it might go some way to damping down the trolls."
"Oh, new buck in your life?"
"Uhhhh…" She tapped two fingers together. "Well, remember the Carrot Days festival."
"Yes?" he began, a slow dawning realisation coming over him.
"Well, Jack La-Peigne, heard of him?"
"You can say that."
"Uh-hu, he helped stop the chemical attack. Well, I went to just ask him about some more details to fill in the record around Craig, he offered lunch, I found him a bit charming and…" She gave a laugh. "Hey, I guess we click."
"I guess you do," he said, smiling. He paused, looking away. "Anyway, things to do…"
"Sure, sure. Nice catching up."
To which Conor agreed, moving away, a smirk growing on his face. If what he thought was going on was going on… He couldn't help but look forward to when the scat finally hit the fan. Jack had caught the juiciest fish in the sea and was all too happily reeling it in. Not noticing just how many sharp, sharp teeth it had.
And with that, he helped guide in more of the audience, settling them down.
Back with his friends, they got on to a very important conversation.
"Might be Jenny," Dana joked, giving a shrug. Jenny was a Friend of Mine, the first song on the Killers first release, Hot Furs. Conor nodded. Sure, it was a fine bass led song, especially given how almost all their main work was synth led. But, at the same time…
"Too conventional," Mike cut in. "I mean, you replaced all that with your violin at your audition. Unconventional."
Conor nodded along. Getting to play along with her acoustic version of that song was certainly a treat.
Dana shrugged. "A girl can dream."
"-Maybe some Kim Wildcat?" Mike suggested.
"Kits in Zootopia comes up every year," Saad said, matter of factly.
"Yeah," Jason agreed. "And that wolf gal with the purple fur dye and keytar? She's doing that song. Bet ya tail."
"I'll bet you my bug bites," Saad said, holding a packet up.
"Done," Jason smirked, shaking some ostrich biltong as a counter bet.
"Water on Glass is a better song anyway," Mike said.
"If you want an iconic bass song," Jason said. "My Generation."
"Conventional," Saad said. "And Conor is the most likely to know."
The fox looked over and gave a shrug. "Richard Tomcat," he said, listing off on his fingers. "Stony Ground." Another finger. "Sung into my face." He looked up and smirked.
"Con-nah," Jason teased back. "If she was to sing a song at you. Tom Puppy, Refuge."
A round of giggles and laughter filled the small group, Conor rolling his eyes. Okay, they had a point… That would certain be a fitting song if they were a thing, -which they weren't.
Either way, any speculation was cut off as Gazelle got on stage and sung out. Soon the audience was cheering as each new mammal came on. It was about an hour in when Erin's name was called, the group looking on at the edge of their seats or perches.
And soon, up she went. "Break a leg," he said.
"That's my luckiest part," she said as, resplendent, she walked out.
Plugged herself in.
Looking on, chomping down a pawful of bug bites, Jason gave Conor a shake on his shoulder.
They froze as, for a moment, they thought she was doing something off of Dark Side of the Moon. But then the tune of Jump into the Fire began playing out, and Erin let loose.
By the time she was done she walked off, up to the small group, panting and fanning herself. "So… So, how did I?"
Conor dropped to his knees, bowing in front of her. "We are not worthy. We are not worthy."
"Speak for yourself," Saad said. "But it was pretty good."
By the end of the day, that was shown to be somewhat of an understatement. The small group, together, cheered, Jason shouting out like a hyperactive zoomy puppy dog that they had a bass player. THEY HAD A BASS PLAYER!
That they did.
By the end of the day, Conor sat in his bed, a smile on his muzzle.
Oddly enough, despite all the many songs that he'd heard today, it was one which to the surprise of many hadn't featured that he found himself humming.
As Bob Margay sung. "Everything, Gonna be alright."
.
.
"Mr La…" The wolverine froze, muzzle rivening up a little as he saw the sight. Laid out, Jack La-Peigne and his girlfriend were being seen to by a trio of unvetted vixen masseuses.
"Seth," he said, looking up and smiling. "I heard these three came highly rated."
Judy nodded.
"Regardless, we have reports of some cyberattacks on some of our…"
The giant rabbit immediately jerked up, hissing as he scratched himself against the vixen's claws.
"Sorry, I…"
He glared at her, before looking at the other two. "You may cease your ministrations." He gave a turn to Judy. "My apologies."
"No, don't worry. I think I need the toilet anyway." She slipped off the table, smiling at the vixens. "Thanks girls."
They chuckled, saying thankyous and left, though Judy couldn't help but look at the vicious glare the wolverine gave, sending them skittering away. Regardless, she walked along, at first to the toilet but then taking a small diversion to see if she could hear anything. Pick anything up.
It was a dangerous game, but she'd play it for however long it took.
To find what he was up to with those supersoldiers.
To find all the kits he'd done those experiments on.
Eventually some of their mammals would go the prison facility they believed it was based out of.
But for now, he wanted her.
She was going to play his blindspot for all it was worth.
.
.
"The pellet was injected?"
"Yes sir. He jerked up at one moment when this, like, scary wolverine told him of a cyberattack, and I was able to use that to drive it in."
Mr Big looked on at his three agents. Three vixens, mollifier of the stresses and pains of the rich, the famous, the arrogant, the ignorant, the useful.
"Good, good. Of course, this was such an ask, you must be retired, with a generous severance of course."
"I understand," she said, her sisters nodding along with each other.
"The set up is sooo generous."
"Literally can't wait."
Mr Big smiled, chuckling. He would miss them. And so, for dealing with such a deadly pest, he did what he would so rarely do. Bow, and then clap.
And the many other members of his family joined him, as did those invited. Even the Red Pig, managing a small nod of his head, as the three who'd liberated them from their insurmountable threat left.
An hour or so later, their charter plane taking off with them and their fake identities to bountiful fields anew, Mr Big looked up at the Red Pig. It was just the pair of them and their seconds in commands: Kozlov and Joey the Shadow. "I hope, in the spirit of co-operation."
"-Yeah, yeah, remember who got you all those spare smoke alarms for this plan," he grunted. "And who came up with the plan." He threw a glance at his consiglieri, the black boar giving a nod.
Mr Big nodded, raising a glass. "Indeed, a well formed planned. By the time the isotope has settled in his bones and the long slow painful decline begins, every surface will be wiped and every paper burned."
"Yeah, yeah, just don't get any ideas," Peccarri noted, taking his own wine out of his hip flask and pouring it.
Mr Big nodded. "No offense taken, given the business."
The pig gave a snort of approval and, together, the crime bosses raised their glasses. To them, to their survival, and to the mammal who'd forwarded the truth of the plot to cast them at each other's throats, and had ensured they didn't go the way of the late Jim McCrodon.
"To his good health," Kozlov said.
"To his good health," they agreed.