When Your Otter Date is Also Your Debt Collector: Part 2
Sam was at a complete loss, and by the look of Finnick, he wasn't having such a swell time either. Sitting down on their respective chairs had the two completely silent. None of them knew how the conversation should start. There were so many things they needed to talk about that neither of them really knew which one should be first in the priority list.
"Look, I-"
"Finnick, I-"
They spoke in unison, the fennec talking first and the otter talking not a millisecond after.
"Oops, excuse me-"
"Sorry, my bad-"
It happened again. They both cursed internally.
"Hiya, friends!" a voice said below them, startling Finnick.
"Who the heck are you?" he asked the floor. There was no mammal in his sights that would've made that sound.
"Ehem! Right here, sir."
The squeaky voice belonged to a squirrel dressed in server clothes standing up on the table, carrying a silver platter on his person.
"Hey, Scrat," Sam told him.
"Hiya, Sammy. I see you're busy with a date today," the squirrel commented. He went up to her ear and began to whisper. "If he does funny business, call me and I'll beat 'im up, no sweat!"
Seems like someone already did the job for me, thought the otter, still looking intently at the fennec's wounds.
…
On another table, the strong vixen still looked at the other fox-and-otter pair.
"What is that otter's deal?"
"You mean Sam? She seemed nice. Honestly, she's being very tame on Finnick," said Skye, taking a bite out of a breadstick that had already been placed at their table.
"No, not Sam. The other one. I don't like the way she is looking at Greg. It is like she is taking off his clothes just with her eyes."
"By the looks of things, that's exactly what she wants to do. Why's that got you so weirded out? Don't tell me Greg's actually getting to you. Oh shit, do you like him now, is that it?"
"What? Nonsense, Kee. I am just looking out for him. He is young, stupid, and incredibly naive."
"Ouch," Skye put a paw on her heart in solidarity for Greg.
"He could easily be taken advantage of, don't you think?"
"You know what I think? I think you should eat this highly delicious, very fat-heavy breadstick, and stop getting jelly over an otter having a crush on your crush."
Himmel tried very hard not to raise her voice. "I am not jelly! And he is not my crush! Himmel don't crush! You know that."
Skye realized she had to be the actual adult in this situation. "Look. Like it or not, Greg is head over heels for you. He wouldn't be bringing you a daily bundle of sunflowers if he wasn't. I don't think you should be worried about anyone taking advantage of him except for you."
"I would never!"
"I know, but I'm saying he probably would only want to be manipulated by you. He's young, but remember, he's a hustler, and he used to be a thief. Actually husters are thiefs too but he was a thief thief. Anyway, let's not get into semantics, cunning mammals like that, especially foxes, don't get used that easily."
"Hmm," he took a look at Greg's table one more time. Lylla was very joyfully talking to him while he also enjoyed the breadsticks served at his table. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Himmel looking his way and turned to her. While surprised, Himmel didn't look any other way, instead choosing to keep staring at him to see how he would react. He put up a warm smile, filled with breadcrumbs, and waved at her with his free paw before he returned to focusing on Lylla. Himmel was surprised at how warm it made her feel.
"Heh. Stupid idiot," she whispered, putting her left elbow on the table and supporting her head with her paw. She looked back at the sunflowers and caressed the petals softly.
Skye, who had inadvertently seen the whole event play out, became shocked at the state her sister was in. Holy shit, Greg, she thought. I think my sister just fell for you!
…
Stop having that stupid face when you look at her, you idiot! Greg told himself, cleaning the breadcrumbs away from his snout. If he had known he'd be clamoring for more of those oval-shaped yellow butter-flavored breadsticks, he would've asked his uncle to come here sooner, even if there apparently was bad blood between Nick and the restaurant.
They were just sublime. The bite was not soft enough to turn to water in his mouth, nor was it hard enough to make his gums drier than Sahara Square. All that mixed with the special sauce provided to them made Greg's whole body tremble. He rarely gave himself the luxury of eating such a delicacy due to his monetary issues, but he made a mental note to try and save up for more occasions like these.
"So, Greggy, tell me about yourself," said the otter in front of him, both elbows on the table and her head resting on her paws.
"What do you wadda dough?" he asked, mouth still full with the succulent bread.
"How old are you?" she asked.
He swallowed the bread before speaking again. "Legal."
"I mean, yeah, but how old exactly?" she pushed.
"Definitely very early 20s," he gave another vague answer. He hoped she would take the hint.
She sighed, but not in an annoyed way. "It's been a while since I've been on a date with someone so young."
"Whoa, Lylla, hehe," he adjusted his seat to get closer to her. "We're not the ones on a date. I don't even think Sam considers what she's having with Finnick a date."
"What, wouldn't you even try to get to know each other? Don't like otters like that?" She asked, and Greg could notice she was disappointed.
"No, it's not that! It's just…I already like someone."
Her eyes became saucers. "Really? Who?"
"Stick around me long enough and you will naturally find out," he gave a smug smile. He wasn't trying to be mysterious or anything, he was genuinely embarrassed about outright saying it to someone he had just met yesterday. Call him crazy, but one didn't start trusting a mammal until after they've hung out at least five times, this was only their second, not to mention she tried to wrung his neck on their first meet-up. A meet cute for the ages, his uncle Nick would say. Greg was amused about being able to keep something like his love for Himmel a secret. Lylla was definitely stumped. She didn't suspect a thing.
"It's that vixen over there," she pointed at Himmel.
Oh.
…
"There's no need for that, Scrat," Sam told the squirrel server. There would be no need to beat anyone up today. "I have him sedated."
"Hey," Finnick said in half-protest, half-wanting to get the attention of the squirrel. "Are you going to talk here all day or serve me and this fine lady some drinks? White wine most preferably. Or if she would like something else…"
Sam took a few seconds to realize he was waiting for her response. "White wine is fine. Thank you, Scrat."
The small mammal nodded and began to walk away.
The silence returned as soon as the server made his way to fetch their drinks. The two animals had so much to say to the other, but the words would not come out. It was like a careful game of strategy. Both sides wanted to see how the other would strike first. And it seemed like it was always the same tactic.
"So…"
"So…"
Third time's the charm.
"Goddamnit. One of us has to start talking or this will be awkward forever."
"Tell me about it," Sam said. I'm angry at him, I'm angry at him, she kept reminding herself, but it was too ridiculous not to want to laugh at their sorry excuse of a lunch.
"Tell ya what. Let's do a coin flip," Finnick pulled out a dime from the pocket of his suit. "Whatever side it lands on is the person that will talk first."
"Can't we just decide that ourselves?"
"I think this makes it both fairer and easier for both of us. 'Sides, it should be kinda fun, right?"
"Fun, yeah," Sam replied, sarcastically. "Well, I'm tails."
"Alright, then I'm heads," Finnick said, not even trying to dispute it. With a flick of his paw, the coin was in the air, turning and moving in multiple direction before making a quick drop into the table with a loud ping. After rolling around for a few seconds, it finally landed on one of the sides.
"Heads," Sam said with a smile. "Guess it's your time to shine, foxy."
"That it is, then. Fair is fair. First off, I don't know if this helps, but I really am sorry for what I did to you. I won't apologize for how much I enjoyed the food, but the way I made you think I was someone else was definitely wrong, and for that I truly apologize, and I really hope we can move past it."
He dared not look straight at her. He did a single look, and it showed her thinking. He wasn't very sure about exactly what.
"No," was Sam's reply.
"N-no?" Finnick asked fearfully.
"I won't forgive you. Or at least, not now. I barely know who you are, Finnick. You could be a totally different fox from the one I imagined in my head. You could still be trying to trick me into buying you this lunch. Before I even think about getting past what you did to me, you have to do more than just dress funny and act apologetic. If you give, then I'll try and give back. That's how it works."
That undoubtedly made sense to Finnick. She didn't know just how deep his hustle went, and he was not afraid to prove to her that it wasn't as deep as she thought. "Where should I start?" Finnick asked.
"Just…say whatever you want me to know."
At that point, Scrat had brought them their drinks, a bottle big enough for it to be shared by two small mammals and two wine cups, a smaller one for Finnick. He gave it a sip and let the sweetness of the wine pass through his throat before he began telling his story.
"A little over twenty years ago, there was this snail…" Finnick began, eyeing Sam to see how she had reacted to the beginning of his tale. As expected, she narrowed her eyes. He knew it was a bizarre beginning to what should be a story about his life. "It went at a slow pace, not really going anywhere specific. It was during a very cool summer, and the kids were out just enjoying their school-free lives. This snail did a good job not being noticed, until a little fox cub discovered it. He had never seen a snail before, and so was very curious about it."
Sam began to analyze the story in her head. Okay, so 20 years ago, so this is Finnick's childhood. He also mentioned a fox cub, so that's probably him discovering the snail. Why put so much emphasis on it, though? I shouldn't get ahead of myself and let him finish the story. Hehe, FINNish the story…you're going insane, Sam.
"As every child does when they are curious, he touched the snail. As expected, it was slimy, and sticky, and made his fur the same exact way.
A giraffe from the same apartment complex where the cub's family lived witnessed this act, and didn't miss an opportunity to tell the little fox that the snail was poisonous. The little fox obviously didn't know any better, and the urgency from the giraffe made it feel real. The fox began to tear up. He didn't want to get sick and make his mama upset for touching what he shouldn't have touched. So the fox begged the giraffe to keep it a secret and to please tell him what could be the cure to this poison."
Oh no, Sam thought. She had a bad feeling about how that story would end.
"Somehow, all the kids around the block had developed a 'magic concoction' that would get rid of the poison on my body. First, they sprayed him 'like a good dog'. That's what they told the little fox. Did I mention he was about seven years old? Anyway, they get a spray bottle and start dousing me with this weird smelly substance…" Without really wanting to, he dropped the third person perspective, now fully letting Sam know that the fox cub had been him. "...which smelled a lot like gasoline, combined with some perfume, and maybe some kind of body lotion. Oh yeah, and water to liquify it more."
At that point, Sam's eyes could not get any wider and her paws any closer to her face, shocked at how they had treated him. While it still gave no explanation to his hustling, she could definitely believe this kind of bullying would take place. Children tended to be very cruel to predators, and she had been a target back in the day as well.
"So yeah, at this point, I'm totally drenched in that, but then they tell me that it's not enough, that I already got snail poison running through my veins, and the only way to fully cure it was to swallow it. So there I was, spray bottle in hand, the lid already off, the kids expectantly waiting for me to drink it. I was still scared they were telling the truth, so what the heck else would I have done? I was a snotty brat who didn't know better, so I swallowed it whole. I can still feel the taste in my tongue if I think about it too hard."
She saw his distressed face, and wanted nothing more than to comfort him. "Finnick…I'm sorry that happened."
"I'm not done, Whiskers," he said. Sam didn't protest the nickname that time. "Soon as I drank that, my stomach did not agree that it was good for me, but I believed so much that it was my cure to the snail poison, that I fought my urge to throw it all up, tooth and claw. Up until the second I fainted.
"You fainted?" asked…not Sam, but someone at his table.
"Scrat? What are you doing here?" Sam asked the interrupting squirrel.
"Just came in to tell you that the meal is coming along splendidly. Gerald is really busting his butt to make it the 'best' it can be," he winked and left, but Finnick still saw it with a puzzling expression. Sam had a permanent awkward smile etched on her mouth.
"...Okay? Should I keep going?"
"Yeah, of course. If you're comfortable with it, that is."
"I'm not exactly comfortable, but I've already started, so I might as well finish it. Hehe, FINNish it, get it? Sorry, bad joke." Finnick filled his cup to the brim with wine and drank it down like his throat was a waterfall. To Sam, it didn't even feel like he had even needed to swallow, and maybe telling the story was making him queasy and anxious about tasting what he was drinking.
"Anyway, I kept coming in and out of consciousness, from what I remember. I never forgot what I kept saying, though. Everytime I woke up and looked at a doctor, I used all of my energy to grab their coats and say 'It's snail poison, it's snail poison. Don't blame my friends'. I was in a medically induced coma for two weeks to get the liquid out of my system, but the damage was already done. The 'magic concoction' was so severe, it damaged the ossification capabilities of my bones. Meaning, my bones were not able to grow to full size, which is why I'm probably a bit smaller than all other fennecs my age-"
"Finnick," Sam interrupted him, placing a paw on top of his trembling one. He had told this story before, but never to someone like her. She was different in many ways. She had seen most of his inner feelings already, if the texts are to be considered. He wasn't playing a person in them, it was just him. He didn't need to play a role in messages, because the person on the other side wouldn't be able to psychoanalyze all your mannerisms. "That's enough. You don't have to tell me everything right away, especially if you're not comfortable."
"B-but I owe it to you, I-" Finnick tried to say, but his voice wavered. For the first time in ages, he was struggling to say anything clever.
"You don't owe me your life story. You want us to be friends, right? At this point, you've more than proven that you want us to take that step, and I appreciate it." She squeezed his hand a bit more, to show that she truly cared. "And for the record, I'm really sorry about what happened. I don't think I ever got punished that severely, but I was also abused by kids who thought they were better than me."
Finnick knew he wasn't the only one to ever get bullied. After all, he had listened to Nick's boy scout story plenty of times before. He used to sing it like a ballad every time he drank too much. But knowing that a fox and an otter were also not that different gave him some peace of mind.
"You can tell me how you gave them their just desserts at a later date," Sam said, to break out of the tense environment between each other, and it worked. Sam released air from her nose and retreated her paw from his, slumping back on her chair.
"A later date, huh? Already planning ahead?" Sam teased.
"If I play my cards right, who knows what might happen?" Finnick teased back, nonchalantly drinking some more wine.
"Alright then, playfox. You told me all of that so I guess I owe you…let's say three questions. Ask whatever you want, and then I'll go ahead and ask you three questions."
"I accept your terms," Finnick smiled, feeling more loose and open to share a comfortable time with Sam. "First question: Is calling you Sam and/or Whiskers still off the table?"
"You're wasting a question on naming conventions?"
"Am I? Yes, yes I am."
She sighed, also taking a sip from her wine. "You may call me as you wish if I also get to call you as I wish. Fair is fair."
Finnick chuckled. "Do your worst, Whiskers."
"Okay then, Finny, what's your second question?"
That the best you can come up with, Sam? Finnick thought. He wanted to figure out more names to call her, but he still needed to ask the second question. There was no time to waste. "Why are you wearing the same clothes from Sunday?"
Sam opened her mouth, then closed it, then looked down at herself. "You remembered what I was wearing?"
"How could I not? You looked -still look- great in them."
"Oh," Sam blushed. "T-thank you. I mostly just chose it to say that I am still kinda angry but that also we never got to do the proper meet-up, so this is like a restart."
"Huh, that's a nice thought." Finnick took a moment to inspect his current wardrobe. "Don't you think you could've told me that on your list? I could've worn the same clothes instead of this old rag."
"And miss the opportunity of seeing you in a cute elephant outfit? Not a chance."
"Could've done without the toot, though…" Finnick pulled the hood up and hid his eyes in embarassment.
Sam laughed. "That was the best part, though, hahaha!"
"Laugh it up, Whiskers, laugh it up," he said as he sighed.
"Thank you, that's exactly what I'm doing."
After a small moment of silence, Finnick decided to state his third question. "How well do you know Nick?"
She took a moment to answer. "Not well enough. Mostly because we haven't really, uh, hung out. Judy and him tend to be really busy."
"Yeah I get it. That stuff with the Royclaws."
"It's scary, thinking there was some rich bastard making more of those awful flowers."
"Believe me, there's probably another rich bastard planning a way to use them at this very moment. People with money only want more money, and to have more money they need control."
"Makes sense. You never…got caught up in a savage mammal attack, right?"
"That your first question?" Finnick asked her, emptying the glass of wine again.
"Well, if you want to be petty, then sure."
He scratched the table with one of his dull claws. "I think a small lemming tried eating my leg?"
"...excuse me?"
"Yeah, I was out selling pawpsicles like I usually do, but instead of wanting one of my tasty treats, they really wanted to try fennec meat. He chewed on my legs for a few minutes until I noti-"
"Hahahaha! That cannot be true!"
"Totally real, why would I fake something so bizarre?" He threw his hands in the air and shrugged.
"You're not gonna get away from paying me back by making me laugh, you know?" Sam told him, snapping him back to reality.
"Right. How much-" He got up from his chair to pull out his wallet and give her the money he owed her. But she had other plans.
"Upupup," she waved her hand at him, shooing him back to his seat. "The date isn't over yet. I still have two more questions for you."
"Ask away, then."
"Alright. Why are you and Nick not on speaking terms?"
Finnick winced. He didn't think he'd be asked about something so personal right off the bat. He asked very tame questions in comparison, but he didn't blame Sam for wanting to go all out. "You could ask him. He's the one who doesn't call me anymore," he said with a frown.
"Communication goes both ways, though. What if he's waiting for you to call him?"
"I doubt it. He's very comfortable in his cop life, with his cop job and his cop girlfriend. And like you said, he's got hardly any time to catch up with anyone."
"Greg seems to speak highly of him. He doesn't seem mad that Nick left."
"Because he doesn't get mad at anything. He's always been that way, from the moment we found him."
"Found him?" Sam asked.
"Third question?" Finnick asked back. Sam nodded, so he continued. "Long story short, Greg isn't really our nephew. Someone, I won't mention who, tasked us to find this thief about ten years ago. Our source told us they were most active in Tundratown, so that's where we went to investigate one night. It didn't take long for him to show his face. Next thing we know, he steals my wallet, but then we easily corner him in an alleyway."
"And that kid was Greg?" Sam finished for him. This time, he nodded.
"Yep. Nick was always a big softie, so he was instantly taken by the kit. I just wanted to finish the job and go on my merry way, but Nick decided that we should just raise him. He was crazy for even suggesting that, insane even," Finnick gave a small glance at the fox to his right, now taking a stab at a selection of assorted seafood. He smiled. "But that little bastard got in both our heads very quickly. Even more so when we realized he was abandoned by his parents."
"That's awful. It doesn't look like it's affecting him much right now, though. He's certainly an optimist," Sam commented.
"Don't I know it, heh."
She smiled at Finnick, although he was still warmly smiling at the sight of the gluttonous fox breaking apart the head of a lobster like it was a piece of chicken leg. She didn't think he realized the gentleness and adoration that came from that simple smile. A smile only a proud parent would give to their child. It made her happy, and sad, and nostalgic in all the right ways. She couldn't control what she said next.
"I wasn't much of an optimist when my parents…"
Finnick turned to her, focused on her facial expressions as she said that. "When they what?"
"Let's just say they're not really around anymore. I was pretty sad when it happened. They were my world, and it felt like they took away part of what I was. Thankfully, they knew a friend who could take me in, and he raised me since, until I got this job and my apartment, at least."
"I'm…sorry. I think we can safely say we four didn't have perfect childhoods."
"Understatement of the century, Finny."
He grabbed the bottle, now half-empty. "More wine?" he asked softly.
She smiled. "Yes, please."
…
"Hmm. What's her plan with him?" Himmel asked, chomping on the right breast of a rotisserie chicken and still observing Greg and Lylla. "Yum! This Gerald knows how to cook."
"You're still on that? Leave Greg be, Himmel."
"I already told you it's not him I'm worried about."
"She's an otter. She couldn't possibly be able to sway him," she put up a provocative smile. "I have a feeling Greg is into mammals of your caliber only."
"Otters are carnivores too, Skye, it's not anything special."
Skye's eye twitched and she struggled not to facepalm. "I meant your height, and those crazy big arms of yours. Greg likes them."
"Wha-? Be serious, sis."
"Oh, I'm terribly serious, sister. I've seen the way he looks at them. He gets hypnotized, like he's looking at some sort of meaty pendulum."
She looked at Skye like she had seen the most uninteresting movie known to mammals. "You're saying he likes my arms more than, say, my face?"
"Obviously, Himmel! I'm not saying he just likes your arms. Compare yours to Lylla's! They're night and day. Not to mention how much taller than him you are. He likes that too!"
"Seriously? Why?"
Skye couldn't believe she was about to educate her sister on kinks. "Look, think of it like this. You know how people like getting in roller coasters and how it rocks them back and forth and it gives them an adrenaline rush? Well, he probably wants you to treat him like that."
"You mean, wave him around like a ragdoll? You serious?"
"For the umpteenth time, yes! Obviously he's a good guy and wouldn't say that to your face, but that's something he would want if he were to get with you."
"You seem to know a lot about him."
"I gotta know the guy who's tryin' to get with my sister. You know I got your back."
She smiled at her sister, but despite the vixen's words of encouragement, Himmel couldn't help but feel a small pit in her throat. She hadn't known the fox for a while, but she knew he was a bit more innocent than any other tods who were ever interested in her, and she'd feel bad if something were to happen to someone who holds her in such high regard. She was still observing them, Lylla spewing a whole deal of words that Himmel couldn't quite hear through the cacophony of other sounds in the busy restaurant. Greg had an awkward expression throughout it, like he was uncomfortable with whatever Lylla was saying. She could only imagine what obscene things she was telling him.
…
"...and that's why I think it's completely normal and doable for Miss Hopps and Mr. Wilde to be together."
"Why…" Greg had no words to speak. The wind took them as soon as he tried to bring them out of his mouth.
"Why tell you about it? Cuz I'm bored, and gossiping about them is cool!"
"That wasn't even gossip, you just explained to me why you think they'd be good in…in…"
"Bed? Because it's true. I'm very liberal in matters of romance, and I was trying to tell you that the relationship between your uncle and Judy Hopps is completely normal and should never be frowned upon."
"I appreciate it but," Greg tried not to think about what she had told him for about thirty minutes. He could see glimpses of the words in his mind, like 'thrust' and 'size'. He tried hard but the images she tried to picture for him would not leave him alone. "You could've just told me that instead of giving a whole lecture for their 'viability'!"
"You, my dear Greg, are no fun."
"When it comes to sex, I try NOT to imagine my family members doing it, thank you very much."
"Okay, then, should we talk about your experiences, then?" She asked him, with a sultry air about her.
"Ehhhh, pfffft why do thaaat? It's very uninteresting, and uhhh, I don't wanna make you uncomfortable and…stuff." In reality, he was trying not to make himself more uncomfortable than he already was.
"Your first kiss! Come on, that's not prude at all!"
"Oh," he said, sounding relieved. "Well…I don't…think I ever…have…"
Lylla's face turned downward. "Oh. Sorry about pressuring you like that, Greg. I know it might be a bit sensitive-"
"Look, I've been close to. I've had some crushes before, but the way I've lived…there's not really many opportunities open, ya know?"
She smiled. "I know. If it makes you feel better, my first kiss wasn't anything out of the world, either. It was just to say I did it, and even then it was a very formal kiss, no sensuality about it. It was with a childhood friend of mine. His name was Rocket. Actually, that was just his nickname. He said he would build a rocket to the moon, and sign both our names on the surface, and then come back to get me so we could explore the galaxy together. It was dumb, I know, but all kids are dumb dreamers."
Greg saw the weight of the conversation turning more somber as Lylla took a gulp of the wine she had left mostly untouched. He sat quietly, hearing her story out.
"After that kiss, the idiot and his family moved somewhere else, away from Zootopia. Do you think he left me an address, a message, or something to remember him by? Nope. Nada. He meant so much to me, and it seemed like to him I didn't even mean a thank you letter. For a moment he was there, and in an instant he was gone."
"Lylla," he said softly. "I know what it feels like to be alone in this world. To feel like no one is ever going to care whether you breathe your last breath. I saw a fair share of that. People leaving me behind to die, to fend for myself." Greg looked to his uncle, the fennec sitting at the table to his left. "Heh, but I got lucky. I found my crowd, my clique, my pack. The ones who would never ever leave me behind to die. Well, maybe one of them wanted to at first," he side-eyed Finnick again. "But then he warmed up to me, and I warmed up to him. Lylla, if Rocket truly cares about you, he will be back. I'm sure of it. Maybe he's out exploring the galaxy so he could come back with stories to tell you. I don't know, I just think it's better to look at it from a different perspective."
"A different perspective, huh?" Lylla chuckled. "You're cool, Greg. Sorry again for trying to kill you."
"Maybe you actually just wanted to hug me to death," he joked, and she laughed. "See what I did? Different perspective."
"That's certainly an amazing skill you have." She cleared her throat before continuing. "Okay, then, sad stories over. What if we both came to an agreement?"
"An agreement?" he asked.
"You help me try and find Rocket, and I'll see what I can do about getting Himmel to like you."
"YOU-D-" he screamed, but remembered that Himmel was only a few feet away from him. "You'd do that for me?"
"My dear Greg," she put a paw to her heart. "What are friends for if not to help each other?"
Greg was overjoyed. Someone as perceptive and smart as Lylla was sure to be a very capable ally in conquering Himmel's heart. He wouldn't want to completely get her help, obviously, that would be very fake of him. It would be all up to him in the end, and he would make sure of that. It was also no bother for him to look for a friend's lost lover. "My dear Lylla, you got a deal!" he said, a bit loud, but hopefully away from Himmel's ears.
"Splendid!" she said succinctly, shaking Greg's paw with a mischievous smile posted on her face. Not that Greg would notice it, anyway. She did want to help him, of course, but maybe she could delay the inevitable and have some fun along the way. After all, otters were nothing if not playful, and Lylla was no different. Apart from water, she loved games the most, and nothing was more exciting than the game of life. She twirled the fur of his paw with one of her claws before the shake stopped and they got back to talking about more trivial stuff. "What color of underwear do you think he's wearing?" She asked him, referring to the squirrel server on his way to Sam and Finnick's table.
…
"Bon appetit, monsieur and madame!" Scrat, the squirrel server Finnick didn't like much, said, approaching their table. He had on his paws a large plate, but the food was still covered by the cloche. Finnick knew this thanks to Sam's shared knowledge, otherwise it would've just been the 'big silver thing that hides food from you at restaurants'. Finnick never liked surprises.
"I didn't see you order this, Sam," Finnick mentioned.
"I, uhh, ordered it before you came. Thought it would be, um, funny, in hindsight, but now…" Her face looked worried.
"Enjoy!" said the squirrel, opening the cloche to something truly…foul-smelling. A simple sniff of the stench was enough to put Finnick in a chokehold. He pushed the plate away and clutched at his chest. Somehow, the air itself was stabbing him.
"What the hell is in that food?" he asked hurriedly and loudly, gaining the attention of most of the table, including Greg's and Skye's.
Sam, terribly enough, was getting used to the attention, so she wasn't as embarrassed. "It's chicken soup…mixed with C4."
"C4?! There's a bo-" Finnick tried to say before Sam shut his snout with both of her paws.
"C4 as in the sauce, dummy! Cayenne, Cajun, Cumin, and Clawrolina Reaper mixed together!"
She let go of his mouth, thinking he won't say anything that might get them both in jail. "You tried to poison me?" Clearly, she thought wrong.
"Of course not," she said, her eyes lowering and her mouth turning downward in slight anger. "Judy told me that Nick told her that you didn't like spice so I thought it would be a fun little prank on you, but I guess your nose really didn't fail to notice it."
"How could I not? It's like a freight train ran over my lungs from inside out."
"Oh, come on, you're exaggerating."
"Oh yeah? Take a whiff, then, Whiskers, have at it. Smell how good it is."
"Hey, I'm not supposed to smell it, this is for you."
"So, you're just gonna throw me to the dragon's lair, unchecked?" Finnick said, his arms crossed.
"What do you even mean by that?"
"I mean, what if your little friend there actually hates foxes and actually put poison in there for me to drink?"
"That is one insane reach, Finny. Besides, I've known Scrat for years, he doesn't hate a soul."
"Foxes have no soul, Whiskers, haven't you heard?"
She sighed. "Look, it was funny at first, but now it's fine if you don't eat it. What with your eating story and all that."
Finnick didn't look grateful. In fact, he was the complete opposite of it. "Are you pitying me?"
"What?" Sam asked, confused. She thought she was doing him a solid with this! "No, I'm just being considerate."
"Sam, considerate matters squat. Yeah, I drank actual poison and it took me to the hospital but that was like 25 years ago, it's not like this is the same thing. I don't need anyone to tell me what I can or can't drink anymore. I know which people are and aren't my friends. I deserve this anyway, you know that. Like you said, this is supposed to be a punishment."
She was at a loss. Her sense of justice felt wrong. She knew this wasn't the right thing, but it appeared his mind was already made up. He wanted to drink the terribly spicy food, a prank orchestrated by Sam herself. Her own sense of retribution had turned back around as some kind of sick karma. She couldn't do this to the fennec. She couldn't let him suffer alone.
"Ugh, the things my stupid brain makes me do," said Sam.
"What do you me-" he got interrupted by Sam picking up the bowl of hot soup and not just smelling it, but taking a huge gulp of it, enough for some of the liquid to run down her mouth and landing on her white jacket.
"Aw, man," she cursed out loud, "I hope that doesn't leave a stain."
"What…why did you do that?" Finnick asked.
The heat from the C4 was already pinching at her throat, but she did her best to answer. "This is a bowl for two. I don't think you can finish it yourself, Fen."
"That's supposed to be for me," he told her, not really paying attention to her new attempt at a nickname that would stick.
"I bought it, didn't I? So it's for me and you. Now stop delaying the inevitable and take a sip."
"So, what, we're gonna pass it around like a blunt?"
"Don't be crude," she frowned, but then smiled soon after. "We're gonna pass it around like a good ol' bubbly!"
Finnick sighed, taking the bowl into his paws, and releasing it a second after. "Shit! This bowl's hot!"
"It's soup, Finny. It's kinda obvious it's hot."
Grumbling, but not exactly denying that what he did was dumb, Finnick grabbed the bowl a bit higher up the second time, and swallowed a bit of the soup, even eating a piece of the chicken drowned in it. The kick was almost instantaneous, as the first wave of pain coursed through his tongue, then through the esophagus, all the way to his stomach. It was pure, unwavering fire. Another reason he hated spice and most Zooxican food, was how gassy it made him, and he really did not want to embarrass himself further by letting out air from his rear end in front of an otter he was undeniably crushing on.
"Tell ya what," Sam said, before taking another sip of the food equivalent to the devil himself. "Let's make this a game. Whichever one of us even attempts to order milk first, loses. The loser will then have to answer another, much more personal question asked by the winner. Deal?"
"Sam," Finnick said, exhausted. He felt as if he had run a twenty-mile marathon across Sahara Square, with about three layers of clothing. He felt himself pant, but tried to hide it as much as possible from Sam, trying to keep his tongue as inside his mouth as it could be. "You. Shall not. Prevail. I accept this challenge!" He had to show her. She had to know that he would do whatever he set himself to do. Only then would she realize how much it mattered to him for her to trust him.
The two mammals began their bout, both turning red from the amount of heat radiating their bodies. While Finnick didn't sweat and relied on his panting to keep cool, Sam's only means of cooling down was a source of water, and that would mean losing the challenge, which she wouldn't do. Like any otter, Sam enjoyed games very much, and something about Finnick made her want to play and win even more. This would show him that she was feisty, brave, and would keep up with even some hustler like him. She admitted she probably didn't have the social skills to pull off his schemes, but that didn't mean she was completely useless in getting her way, and it seemed like she was playing Finnick like a fiddle, which did make her more confident about herself, especially after the terrible week of feeling vulnerable due to Max. So far to Sam, it was clear that this date was not a failure at all, and she had no qualms in calling it that anymore. It was a date, plain and simple.
Finnick's face screamed Kill me, and he hoped that's how it looked to Sam too. She was smiling at him, even through all the pain she was possibly experiencing as well. The gall that she had! To still smile so smugly even as she herself was in pain. Finnick couldn't help but like that. The otter he had met at the diner a week ago was a very shallow surface view of Sam the otter, but what he was seeing now? It was purely somebody else. Somebody who didn't care about being in danger, or sticking up for themselves when it called for it. But even beyond all of that, there was her warm, forgiving nature. Finnick could not, in any sense of certainty, say he would forgive someone who had hustled them as badly as he did Sam, and yet here they were, sharing a soup of carnage together, bonding through pain and sweat(and panting) and some tears and some mouths filled with foamy saliva. Goddamnit, stop drinking! He pleaded to her with his eyes, but they replied back with a resounding No! and she drank again. Finnick checked the bowl and it was only halfway done. Even as he tilted it on his mouth, the bottom was still far from visible.
This might be the day Sam dies. That's what she was imagining as she drank the heated poison, bit by bit. As it was typical of a Gerald-made dish, it was tasty. Delicious, even. But he took her request way too literally. She remembers it clear as day(it happened literally thirty minutes ago): "Drown it, Gerald! Put as much C4 in it as you can. I want him to taste my vengeance!"
Okay, she didn't say it like that, but that's how her numbed out brain imagined it. Did she have teeth? She had teeth, right? She couldn't tell anymore, all she knew was that she had a mouth, otherwise the soup would be dropping on the table, along with her tears. She pinched her cheeks, but felt no pain at all. It was like anesthesia, except the numbness itself was also painful.
"Giff ub yet?" She asked, not speaking well through her fiery mouth.
"In your dreamth, Whithkers," Finnick said, his tongue proportionally fatter than before.
"Here's some milk for ya, kids," said Scrat.
"W-we didn't," Sam started. "We didn't order anyffing!"
"Gerald wanted to give it to you. He said you were looking as red as a tomato there."
She looked at Gerald with hateful eyes, who was still at the kitchen counter, waving at her with a shit-eating grin. She felt tempted to throw a middle finger at him, but elected to just drink more soup as a bigger show of insult.
"You shure you don't want milk?" Finnick asked. His tongue was swelling by the minute. "It looks delishiouth."
"Iff it's phat delithious, you should haff ib," Sam said, aggressively pushing the bowl so that he could keep drinking.
"I'm bein' a conshiderate date!" he said, drinking more and also aggressively pushing the bowl her way.
"Like you were conshiderate during your huffle?" She drank again, and pushed it again.
"Ah fennec's gotta eat! In this sothiety, you do whatever you can to shhhurvive!" He drank again, and pushed it again.
"Yoo are inshufferable!" She drank.
"You moh!" He drank.
The scuffle turned restaurant-wide, as every patron in the establishment looked at Sam and Finnick, sending all deal of insults each other's way, but none of them drinking milk. Even Bucky and Pronk were quiet, listening in on the mammals' irate banter.
With two final gulps from Sam, the soup was gone. She was wheezing, and wanted nothing else than to submerge herself and drink as much water as she could. "I…*hic* win. Hehe."
"A bull's manure, you did! None of us drank milk, so it's a draw!"
"Correction: none of ush ordered milk. Gerald jush gev it to ush. But I fibished the shoup, which makes me a winner!"
"That washn't even what the game wash about!"
"I…if you'll excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom!" Sam ran away, no longer able to control her desire for water. There were three whole water bottles in her locker that she could use to freshen up. Screw the game, she needed to drink!
"Hey, come back here, this isn't over," Finnick screamed, but she was long out of earshot, and in a flash he was all alone at his table. He felt lightheaded, and his ears were boiling hot. Finnick still did not want to drink the milk. He was always too proud for his own good, and this time wasn't an exception either. His eyes were fixated on that bottle like it was the most expensive wine ever conceived by a mammal. His tongue wanted nothing more than to be satiated by that liquid.
I don't need it. I don't need it. I don't need it. He kept repeating in his mind. He would show her. He would show that he would be the clear winner! He would not drink a single drop of milk until she got back. Not even if it kills him!
Sam dumped two water bottles on herself and drank the last one. Three bottles were not enough, so she instead opted for the next best thing: Tap water. Her tongue wasn't burning as much anymore, but her skin and fur still felt hot, so she dropped as much water on her head as she could.
"Date going well?"
"Salmonella with jelly! Don't scare me like that!" Sam jumped out of the tap water's stream. She sealed the valve before it turned into a flood. "We did not need your help, Gerald."
"You were looking pretty swollen out there, just making sure you don't die. C4 is one of the hottest sauces ever made, after all."
"Yeah, thanks for telling me, not like I didn't freaking drink that crazy soup."
"I thought it was only for the fox, why'd you drink it too?"
She sighed. "He was poisoned as a child. Do you realize how awful I would be if I just let him drink that by himself?"
"What if he was hustling you again? What if he faked that story too?"
"No, I don't think so. He didn't even know I would do that to him. And this time…he wasn't being overly theatrical. I could tell it was hard for him to get it out of his system."
"Well, I won't get in your way. You two want ice cream? On the house."
"Thanks, Gerald, that should be a real help. Don't put mustard on it, though."
"Heard, Chef," he mocked her, going back to the kitchen. Sam figured she shouldn't leave the poor fennec alone anymore, so she went back to the table.
"Where did the milk bottle go?" Sam asked, just looking at their wine bottle and two cups.
"Oh, ummm, Greg tried something spicy and said he wanted it. See? It's on his table."
She looked over, and she could see the milk bottle, completely empty, with Greg trying to look at her with as much of an innocent expression as possible. "Finny…" she said slowly.
"...yeah?"
"Did you drink the milk?"
"Oh, so you don't trust me? I am truthfully telling you that Greg drank the mil-"
"You are no longer panting, you no longer have a swollen tongue, and your elephant suit is literally wet with milk. We're 2 inches apart and I can smell it on your breath."
"...okay, yeah, I did it," he said, sounding defeated.
"You really have no nerve, trying to hustle me again," she told him.
"H-Hey now, that was all in good f-fun, no need to be rash."
She chuckled. "You know? I kinda enjoy seeing you flustered. Don't worry, Finny, I forgive ya. Again!"
"How generous," Finnick said, going back to his grumpy expression. "Now please no more spicy food."
"While you shouldn't be allowed to make demands," Sam said confidently, "I will grant you that wish."
Scrat came to their table with two cups of ice cream, each filled with five scoops. It was a welcomed switch-up. The soft and cold texture was joyous to Finnick's tongue, and it tasted amazing. He was glad his taste buds didn't burn off from the C4.
"Okay, I've come to a decision," said Sam. "If we were to talk about everything we needed to talk about right now, I think this date would go on forever, so I'm cutting it short."
"And what kind of decision have you come to?" Finnick asked.
"Finny, you are guilty of everything you have done to me, and every tear I dropped because of you was as real as sea salt. But…I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and forget about it. Not exactly forgive, but at least you can be sure that I will not hold anything you did against you. After all, you are a hustler, and you just wanted to eat for free."
Was this real? Was she actually letting it slide? Finnick couldn't believe her kindness. He gave a smile, one he gave to almost no one. "Th-thank you, Sam. I promise I will be better, you won't regret your decision."
"This doesn't mean you're not free from paying me back, though," she reminded him.
"Right," Finnick pulled out his wallet. "How much do I owe you?"
"One million dollars."
"EXCUSE ME?" he asked her, alarmed. Sam wasn't surprised. That exorbitant amount of money would be incredibly difficult to obtain, even for a smart fox like Finnick.
"Those are your hustler fees. A guy like you that thrives in cheating other people has probably stolen about that much. You're in your thirties, right?" Finnick was silent, but he still nodded at her answer. "Then that means depending on how long you've been a hustler, you've skillfully gained about that much."
"I don't have that kind of dough, Sam! Even if I skipped every meal of the day and hustled 24/7 it would take me like ten years to have all of that."
"I can wait, and I can provide the food so you keep working."
"I…you can't be serious."
"I'm as serious as can be. Those are your hustler fees. I'm sure you'll find a way to pay me back."
Wait…my hustler fees? This is the second time she's said that, it can't be a coincidence. Finnick's mind started churning, deciphering why she would specify his profession. Then it hit him.
"So…what are my normal fees?" he asked her.
"Excuse me?"
"You said those are my hustler fees, so they must be inflated based on how you deem my punishment for being a hustler. But what if I earned the money completely legally? What if I found a job that would grant me an honest day's work, like yourself? What, then, Sam? Those fees should be fairly adjusted, correct?"
Sam kept feigning ignorance, but couldn't hide her smirk. "What a perceptive fox you are. Honestly should've guessed. You're right. Your normal fee would be 200 bucks, a perfectly reasonable amount. But, like you said, you have to earn it honestly. Don't worry, though, I know how hard it is for foxes to find jobs, which is why if you do have trouble finding a gig, I could help ya out."
"That's…still so crazy generous of you."
"Because despite me trying to hate you, I kinda already consider you a friend, and I don't like seeing my friends struggling. You're also Nick's friend, and I would do anything to repay the kindness he's given me."
Finnick tried to dispute the fact about Nick being his friend. He didn't consider the red fox as anything these days. But he went silent out of fear of making things bad again. This was progress, and he didn't want to screw it up.
"I also have one more condition," said Sam. Finnick's face contorted. "Don't worry, this one isn't that bad. Whenever you have your very legal money, don't give it to me right away. You will keep it, and I will tell you when to use it."
"I'm…confused."
"What's there to be confused about? We're gonna be hanging out, aren't we? Whenever we go somewhere, maybe another date or whatever, I will tell you how much of what you owe you can spend. It makes it more fun and I get to bother you more. It also relieves you a bit from having to pay a lot of money on the spot."
"Wait, hold on…you said more dates?" Finnick asked. He didn't know why he felt so giddy.
"Yep," Sam said, popping the p at the end. "You're still kind of a mystery to me, Fen, and I kinda want to know more. Maybe about how you survived against that savage lemming," she said, chuckling. "Well, do you agree with the terms?"
Do you not see my happy face, otter? Finnick thought to himself as he quickly noticed he was in fact, not smiling. He guessed that was why she wasn't sure yet. "Yeah. To be honest, I was half-expecting you to throw this wine on my face whenever you had the chance."
"It's still on the table if that's what you're into," she joked. He blushed.
"You think you're so funny," he said, smiling. She smiled as well. He turned to Greg, who was giving him a thumbs up while he had a crab's claw in his mouth.
"I just find myself around a lot of smartasses, lately," she said, looking straight at him.
He chuckled weakly, being amused but also finding himself intimidated by her staring. He had to look away. Suddenly, he found himself a bit thirsty, and had to drink some more of the wine to calm his dry mouth and sudden nerves.
"Anyway," he said gently. "It's still very early. Wanna hit up a bar?"