"Hey- hey! No one tells me what I can or can't be. Especially not some jerk who never had the guts to try to be anything more than a popsicle hustler!"
The bunny doe was all fire and spirit, her bowler cap and uniform straight and as well groomed as the rest of her. Her soft gray fur was a stark contrast to the shining amethyst jewels burning at his soul.
Unlike him, she was so bright and wanted to do good, make a difference.
Unlike her he was already washed up.
Unlike her, he stopped caring much about anything. The city took that from him years ago, along with everything else he had once held dear.
Though much of that was his fault, he knew.
She annoyed him, her brightness felt like an itch behind the ear he can't seem to quite scratch, or a stab of sunlight in his eye.
So, he did what he did best when something irritated him, he annoyed it until it went away.
"Alright, look."
He let his manufactured smirk slide away and he waved a paw, leaning forward.
"Everyone comes to Zootopia thinking that they can be anything they want." He told her, faux compassion and softened expression practically dripping with sarcasm.
He watched her dip a few inches, completely unaware of her surroundings.
"Well ya can't." He stood up straight, his paws behind his back to admire his petty handiwork. She practically did all the work for him.
"You can only be what you are."
"Sly Fox-" A russet paw tapped his chest.
"-Dumb bunny." he gestured to her.
"I am not a dumb bunny." The dumb bunny replied, so sure of herself as she sank deeper.
"Right, and that's not wet cement." His smirk came back in full force, splitting with smug vindication at the way her eyes widened in surprise and some measure of panic as she sank further down, finally feeling her toes sucked into liquid rock.
He stepped past her and fired off one last parting shot, more to wound her, make her hurt just as much as the city had hurt him.
"You'll never be a real cop." He told her, only bothering to glance back at her once he was rounding a car, digging his final verbal punches into her bleeding ego.
He had honestly forgotten the rest of what he had said, only remembering the way her wide violet eyes sparked in confusion and pain as she stood knee deep in wet cement.
He remembered grinning at her as he vanished.
He remembered how it didn't really make him feel any better.
He still hurt and when he saw her next, weeks later in fact, still in her shiny vest and joke-mobile. He found the dejected look of quiet devastation fixated on her cute face only made him feel worse.
Now she was just like him.
All Washed Up.