This one turned out to be quite a bit longer than I anticipated, so… two-part chapter. My apologies for that. Also, I've got some end of chapter announcements you might want to glance over. Be on the lookout!
-MarioDS01: Great to see you back! Yes, last chapter had quite the cliffhanger, but this update will shed more light on the matter. Regarding your comments on chapter 10, you never know! Nick and Judy were enemies initially, who knows what bond could come from a partnership between the bunny and lioness. Thanks for the review!
-Spirallira17: Thank you for the consideration, and I'm glad you enjoyed the simple moments of the last chapter. As you mentioned, the ending was less-than-sweet. Hopefully you'll find the explanation in this chapter and the next.
-A5TRON4UTA: I hope you're enjoying the twists and turns so far, because I still have more than a few tricks I'm waiting to play. Regarding Gazelle's family and her elusive sister, I've done my best to leave small details here and there, but you'll find most everything to be revealed very shortly… Or perhaps not. ;) Always great to have you. Thanks for reviewing.
-Guest: Don't worry, that chaotic return is on the horizon, but I'm happy to hear you enjoyed this slice-of-life style chapter as a sort of "calm before the storm". Things are going to get pretty wild from here. Your comment about my prose really made me smile, I've never had anyone call it poetic before, which is wonderful because I struggle with being overly wordy. So thanks for that. As for the ending, I hope this (and the next) chapter can temper your worries. I'm eager to hear your thoughts regardless.
-Prismatic Floof: Despite my writer's block, I'll admit that these NickZelle segments are so therapeutic to write. Wish I could've left them on a happier note, but like you said, the Cattleya is the key. Let me know what you think of things as we delve into the popstar's past.
-zaeva: Glad you remembered that fact from the film! Luckily for Gazelle, Nick can recognize the tells of a panic attack from his own experience with them. To be truthful, I'm not sure if I should split the story into a sequel or just write until completion. What do you think?
-Sweid: Thank you so much. I intend to continue this story for the foreseeable future.
*Special thanks to imjustagurl for beta reading this chapter!*
As always, please enjoy this chapter and I'll see you on the next one! -Wilde
Chapter XII
~Contraataca~
-15 Years Ago-
The snowmobile came to a skidding halt, an icy spray kicked high against the frostbitten alley in its wake. The sled, rusted and angrily sputtering, sagged low under the weight of its two occupants.
"Here's good?" the Jaguar at the helm asked, killing the engine as he turned to face the horned passenger behind him.
"It'll do," she responded, tugging a pair of iridescent ski goggles down around her neck. She flipped her jet-black hair from her eyes and swiped some snow out of her fur.
"You sure, Gacela? We're still pretty far off," the feline said as he struck a cigarette between his teeth.
She wrinkled her nose and nodded. Smoking nauseated her; the smell, the taste. And though Andrés was hardly the only friend who'd picked up the habit, she'd suffered enough PSAs to know you'd contract cancer from so much as thinking of a cigarette.
"Yeah," she said, holding her breath. "Wouldn't want your rattletrap waking my whole neighborhood now, would we?"
He laughed, and the poison shot through his nostrils.
"Ay… Don't listen to her, darling," he caressed the side of his sled, grinning. "Gacela is just jealous I give you more attention than her."
"Why are you so weird?" she slung her rayon backpack over her shoulders.
"You're weirder. Buscate la vida."
"Bite me." Gazelle smirked at his comment and stepped off the snowmobile. her ankles sank into a steep drift, and she added, "Thanks for tonight, Andrés. That was… pretty fly."
"No need," the Jaguar's tail lashed behind him, his chartreuse colored gaze following his companion as she treaded towards higher ground. "You kicked up one hell of a storm, Gaz. Everyone's going to be asking about you now."
"Pfft. They better not be," she crossed her arms. Even through the fabric of her sweatshirt, she could feel the chill of the serac building she leaned against.
"Don't be so humble. You turned that place into a jungle! I've never seen the crowd bump that hard for anyone; not even for a pred…" he paused, a sheepish smile played on his lips. "Which reminds me. I may have forgotten to mention a tiny addendum to our situation…"
Gazelle narrowed her eyes.
"What did you do, Andrés?"
Orange embers flared between the feline's fingertips as he took a pensive drag from his tab. Gazelle knew his confliction from the way his ears radared about his head.
"Okay, don't be pissed at me. But I might've taken the liberty of booking you a second performance.
"You did what?!"
"Hey, you're the one who blew the roof off the place. Svalbard said this was part of the commission." he chuckled. A futile attempt to make light of the situation. "Cut me some slack. I had to pull a lot of strings to get you on that stage in the first place."
"Idiota!" she growled and sloughed back to him. "I told you this was a one-time gig! You know I work nights at the cafe, and if my boss notices I'm dodging shifts, I'm screwed."
"Oh please," The jaguar snorted, unimpressed. "Koslov is too busy fraternizing with those three masseuses he drags around with him. Meanwhile, you're bussing tables for pennies on the dollar. I'd hardly call that a job worth fighting for."
"It is when those pennies keep the lights on," she jammed a finger into his jacket. "You should know better than anyone why I do the things I do."
He didn't flinch. Simply exhaled into her face and watched her retreat as quickly as she'd come.
"Fucking gross," she sputtered, swiping away the fumes with both paws.
"Listen. You're the most talented mammal I've ever met," he continued without missing a beat. "One of us actually has a shot to make it out of this barrio, and I'll be damned before I see you waste it on some dead-end schtick."
Gazelle huffed dismissively and squared her shoulders to him.
"Not everyone can afford to follow their dreams, Andrés. Some of us have to survive."
"Not you, Gacela," he crushed the cigarette between his fingers and tossed it into the snow. "You're meant for more."
It wasn't the first time she'd heard this argument from him. Being a first-generation immigrant in Zootopia was hard. But being an immigrant and a predator was harder. Perhaps the jaguar believed that, if she could make something of herself, he would one day follow.
"Whatever… I'll clear things up with the guys at Svalbard," he spoke, breaking the silence. "For Cattleya. Don't expect me to like it, though."
Gazelle nodded gently and gave him the softest smile. And even though his torso was too wide to wrap her arms around, she did it anyway.
"Te quiero, Andrés. Thank you."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he sighed and patted her shoulder. "Tell your sis I said hi, will ya? I miss that girl."
"Of course. Will I be seeing you?"
"Duh. You owe me a pack of menthols, anyway."
With the turn of a key, the snowmobile's engine jittered back to life. Andrés brought his visor over his eyes, waving off with a coy, "hasta luego, mami,"before tearing into the night.
Gazelle watched him go. When the glow of his tail lights vanished around the corner, she tracked through the alleyway, emerging onto the still, moonlit path.
Sleet Street was a quiet neighborhood, unremarkable from the rest of Tundratown if not for its foreign population. The basic snowpack housing was cheap, but comfortable. Each building shimmered under a nebula of Christmas lights, and Purrussian carols echoed from deep within them.
She treaded briskly, lest wandering eyes catch her scuttling about at such a late hour. That was the maddening part of their shared plight. Everyone in the neighborhood knew each other. One hapless whisper to her parents of her whereabouts, and she'd surely be a goner.
Remaining to the shadows as best she could, Gazelle ascended the permanent snowbank sloping to her second-story bedroom. She lifted the window with an abrading 'creak', wincing and holding her breath as she clambered through the darkened opening.
"Safe at last…" was all she could think as her hooves touched the oakwood floor. Gently, she closed the window. And sparing no pause, flopped onto her mattress, her rayon backpack still attached.
"Front door wasn't good enough for you?"
Despite the familiar voice, Gazelle kept her face firmly entrenched in the covers.
"Cattleya," she muffled, "you shouldn't be awake."
The younger gazelle crossed her arms against the doorframe. Her tone was weak, but still carried a sarcastic sting.
"You're the one who woke me up. I thought we were being robbed."
"What's to rob?" Gazelle chuckled, finally turning to glance her sibling's silver eyes. "Other than you, of course, mi ciela."
"Don't baby me, Gacela." Had she been able, Cattleya would've stamped her foot.
"You're right, I'm sorry," Gazelle abated, moving to her sister's side. "I had a late night at the café is all. I didn't want to disturb mama and papa by bursting through the front door."
"Mm. I didn't know Subzero stayed open past midnight."
"Well, someone's gotta hang back to close up the shop, y'know?" the older gazelle insisted, hoping to defuse the skepticism written across her sister's face.
"I wasn't born yesterday… And your ears twitch when you lie," Cattleya scoffed.
"And they twitch when I'm telling the truth," Gazelle smiled. "C'mon, let's get you back to bed. Don't want you catching a cold."
Cattleya grunted in annoyance, but her legs capitulated without protest. She fell into Gazelle's arms, and she reluctantly allowed herself to be led back to her room.
They moved together, taking one sluggish step at a time. Cattleya's thin fingers felt especially unsteady against her older sister's fur.
"By the way," Gazelle continued, "I saw a certain jaguar again today. He said he misses you."
For a moment, Cattleya's expression brightened, her sterling eyes shimmering with all the luster of a tree on Christmas morning.
"Andrés?" she spoke between long breaths, "He— he said he misses me?"
"Unprompted, too." Gazelle nodded, bearing a gentle smirk as she helped Cattleya into her bed. "Seems you're moving up in the world."
Cattleya couldn't resist a dallying grin. It had been many months since she'd last spoken to the feline. She tugged the sheets to her chin, ears pinned away as giddy imaginings flirted through her mind.
"Heh. I like Andrés. Remember, I've got dibs."
"He's all yours," Gazelle purred. She kissed the younger gazelle's forehead with tender lips. "Get some sleep, Cattleya. Te amo."
The cold blue dawn arrived quickly. More quickly than it was welcome.
Gazelle rolled out of bed and throttled a fretful moan, draping some sheets over her shoulders as she stepped into her chanclas. They felt stiff against her feet, like cardboard.
She lagged across the hallway, stopping at the entry to Cattleya's room. She ventured a weary gaze into the shadow.
"Catteleya, time to wake up," Gazelle droned, rapping her knuckles against the doorframe. She waited with an expression less than patient, her eyes jaded, and lips cracked. When there was no reply, save the stubborn shuffling of linens, she marched to the bedside window and tore it open.
"Ah! Porqué?!" Cattleya hissed and shielded herself beneath the covers.
"Venga, levántate," the older gazelle pulled them away, her voice stern. Cattleya responded by throwing a pillow, which passed harmlessly between her sibling's horns.
"Wow. Really?"
"Leave me alone, Gacela," she grimaced.
"Maybe when you have better aim," Gazelle shot back, bending down as she rifled through a nightstand cluttered with medications. "Sit up, come on."
Cattleya balked and groaned, but she knew the drill. She shimmied her torso awkwardly against the headboard; smashed her palms into her eyes and rubbed them in circles.
"You'll go blind if you keep doing that," Gazelle cautioned. She plucked a tar-colored bottle from the desk and dosed its contents into a medicine cup, offering it to the younger gazelle when it was full.
"You're the worst."
"Less whinging and more drinking," she crossed her arms. "Bottoms up."
Cattleya grumbled and peered into the glass. Her expression contorted at the chemical stench of that offensive, neon pink sludge. She plugged her nose. Then, with a shallow breath and a dash of her wrist, belted it past her lips.
"Guh… Tastes like fish."
"You've never tried fish, drama queen," the older gazelle teased. "Besides, says here on the bottle it's strawberry flavored."
"Yeah? You give it a try then."
"Hard pass," Gazelle capped the container and returned it to the other vials, her attention turning to a clothing rack embedded in the snowpack wall. "Which outfit do you want today?"
Cattleya shrugged, seeming more focused on suppressing her gag reflex than with her sister's question.
"Dunno. Something comfortable," her words were terse. "Maybe the floral dress?"
"Floral. How vintage," Gazelle smirked and nodded. "Dress it is."
"Better than your idea of fashion," Cattleya scoffed. "I still can't believe you dyed your hair black. What're you, goth now?"
"And here we go again." The older gazelle rolled her eyes. "It's not goth, it's grunge. Big difference."
"Oh, my bad! Because one is totally less depressing than the other," Cattleya jeered, snickering despite her discomfort.
"Haha, eres muy gracioso. And if I told you Andrés enjoyed a similar aesthetic, you'd stick by those words?" Gazelle raised a brow.
"Pfft… of course I would… I mean—he doesn't actually… Does he?" she murmured, unaware that she had begun to fidget with her ears.
Gazelle just laughed and removed the desired dress from the rack, a short gown blooming with flowers. She laid it across Cattleya's lap.
"Put on your clothes, dork. I'll bring your chair."
The first-floor kitchen was a cluttered space, though not in any unkempt way. It was what some mammals might refer to as 'lived-in', invoking a homely feel between the various dishes, foodstuffs, and appliances scattered high and low.
At the stovetop, Gazelle's mother, Maria, worked as fast as her coffee-straddled mind would let her. A talented chef, she could wrap empanadas with her right hand and then fry them with her left, even sparing the occasional moment to sip from her mug. Equally impressive as her dexterity was that her golden hair never seemed to frazzle, and her silver eyes remained ever sharp. No matter where she was, the doe maintained a swagger to her step, as if dancing to a melody only she could hear.
Her husband, Inigo, was slightly less charismatic. An imposing figure, the horns atop his head were sweeping, black spirals. They arced high enough to strike the doorframe when he stood, and the chandelier when seated. His once immaculate maple coat was mottled with gray, and the creases of his features had grown exaggerated and deep. He sat at a round table, poring over invoices from behind a weathered pair of reading glasses.
"Good morning, mamí, pa."
Maria's large, disc-shaped earrings fluttered at the greeting. She stole a glance over her shoulder, smiling as her daughters rolled into the kitchen.
"Buenos días, chicas. Cómo durmieron?"
Gazelle shrugged and parked Cattleya's wheelchair beside the dining table. She carried a hairbrush and mirror between her fingers.
"Eh, dormí bien, mamí. Y usted?"
There used to be a time when Gazelle had to think about switching languages. She remembered days when she would listen slowly and speak even slower, helpless but to translate and recite each word like the world's most unreliable cassette player. Now, each language worked separately for her. It was impressive how, in her mind, she could hear her native tongue as fluently as any other Zootopian would.
"Speak for yourself, Gacela," Cattleya interjected in the same dialect. "You startled me awake last night."
"Startled you?" Maria's ears spired over her head, intrigued. "How?"
Gazelle flashed a venomous glance to her sister. She made a cut-throat gesture with the brush to say: Keep quiet, or else. But from the puffed-up grin on Cattleya's face, it was clear that she was less interested in ratting on her sibling's night out and more interested in making her squirm.
"Oh y'know. She was singing in her sleep again," she quipped through a smirk. "More of that punk rock garbage."
"It's… grunge," Gazelle exhaled a little harder than she should have. She stationed herself on a wooden stool and began to comb her sibling's matted hair.
"Ay, Gacela… This music is so angry. What happened to my little calf who enjoyed rhythms of bachata and vallenato?" Maria's words trailed a bit, somewhat reminiscent of a bygone time. She continued her culinary dance, nonetheless.
"I still enjoy them, mamí. Cattleya doesn't know what she's talking about."
"I do too!" the younger gazelle protested. "It's why you're always wearing those stupid flannels—OW!"
Gazelle snagged the brush, ripping some wisps of Cattleya's hair in the process.
"Whoops."
"Oye! Knock it off, you two, or I'll eat these empanadas myself."
Maria's threat to withhold those impeccable, golden crescents was reason enough for the duo to set aside their qualms. For the moment, anyway.
Gazelle huffed and returned to her sister's mane. Cattleya's tresses were as rebellious as her fighting spirit. Still, despite a few winces and groans from the younger gazelle, Gazelle tied up her work with a sparkling orchid clip.
"And voilà! A modern Carmen Furanda!" Gazelle beamed, flaunting a small mirror. "Maybe I should ditch my stint at the café and go into hair styling instead?"
"It'd look better without a plastic blossom."
"Yeah, well, real orchids don't grow in Zootopia. Especially not in Tundratown."
"Isn't that the truth. Tell me, why did we have to settle in the one biome where nothing grows? The Rainforest District isn't Bearranquilla, but it's like, ten thousand times better than living in an icebox."
"The decision to move here wasn't ours to make, hun," Maria said as she left the stovetop. "We've been over this probably a dozen times."
"I'm just saying. How hard can it be to swing a job in a warmer part of the city? I'm sure they need mammals to teach artistry elsewhere."
The doe brought the empanadas to the table and shook her head. Gazelle could see from the way her mother pursed her lips that she had no intention of warring with Cattleya over the matter. She pulled a sip from her mug and glanced at her husband.
"Inigo. Explain to your daughter, please."
"Hm?"
Inigo's ears peaked at his name. But as his eyes searched their faces, it was clear he hadn't heard a word. Maria took a hearty gulp and looked ready to slap him.
"Catt wants to know why we're the only gazelle family in Tundratown," Gazelle added quickly.
"Oh… This again, mija?" the bull said, tipping his horns to his eldest before turning to Cattleya. "The ZDE selects campuses for new teachers. I had no say when they assigned me to Tundratown, but… being such a hot-blooded girl, I figured you'd be perfectly content in this district."
He chuckled at his own joke and flashed a grin to his beloved. She rolled her eyes.
"Don't look at me. She gets her temper from your side."
"I'm serious, pa," Cattleya locked her arms. "I miss our friends. I miss our home."
"I miss them too, Cattleya. We all do. But I need you to try to understand. Every sacrifice our family made to come here; I'd make again. Because this," he tapped the table for emphasis, "is the land of opportunity. In Zootopia, anyone can be anything."
"And that's why we're here? You believe anyone can be anything in Zootopia?"
"Of course, mija," he said, leveraging a playful tug against her ear. "We wouldn't be in this icebox if I didn't."
Cattleya shifted herself away from his touch and drew a long, steady breath. She began to blink quickly, a tell that Gazelle immediately recognized. Her sister was about to say something very, very stupid.
"You know I can't walk, right?"
The bull recoiled a bit, and his expression flattened. Gazelle pinched her nose. And in a heartbeat, the house went deathly quiet.
Several moments passed with nothing but the sound of the space heater to accompany them.
"Cattleya…" Maria attempted to speak, but the youngest pressed harder.
"Ugh. See? This is what I mean. You guys act like it's a secret. As if keeping quiet about my PPS is gonna make it disappear magically, or something."
She flung her wrists and scoffed.
"I don't go to school. I'll never work a normal job. The few friends I have here, I barely get to see them, because it's too cold for me to be outside. So I mope around in this chair day after day, waiting for a miracle that's never going to happen. Well, I'm not getting better, okay? At least I've accepted it. It's high time you all did the same."
Cattleya's gaze met the floor. She stared at her spindly legs with disgust.
"…The sooner we stop pretending otherwise, the sooner we can move back to Bearranquilla, where I had the slightest semblance of familiarity in my life."
To Gazelle, her voice sounded drained, depleted of the anger, sadness, and vivacity that one would expect from such an impassioned soul. Now, she just sounded tired. Empty.
Cattleya sighed and shoved off from the table.
"You know what? I'm not hungry."
"Catt, wait—" Gazelle flustered. She tried to take the handles to her chair, but her sister swiped her palms away.
"Not. Hungry. Thanks."
She parted without a second look. Gazelle pressed a palm to her chest, unable to conceal the turbulence in her eyes.
"Gacela, mi amor," Maria touched her daughter's shoulder. "Let me talk to her."
As if she had any choice, Gazelle spared a reluctant nod.
In the absence of her mother, only her father remained. He busied himself by sorting more bills, tossing them into a heap that only continued to grow.
"She didn't mean it..." Gazelle murmured, unsure exactly who she was talking to. "Cattleya riles herself up sometimes, that's all."
The bull shook his head.
"Gacela… I could never judge your sister for her frustrations. Lord knows, she's a stronger mammal than all of us."
He slid his glasses from his muzzle and laid them on the table.
"The doctors here say we're gaining ground. An inch at a time, maybe, but we have to count our victories even if Cattleya can't see them just yet."
She didn't know what victories he was referring to. And though she'd heard the same report year after year, Gazelle couldn't help but feel that Cattleya's suffering had only gotten worse.
"Pa, if I may… I think it might be good to get her out of the house for a while. The Glacial Falls Brawl is tonight. What if you take her?" Gazelle's eyes pleaded with him. "She doesn't have to participate, just sit on the sidelines."
Inigo furrowed his brow.
"That would be a mistake. You know how easily she fatigues. We can't chance destabilizing her like that."
"Oh, come on," Gazelle argued, some frustration shaking through her words. "We're not doing any favors keeping her locked up like a savage animal."
"The answer's no, Gacela."
"Pa—"
"End of discussion," he cut her off, the sudden severity of his tone snuffing any room for debate.
There was a momentary silence between them before Gazelle decided to remove herself. She let her discontent be known by the scrape of her chair and the ferocity of her breaths as she collected her items and marched away.
"Mija…"
Gazelle yielded in the doorway, her ears pinned defensively. When she turned, she found that his gaze had softened; austerity supplanted with a father's love and concern.
"I… I don't mean to be callous. Especially towards you," he sighed. "Perhaps next year, we can give the brawl some more thought. But please. I need you on my side with this."
His words were apologetic, imploring.
Gazelle, in her anger, gave little more than a noncommittal bob of her head.
"I'm gonna be late for my shift. Anything else?"
"No," Inigo rubbed his temples, his expression wounded. "I love you, Gacela. Have a good day at the café. Call me if you need anything."
She was out the door before he could finish his sentence.
WHOOSH!
Gazelle barreled through the shop's front entrance, very nearly knocking the door from its ice-bound hinges. It was a dramatic arrival, to be sure, but a necessary one, courtesy of the braindead camel who unwittingly bumped her off the Flow-Ped.
Huffing and heaving, she shut the opening and wiped away some beads of sweat that had begun to crystalize on her face. Her appearance was a bit disheveled; her hair messed and streaked with frost, but at least she'd made it. And without alerting her boss, no less.
"Vidal! My office!"
Or so she'd thought.
"Ay no joda..." Gazelle's heart sank into her stomach. She drifted towards the source of those curling, low-toned words, into a cavernous booth nestled behind a flight of spiraling stairs. There, towering behind a newspaper large enough to cover her mattress, Koslov waited.
"Good morning, sir. Angel. Nilla. Cherry."
At their mentioning, the three arctic vixens peeked their heads around the page and waved in unison.
"Hi, Gacelaaaaa!"
Gazelle gave a sheepish wave in their direction and smiled. Koslov, on the other hand, offered little more than a dispassionate grunt. His masseuses resumed their task of kneading him.
"Late for work again," the polar bear said without lifting his eyes.
"Aheh, what? N-no, it's eleven o'clock, isn't it?"
"Eleven and one minute," he growled, vibrating the room. "And you are still not in uniform."
"Sir, I ran like… two, maybe three kilometers to get here. You're really going to knuckle down on one… measly…"
He was glaring at her now, his thick, black eyebrows converged disapprovingly.
"Uff… Yeah, okay, you're right. It won't happen again," she gulped.
"It is not good look for you," Koslov rumbled as he returned to his headlines. "Thankfully, I fix problem."
He snapped his fingers, and one of the vixens, Cherry, darted under the table. When she emerged, thankfully fully clothed, she was holding a colorful object.
"Think fast, darlin'!" she chirped and lobbed it overhead.
Gazelle fumbled with it for a moment. It was soft in her fingers, like felt.
"A red ball?"
"For nose," the bear scoffed, as if it were obvious.
"Wait," she willed everything to keep her tail from lashing. "You're joking, right? I'm not a reindeer, Koslov."
"I see antlers, I see reindeer."
"Actually," she leered, "they're horns."
Once again, the paper came down; Koslov's arctic eyes narrowed between the folds of his expression.
"I make it simple for you, да?" he pointed, the rings on his bulky fingers glimmering. "Wear nose, or you're fired."
Under different circumstances, Gazelle's natural reply probably would've sounded something to the tune of: "go fuck yourself". But if there was one mammal in Zootopia she refused to mouth off to, it was the twelve-foot polar bear with ties to the mob.
"Whatever," she slapped the ball over her nose with a grumble. "Girls."
"Bye, Gacelaaaaa!" the trio giggled as she exited.
In the kitchen, Gazelle couldn't help but scowl at her clownish appearance. To save her own dignity, she prayed that Andrés would stay far, far away from the building for once. She slipped a pencil behind her ear and fixed her waist apron; trudged to the front of the shop with a begrudging bleat and flipped the welcome sign from 'closed' to 'open!'.
"Let's get this over with."
Like every day during the holiday rush, the Subzero Bakery and Café was a hive of activity.
The walls were glossy with snowmelt, thawed away by steaming cups and hundreds of warm bodies. Though few could hear it over the ruckus, a jazzy melody swirled through scents of peppermint, fresh coffee, and baked goods. Gazelle piloted through it all, her mind and body racing to manage two flights of orders, tables, and of course, comments from the patronage.
"Vale, I have two polar latte's, one snowcap sandwich, and an arctic apple pie. Wonderful choices, it shouldn't be more than a minute."
"Certainly, ma'am. If you drink it black, you should be safe for Keto. Yes, check is fine."
"You want a caramel latte with mocha drizzle, whipped cream, chocolate powder, extra nutmeg, toffee nut syrup, honey, six packs of raw sugar…"
"Unfortunately, we stopped carrying coconut flakes a few months ago, would you like to substitute with the powdered version?"
"No sir, I did not know my nose was appropriated."
"Ma'am please, keep your voice down. I can brew you another cup if you'd li—No, no, that is not what I said…"
"I don't know a Mr. Big, but if you have a message for the owner, I can forward it on for you."
Hours passed, and Gazelle slumped against the wash basin, just barely clinging to life. The clock overhead read 7:45p.m., but the pain in her feet and spine said it was time to go home.
At least tonight's clientele had other ventures to attend to. Namely, Tundratown's most notorious winter festivity; The Glacial Falls Brawl.
What began decades ago as a friendly snowball fight between school children had since grown into a district-wide phenomenon. Through frosted windows, Gazelle could see battle lines growing on the banks of the canal, one faction dressed in red and the other in green, as was tradition. Each molded snowballs at a frenetic pace while awaiting the last stroke of twelve, at which time, the brawl would commence.
Gazelle recalled one season where, accompanied by Andrés, she'd fought as a member of the green team. The experience was fun and well until the jaguar, sporting a treacherous red sweater, decked her at point blank range.
She often chuckled at that memory. Tonight, she couldn't even break a smile.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Gazelle buried her dismay and launched out of her slouch.
On cue, Koslov strode forth from his abode, a cheap flip phone pressed against his stubby, cup-shaped ears. Angel, Nilla, and Cherry trotted after him.
"Да. He is speaking," he lumbered, looking disinterested as always. "I see. This line is not secure. I call from payphone."
Gazelle clenched her teeth when he snapped the device in half and deposited it in a waste bin.
"You close shop," he grunted, addressing the gazelle. "I have important business to attend to."
"Wait, I have to close by myself again?"
Dead silence.
"A-and what a great idea that is! Best of luck with your… With… Whatever you're doing," she flashed a timid grin, which Koslov spared no energy to return. He ducked his head and vanished into the crowds.
"Prick."
Gazelle popped her neck and grumbled. She immediately went back to resting against the countertop.
"Pardon me, dear, can I pay here?"
Another customer. This time, a caprine. She resembled a bloated pill bug, swathed in every coat she owned.
"Ay, sorry… Of course," Gazelle feigned enthusiasm and straightened out. "What did you order?"
"It's quite alright. Just chamomile tea." The ibex offered her card.
"A popular brew today. I'll get it ringed up," Gazelle punched the details into her register and returned the plastic with a receipt. "If you'll just sign on the dotted line."
The caprine nodded and did exactly that.
"For you. Thank you, dear."
"Don't mention it. Have a great night," Gazelle pulled her lips into a cordial smile and watched her leave.
On the receipt, the desert native had left a hefty tip for the young worker, paraded in some of the most elegant pencraft Gazelle had ever seen. She mused over it for a few glee-filled moments before slipping it into the till.
At least, that's what Gazelle might've done, had she been less attentive to the content of the signature. A single word flawlessly inscribed:
'Contraataca'.
Gazelle's heart leapt into her throat. Over and over again, she flicked across that phrase. Contraataca. Contraataca. The name of her clandestine performances. A name that no mammal could've ever tied back to her. But here it was, on paper, scrawled by a stranger's hand.
Sheared between shock and ire, Gazelle lashed her eyes through the store, searching for the caprine responsible. She found her at a booth, reclined and apparently without a care in the world.
Gazelle gnarled the statement in her fist. She tore her apron to the floor and stamped over to her.
"Hey, lady," she slapped the receipt on the tabletop and pointed to the only word written on it. "What the hell is this?"
"It's a signature," the goat replied, calmly.
"It's not yours," Gazelle hissed. "Don't play games with me. Did the guys at Svalbard put you up to this?"
"Darling, I'm here of my own volition. No one else's. Please, sit with me."
"Yeah? And dangle my head in the lion's jaws while I'm at it?" Gazelle snatched the receipt and shredded it between her fingers. "Not a chance. Why don't you save us both the trouble and kick rocks."
The caprine stroked her goatee, unmoved by the fearsome gesture.
"I could do that," she shrugged. "But I fear it would be a grave injustice for you. For me. Most of all, for Animalia Music Entertainment."
Gazelle's body froze. Everything except her ears, which soared at the whisper of that infamous enterprise. And the goat, bearing a creased-up grin, knew she'd hit her mark.
Animalia Music Entertainment was the original and most prestigious record company in the Animal Kingdom. Any mammal with a basic musical inclination knew its name, and its absolute facility to produce the biggest stars.
"I think you'll find this conversation to be well worth your time," she purred, flaunting a crisp business card with the designation: 'Aneska D. Sinclair—Artists & Repertoire.'
Gazelle took the parchment for her own. She inspected it with eyes as wide as saucers.
"You… You work at AME?"
The goat nodded, and Gazelle gulped in an effort to keep her voice from shaking.
"W-what do you want with me?"
"Just to talk," Aneska steepled her hooves. "Nothing more."
Gazelle felt rattled, almost like her brain had been tossed into a blender. She didn't believe in golden tickets, in arbitrary fortune. Yet here she was, facing down Whisker Wonka with keys to the metaphorical chocolate factory.
She steadied a breath; bit her lip and considered her position. "Maybe," she glanced over her shoulders to make sure they were alone, "Maybe a short talk wouldn't hurt..."
Guided by curiosity and tempered by skepticism, Gazelle lowered herself across from the caprine.
"Okay. Here I am."
"Wonderful!" Aneska exclaimed, nearly wagging out of her chair. "Just so we're on the same page, would you mind telling me your name? I'm afraid I've only been provided with your 'nom de guerre'."
"It's… It's Gacela. Gacela Vidal."
"Gacela," the goat hummed."A most lovely name. Sounds similar to the species, no?"
She confirmed with a nod.
"Well! Gacela, I know you're a busy girl, what with all the festivities and cheer, so I'll just cut to the chase."
Aneska dropped a shiny, leather briefcase onto the table. She fished around within it, gasping with a brief, "Aha!", as she removed a single polaroid photograph. She slid it across the table.
"Do you recognize her?"
Gazelle plucked the photo into her palms and examined it. It was a blurry, overblown image with more grain to it than the Sahara Desert. Most mammals would've dismissed it as an amateurish snapshot of a rave. Gazelle, on the other hand, was quick to recognize the guitar between her fingers.
"How did you—"
"We have scouts everywhere, darling," the goat chortled and took back the photo. "And the fuss they made about you… One would've thought you'd broken the sound barrier. Hardly a surprise considering you're a contralto."
"A contra-what?"
"A contralto. That means you sing with the lowest tessitura of the female vocal types. It's as rare as it is mesmerizing to the ears."
Gazelle touched a palm to her throat, seemingly unaware she'd cracked a feeble smile.
"You've done your homework, Ms. Sinclair."
"Aneska! Please, call me Aneska. And it's what I do! You can be certain I didn't sledge across the climate wall just to sing your praises!"
"How do you mean?"
"Well, I had to get a feel for you myself, of course. Talent only goes so far in the absence of éclat, and by golly, I was not disappointed!"
Gazelle cocked her head to the side.
"Éclat," the ibex reiterated. "You know, pizzazz, gusto, a proclivity for passion… Whatever you wanna call it. My point is, you're dripping with it."
"Right… Éclat… Your point being?"
"My dear, I'm trying to tell you that you're holding a royal flush! All you need to do is play your hand!"
Gazelle jumped at the intensity with which Aneska dove into her bag. She rummaged through it as though time was of the essence.
"Tell me, what do you know about this business, Gacela?"
"Honestly, I—"
"Because there's only one thing you need to understand! Music is spiritual. The music industry is not. It's a rocky road paved in pitfalls and deceit; practically hopeless to navigate for the inexperienced artist. This, of course, is where I come in.
Suddenly, Gazelle was staring down a ream of paper so thick, the table creaked underneath it.
"As your very own AME representative," the caprine continued, "I would be your number one advocate. Your workhorse behind the scenes, twenty-four seven, three hundred and sixty-five days a year. I'll personally manage everything from your business deals and negotiations to your public relations and brand image, freeing up your time to concentrate on what matters most! Your music and your passion!"
With a convictive grin, the goat had a pen between her fingers. She clicked it and placed it down next to the gazelle, whose paws had begun to writhe.
"Of course, I'm obligated to clarify this is all down the road. AME requires an official audition and demo reel prior to signing clients, but… between you and me, I think we can deal with those formalities after the fact," she winked.
"Ms. Sincl—"
"Call me Aneska, remember?" she chirped, leaning forward. "And don't fret over all the paperwork, it'll only take a few minutes to go through."
"But Aneska, I really think—"
"Remember, fortune favors the bold, darling. It's a big decision, but I guarantee you, it's one you'll find most beneficial; most lucrative."
"Aneska," Gazelle barked, finally making herself heard. "Don't get me wrong, this is all… Wow. Seriously, I have no words! And I appreciate you laying everything out on the table for me, but… Don't you think we're moving a bit… fast?"
At her words, the ibex's features contracted a bit.
"As you said, this is a big decision… Maybe I want to mull over my situation for a while. I-If you catch my drift."
Aneska just sat there, motionless, and bearing the same shell-shocked expression. From the caprine's look, Gazelle guessed that she might've been the first mammal in history to shoot down one of AME's propositions. Yet, rather than anger, the goat pipped right back to her cheery disposition.
"Oh! You're absolutely right. I'm sorry, I tend to get ahead of myself with these things," she laughed and waved a hoof. "If you don't mind my asking so, which sort of situation are we talking about? Perhaps I can help to clear the waters?
Gazelle looked down, tracing the patterns on the table. The details of such a question were not hers to entertain. Not in totality. But then again, perhaps she owed an explanation to the caprine for her troubles.
"It's complicated," she murmured, "My family… I don't know if they'll like it."
Aneska scratched the fur on her chin, intrigued.
"Mm. As secretive as you are, I should've guessed as much," she said as she began shoveling away her items. "But I understand. Family matters are delicate, dear. I would hate nothing more than to introduce undue peril to your home life,"
"Peril?" Gazelle bleated, emotion trembling in her voice, "N-no, it's not like that! My parents are honest, hardworking mammals. They sacrificed everything to bring my sister and me to Zootopia."
She reached for her ears, as if to stop her head from spinning.
"But my father… After everything with Catt… He's become very risk averse. Especially with his children. I love him, but it's why he can't know about my performances; about the crowd I tie in with. At least, not right now."
She shuttered her diffidence and took a breath.
"For him to support something like this, it would take time."
Aneska reclined in silence for a few moments, brooding on every word of the young mammal's plight. Then, with a shallow nod and an encouraging smile, she touched Gazelle's arm.
"Well, as far as I'm concerned, you have all the time you need, Gacela," she patted her softly. "When you feel comfortable to discuss arrangements further, or if there is anything you need from me, you have my personal cell, day or night."
As before, the caprine extended her business card.
"I… I'm really sorry you had to come all the way to Tundratown to hear that from me," Gazelle rubbed her neck and took the parchment, maybe feeling a bit guilty.
"Don't be! Just promise me one thing."
Gazelle's ears perked attentively.
"Think about my offer, please. To try and to lose everything is better than to fear and to gain nothing. You would do well to remember this; for that sister of yours."
Gazelle blinked, contemplating the caprine's strangely spirited advice.
"I… Thank you, Aneska. I'll keep it in mind."
"That's all I ask."
The goat gathered her bag and rose from her seat. She shimmied towards the door, pausing in it for a brief moment.
"Before I leave..." she said, a soft smile curving her lips, "Contraataca. Such a curious term. What does it mean?"
"Contraataca," she whispered to herself, feeling the weight of the word. Gazelle stood away from the table and turned a glance to the waiting caprine.
"It's from Bearranquilla," she spoke, a flicker of nostalgia kindled in her eyes. "It means to fight back. To defy the odds."
"Fight back," the ibex chuckled. "I think I like it."
With that, she parted into the night. And Gazelle once again found herself swimming in more thoughts than she could possibly handle. Thoughts and memories that surged forth like an unstoppable tide.
She ambled to the window and gazed over the thousands of mammals assembled before her.
To her, Contraataca wasn't just a buzzword to be translated; some useless anonym. It was her battle cry. A proclamation of her spirit. It was her mantra, her anthem. A call to arms that she would dare to answer every day until her dying breath.
Zootopia sprawled out in the distance. She found her reflection against it, her face still marred by that awful red ball. And in that moment, she knew that the choice was hers.
To try and to lose everything, or to fear and to gain nothing.
She ripped the felt piece from her nose and threw it in the trash.
"Fight back."
With fire surging in her veins and a galvanizing idea in her mind, Gazelle vaulted over the register, unconcerned with the straws and napkins she'd kicked across the room. She dialed into the wall phone and waited.
"Andrés?" she panted, on the verge of breathlessness. "Yeah, it's me. Listen, I have a favor to ask."
She twirled the phone cord around her wrist, her ears fluttering.
"You remember how I said no more underground performances? There's been a change of plans. How soon can you get me back into Svalbard?"
Gazelle beamed at the intensity of his answer.
"Good, because there's someone we're bringing along."
**Some post chapter announcements: **
-You can find an amazing depiction of the Contraataca emblem on my DA page and on the AO3 version of this chapter. Shoutout to 0l-Fox-l0 for some great work there.
-The music of An Angel with Horns (Chapters 1-9) is available for viewing on Vimeo. Unfortunately links are broken on FF but you can find a working version on my AO3, both in my bio and at the start of AAWH there. Let me know if you have any trouble.
That's all. Wishing everyone a late merry Christmas, and a happy new year. Take care.