Proofreading by Hawktooth and Warriors27.
"That's dangerous talk, Tombs; dangerous and unsupportable. Listen, you old buzzard, you've been at this for decades without one success to your name. If you never accomplished anything as a young man, who'd believe you created Techflight as an old one?"
Norman Osborne, Spectacular Spider-Man Episode 1
About two hours before the previous scene...
Not far from City Hall, in a well-lit meeting room with sand-colored walls, an assortment of animals had gathered. All of them were dressed in simple, dignified attire which belied extraordinary cost. They were heads of business; the very pick of Zootopia's economic elite. From all fields of industry, they had gathered to discuss the upcoming benefit concert – if, indeed, there was to be a concert. The gutting of the old community center had thrown that plan into a tailspin.
As much as everyone's mind was on the fire of the past, there was another fire which smoldered in that very room, though all did their best to give it no mention. This conflagration concerned two particular board members: Olivia Poisson, and a dapper goat across from her. The goat, as full of self-importance as Olivia herself, was of the oriental kind known as a serow. His name was William Cudd, and while some might have called him and Olivia rivals, Olivia would have disagreed quite bluntly. The word 'rival' implied that there was competition, and when it came to products, there was none. Cudd, having begun with considerable success in another line entirely, had inherited a failing soap and shampoo factory of the type which manufactured store-brand products. Resolving to ply his skills in the arena of advertising, he had begun around the same time as Olivia's father had started to rise in the world.
The serow had done reasonably well, particularly in the market for naturally derived products. Firmly old-fashioned and classical in his mindset, he had rebranded the factory and retreated as much as possible from artificial ingredients and chemicals, defaulting instead to floral essences and dairy proteins. However, in reviews of up-and-coming products and companies, Pwasson's Passion had consistently placed ahead of Cudd's Sudds. This naturally impacted the flow of customers and investors and limited Cudd to marginal demographics. Then, when Olivia had taken charge, she had sought out some old folk recipes and enhanced them with her own ingenuity, pushing into markets previously dominated by Cudd.
The main result of this competition was that, in William Cudd's eyes, Olivia Poisson was a young upstart who got lucky. She, meanwhile, considered him an old goat in every sense of the phrase, stuck in the Middle Ages with an inflated sense of his own importance. Any hope of friendship between the two heads of business had perished when Poisson's promotional staff beat Cudd at his strongest point (advertising), and literally added insult to injury in the bargain. An ad came out featuring a nanny goat – a particularly successful actress at the time – endorsing the new all-organic line of Pwasson shampoos with a style fit to rival Gazelle's. Buyers had flocked from Cudd's company to Poisson's, but that hadn't been the worst of it. Olivia swore up and down that she'd had no hand in choosing the actress for the ad, and that she never knew the nanny goat in question was William's old flame. Whether or not that was true, the serow had never forgiven the blow.
Everyone in the room was aware of the tension between the two, but as a rule they all worked to put personal biases and arguments aside – and few more so than Mr. LeWing, who was acting to represent Mr. Killrahb as chairman. He had clearly had an abundance of coffee to ready himself for the task, and now spoke with enough energy and boldness for a mammal many times his size.
"Ladies and gentlemammals," he piped crisply, "you all know why we're here. We've got to choose a new venue for the upcoming charity concert, and we've got to do it today if we want to avoid delaying the event."
No one spoke, but there were many nods of agreement.
"If the concert is delayed," he went on, "most of the tickets will have to be refunded; more than we can hope to re-sell in a reasonable time. The floor is open."
"The Palm Tree Hotel and Casino," Cudd suggested right off the bat. "We ought to have used it from the beginning." Indeed, they would have arranged that at one of their meetings, but the establishment in question was owned by a company located out of state.
A shrew named Alphonse Biggliani spoke up in a voice thick with age and accent. "Mister Cudd, you know we can't use the Palm for the event. It was too expensive to make the event possible before, and now on short notice it's impossible. Besides, some mammals can't handle an event in Sahara Square." As a case in point, he gestured to his polar bear assistant. The ursine, who was struggling to manage in the warm temperatures of that room, had been hoping to bring his son to the event.
"That's very true," rejoined Olivia. "Besides, the policies there are too complicated when it comes to booking acts. Most of the groups we've hired don't have the paperwork to perform there, and processing it would take weeks more than we have. We'd have to have the artists already approved there fill up the time, and even Gazelle can't keep an act going that long."
"Well what do you suggest, Poisson?" Cudd argued, knowing that the skunk had some object in mind (she always did, it seemed) and feeling that he might as well attack that as quickly as possible. "There are few other places large enough. Even my establishment couldn't accommodate the event, as you noted when we first chose the community center." It was a fact he admitted with great dissatisfaction. They had chosen the community center because, in deference to Zootopia's wide range of animals, it had multiple rooms for the comfort and health of all climate types, with screens to let them all watch a single event. Cudd's venue, on the other hand, had no such amenities. The auditorium was climate controlled for any crowd from parched to polar, but it was still only one room.
Now the truth was, Miss Poisson had considered this problem for more than two hours following her conversation with Lillian – and she had come up with a solution which, she was confident, would impress even Cudd. Now, with her deliberations done, she steepled her fingers and spoke confidently. "There is a place available which is much more versatile than your... venue, Master Cudd..." she allowed herself a chuckle for the pleasure of watching him bristle. "... and one which could be easily arranged to accommodate a wide range of guests in better comfort and safety. It could, in fact, be of greater use than even the community center."
All eyes were now fixed upon her. "What place is that, Miss Poisson?" asked LeWing, visibly interested. He, for one, knew of no such public building, but if Olivia spoke truly then the place she described could well be a veritable holy grail of an establishment as it concerned their needs.
She smiled and tipped the steeple in his direction before parting her paws and laying them flat upon the table. "My dear colleagues, I speak of no other place than my own mansion."
The impact of her words was nothing less than electrifying. Comments for and against this proposal flew around the table, though they were quickly silenced by the shocked and infuriated voice of Cudd.
"Absurd!" he cried, resisting the urge to smack a hoof down on the table top. "Holding the benefit concert in a private home? Besides, I doubt your mansion can handle the size of crowd we're dealing with, or the size of guests."
Poisson scoffed inwardly as if Cudd had gloated over moving a pawn ahead in a chess match. "Really, William. Everyone here knows my mansion – at least its more prominent rooms – can accommodate elephants and giraffes as easily as mice and ferrets." This was no exaggeration. When she had the mansion built, Poisson had wanted it to be a monument to her father's success and to what she had built upon that success. Few ancient temples could have compared to it for scale.
"In large numbers?" challenged Cudd tersely.
Olivia turned her attention to Walter LeWing. "Master LeWing, how much of the audience will be from the larger set?"
Mr. LeWing flipped through a binder full of notes before coming to a stop. "Only about... seven percent, I'd say. Most of them will be on the small side."
Poisson smiled triumphantly. "Then size should not be an issue. Really, Cudd, I know you haven't been to any of my parties for years, but you should at least remember the size of the place."
Cudd had another argument ready and waiting. "That might be true," he allowed diplomatically, "But doesn't your mansion have a reputation which would make it quite dubious for family events?"
Olivia gazed at him unpleasantly through slitted eyes. "A greatly undeserved reputation," she replied coarsely. It was true that she often had personal meetings at her home with key investors, entrepreneurs, and other businessmammals. It was also true that most of those were males, and generally rather handsome ones; a fact which she firmly attributed to the general demographics of the city's community. Invariably, she denied that there was anything shameful involved in those meetings, and that it was her own business what she did in her own mansion. None the less, tabloids and gossip columnists had had a field day with her name, and she would even allow that once in a while they actually gotten her name right as they slandered it.
Many in the room supposed that it was only to avoid total chaos that Olivia did not accuse Cudd of having a hoof in her home's bad press. She had, at any rate, confided such a suspicion in more than one of them in passing discourse. They were, however, wrong. She had been expecting his unseemly remark; nay, she had depended on it.
With the air of one calmly moving a chess knight, she interwove her fingers. "That is one reason why I make the offer," she explained, sweeping a pads-up paw from one side to the other. "The city will have a suitable place for the party, and I will clear my name of a blemish which has hung about it far too long."
This settled the curiosity of some, who had been waiting on an ulterior motive from the skunk.
"What about conflict of interest?" asked a llama. "We agreed to balance the cost of sponsoring the event with advertising for all our companies. Wouldn't using your mansion tip the balances we agreed upon in advance?"
Cudd threw the llama a thankful glance.
"Perhaps," Olivia conceded, "but I assure you all that all advertising for contributing corporations will be done according to the plans we had in mind when we anticipated the community center as our location. Some of you might even benefit from it. You, for example, Mr. Little," she suggested, gesturing to a mouse a few seats down from Cudd. "How much more effective will your advertisements be in a room set aside for the smaller guests? One where they need not watch out for tramping elephants while they enjoy the party?"
The mouse clearly liked this idea. His business, which specialized in ultra-small-scale electronics, both employed and marketed to a predominantly rodentine slice of the population. Not only would having them in a room set aside for the smaller set be more direct, but if he hurried he could change the print orders for the ads and have them put in a smaller size to save some money.
"The same goes for everyone," Poisson went on, looking around the room and unfolding her hands to gesture to the company at large. "There are enough rooms to provide superior arrangements for guests of all sizes and species." Seeing that she had the undivided attention of the board members – most of whom were nodding – she chose to press her advantage. "Also, I will arrange the transportation of guests to the mansion at my own expense. That should settle any concerns about conflict of interest."
Cudd, seeing that he was the only one still in disapproval of the plan, made one final effort to sway the rest of the committee. "That depends," he challenged, hiding his iciness behind a masquerade of skepticism. "Will the cost of the buses be more or less than your fee for the use of your mansion?"
Miss Poisson smiled with barely concealed triumph. So predictable, she thought, mentally sliding a pawn into the enemy's home row on an imaginary chess board. In her mind's eye, the pawn stretched and formed into a formidable queen. Check and mate, Master Cudd.
"What fee?" she asked innocently. "I may bring in the bill for cleaning up my home after the concert, but the use of the mansion will be au gratis."
Cudd's expression fell – not only because Olivia had trumped his last card, but because the look on her face could not have been clearer. She had used his last card to deliver her own coup de gras.
To add insult to injury, LeWing began to applaud. "Marvelous!" he cried. "I've been to your parties, Olivia. I'm sure you won't disappoint us or the public." He lifted one wing with a dramatic flourish. "I move that we approve this proposal and begin the necessary changes to our plans at once."
"I second that!" cried an echidna.
The vote was a complete shut-out, and when the call came for 'all opposed,' all eyes turned to William Cudd.
Instead of voicing his vote, the serow folded his hooves and mustered his entire reservoir of dignity and indifference. "Since Miss Poisson has made such a generous contribution," he reasoned, "I would like to make a donation of my own. Cudd's Sudds will underwrite the full cost of all the refreshments for the event, in addition to our pre-arranged assistance."
Several of the board members smirked and elbowed one another, seeing this quite plainly as a last-ditch effort to save face. Olivia greeted it with grudging respect, or as close as she was likely to get where the goat was involved. Since the stage would be dominated by the musical acts and was therefore an ad-free zone, the food tables would supply the best exposure any company could ask for after the house itself.
I suppose anyone can have a fit of competence, she thought.
LeWing either missed the competitiveness between them, or graciously ignored it. "Splendid, splendid!" he beamed. "You'll reduce our overhead and leave more for the fund. Everyone wins."
Most of the mammals in the room heartily agreeing with that sentiment. William Cudd... not so much.
That miserable wench, he thought. This is not done yet, skunk.
When Judy read the news article, she was stunned. "Are they even allowed to have it in a private home?" she asked.
Nick shrugged. "Golden rule, Carrots. He – or she – who has the gold makes the rules."
Catano raised an eyebrow, glancing down at the fox. "I make it a rule to get my mammal no matter how rich they are," she remarked, "but I doubt the city is going to try to stop her from being generous at a time like this. Why would they?"
It was, indeed, a cunning political maneuver. "Besides," Nick mused, "she holds a ton of parties at her place. Mr. Bi- I mean, my old boss..." he amended under a curious flick of the cheetah's rusty orange eyes, "... used to go to them all the time. I never tagged along, but I'm pretty sure she's got a place that'll fit just about any crowd."
Judy's face was scrunched in annoyance. "This is not going to help our investigation," she complained. She didn't say it out loud, but she was also thinking that it seemed pret-ty convenient, and familiar, that this had happened while the three of them were waylaid by a false alarm.
Nick patted her on the arm, and their eyes met in a meaningful look. He hadn't exactly been that helpful in her first investigation either, but that hadn't stopped her.
Meanwhile, Catano rose from her knee cautiously enough to let Judy drop to the floor in a reasonable manner. Stretching her arms forward, the cheetah cracked her knuckles and rolled her head from side to side. "No one said being police was easy. Come on; let's see about those warrants."
None of them were pleased to learn that the judge had apparently never gotten their warrant requests.
"What the heck is going on here?" asked Judy.
What indeed? The concert's back on, but is everything on the up-and-up with the new plans, or is there an ace up someone's sleeve? Will the event go as planned, or will the bitterness between Poisson and her rival bring the peace rally down in flames? They say politics makes strange bedfellows, but it's got nothing on business.
I realize that the size of Olivia's mansion, as implied in this chapter, is rather surprising; I plead guilty to not having covered that in more detail back in chapter one. Certainly, she could live happily in a much smaller home. However, as you might have noted, she is a rather showy skunk. Also, assuming she had parties and business events in mind when she bought or built her mansion, she would have chosen a place which could be used by any size of mammal which could reasonably be expected down there. Believe it or not that would theoretically include elephants, as I understand they have been known on occasion to venture into caves in search of salt. Most likely not all the rooms in her mansion would be elephant-sized, but she probably has a fair number of rooms in that range and others phasing out to smaller sizes, the smallest being in her own range of course. I also reasoned that most of the guests at the party would be on the small side based on what I know of the animal kingdom (even among dinosaurs, the average size was only about equal to a sheep).
I chose to incorporate a Japanese serow by drawing on the game Zoo Tycoon, of which I used to play the full version (that is, Complete Collection)when I had more time and the means to play it. serows were hardly very exotic in comparison to various endangered, aquatic, and even extinct animals, but I remembered them anyway and decided to make Cudd one.
Speaking of zoos and zoo animals, I must confess a mistake. In earlier chapters I described Nicole - a red wolf - as looking like a giant fox. A recent trip to a zoo which happened to have red wolves showed me that I had confused red wolves with maned wolves (this is why Disney thoroughly researched Zootopia). I've gone back and tweaked that in chapters nine and sixteen; most of the time Nicole looks like a normal reddish-brown red wolf (albeit with somewhat more fur due to tonic and diet). On stage, in keeping with the band's name, she probably uses washable makeup to give herself a more vulpine look. I've also fixed and made some small improvements to chapter 13 (Wolfard's name misspelled).
By the way, stay tuned for an update Easter and a special bonus in Chapter 25! If you haven't followed or faved this story, now's as good a time as any. Happy reading!
Easter Eggs
One of the characters at the board meeting should be familiar (the name I gave him belongs to WANMWAD)