Sibirskaia: Taking the Stage Part 1
Taking the Stage Exposition
(December 16th)
Over the past two weeks, the town of Sibirskaia had become the subject of state-wide headlines.
And starting tomorrow, it would be on the lips of the nation. Men and women of every color of scale, fur, and feather from coast to coast would soon know the name: 'Sibirskaia.' It would be discussed and debated. It would be thrust into the public consciousness: a microcosm of the nation's casual and systematic -- but slowly dying -- culture of homophobia.
But Sibirskaia was not a large town. Twelve days ago, few beyond the neighboring town of Brooksboro could have even pointed to it on a map. It was a small, suburban hamlet, half an hour or more from the nearest freeway, and boasting only a single high school and a single post office within its modest borders.
So, it should come as no surprise that it had no airport, either.
And so, this Monday afternoon, Kristoff Masters had made the two hour drive to WSI: the Wilsonburg-Shieldston International Airport. The largest hub in any reasonable driving distance, nestled in the middle of the largest metropolitan area in this half of the state.
Somewhere, Aaron and Billy were searching out a vending machine, despite Kris's repeated assurances that they would be stopping by a restaurant as soon as they were done. Which left Kristoff standing alone in the sea of ordered confusion around him: of travelers standing in security lines, of loved ones greeting one another in shameless displays of public affection, of loud speaker announcements urging safe baggage handling, and of others like himself, simply standing and waiting.
Waiting for spouses returning from business trips, for children coming home from college for the holidays, and for long distance lovers making their periodic cross-country visits. Waiting to be reunited.
As was he.
Soon, a kangaroo would emerge from within the stream of arriving travelers. But when he and Kristoff finally saw one another from across the crowded airport, how would they be expected to react? Should they hug? Should they rush to one another with open arms, to the sounds of orchestral strings? Should one lift the other up from his feet and spin him 'round, all before the eyes of a sudden and unrealistically captivated crowd of spectators? Or should they simply smile, nod, and share the professional handshake appropriate to the occasion?
The husky chuckled to himself. With Stephen involved, the orchestra and the spinning might not be so farfetched.
Stephen.
Stephen was Kristoff's closest friend. Or at least he had been, until a decade ago. Stephen and Kris were only cubs when they first met: a young husky absolutely mystified by the exotic kangaroo who suddenly showed up at his school. Looking back, now, as a bisexual adult with the benefit of time and maturity...Kristoff realized that it was probably his first crush.
Stephen took the curiosity and the questions well, and even tolerated the comments and jokes about his Australian accent, until the years helped it to fade away. And by high school, they were inseparable. But they were not alone. Kris had a pesky little brother, William, who had the habit of dragging around an even peskier bunny named Aaron and a lovable meathead of a horse named Josh. And it was thanks to these three -- his brother and his friends -- that their circumstances took...something of a turn.
Kristoff couldn't remember how it all began. Perhaps it was Aaron garnering the nickname Rimmer, thanks to a story he should never have shared. Or maybe it was the group demanding to see for themselves if the rumor was true: that a kangaroo's balls were actually above their dick. Or it could have been the revelation of Billy and Toffy's secret experimentation. Or the discovery and slow assimilation of Billy and Josh's little 'rule' amongst the entire group. Or even the impromptu foursome in Josh's own basement, that the poor horse had managed to sleep through.
Whatever it was, though, soon enough Kristoff was nearly as familiar with those caramel furred upside down balls as he was with Stephen's face. And he'd already lost count of how many times he'd cum in the kangaroo's muzzle, long before he'd ever had such an opportunity with his first female.
His first female. A rich little husky far beyond his league. Robyn.
The last time he'd felt the kangaroo throb and twitch on his tongue...the last time he'd shivered in his afterglow with Stephen's sticky face lying in his lap...he already had a child on the way. And it had to stop. He saw a ring in the future. A mortgage, a stroller, a minivan, PTA meetings, and college tuition -- his own, and in twenty years, someone else's -- all loomed on the horizon. It was time to put away his little games.
It was time to be an adult.
But his and Stephen's friendship endured, nonetheless. They'd never had the courage to officially label themselves as anything more than that. They were 'straight' after all. So the only real hurdle in ending things was trying to find new ways to cum, without one another's help. That is, of course, until Robyn learned about Stephen's...proclivities.
Kristoff spent a week on his brother's couch, defending his friend. But in the end, his wife and his child came first. Elliot wasn't even in school yet, when Kris and Stephen said their final goodbye. In the decade since, they hadn't spoken a word to one another: not even as the internet had bloomed up around them, offering countless clandestine avenues. Kristoff had respected his wife, and Stephen had respected him.
The husky didn't even know his old friend had left the state, and he damn sure didn't know he'd become an activist for a gay rights organization. At least not until Stan had called him, only a few days ago. Stephen was on his way. He would be leading Stan and James's charge. And it was only right, that if anyone were to greet him at the airport...
...it should be Kristoff.
But there were no orchestral strings as Stephen stepped free from the throng of passengers. There was no distant lingering eye contact. No one dropped their bags and ran through the airport into the arms of a long lost lover. In fact, Kris didn't even see him at first. It had been so long, he had trouble even remembering what the kangaroo looked like.
Stephen, though, saw him. Kristoff would later assuage his own guilt by saying that stark, black-and-white fur is far easier to notice than such a common caramel brown. But perhaps Stephen simply had the better memory. Either way, it wasn't until his old friend was nearly upon him, that Kris even realized he'd arrived...
The husky stepped back as the figured loomed before him. "Stephen?" he blinked, narrowing his eyes at the almost familiar face...
...and the kangaroo simply smiled, "Hey Toffy." Toffy. He'd almost forgotten that Stephen called him that, too.
Kris shook his head and smiled back, "I...I barely even recognize you. It's-"
"It's...been a long time. Yeah."
A long time. With a sigh, Kristoff hesitantly began: "Uhm...look...I feel like should ap-"
"No," Stephen cut him short. "You don't have to apologize, Toffy. You were taking care of your wife and your kid. You had a family to hold together." And again, he smiled, "I didn't expect anything less from you."
"Yeah," the husky rolled his eyes. "And look how well that worked out for me."
"True enough," Stephen laughed...
...and Kris smiled up at his old friend, as he swiftly changed the subject. "So! An activist, now, huh? Finally decided you're gay?"
"Well, bi," the kangaroo shrugged. "So, no gayer than you." And he flashed a playful little smirk, but only for a short moment, before his head cocked curiously to the side. His eyes narrowed, a brow arched, and a soft chuckle left his lips as he stared off behind his canid friend, "Though...probably not as gay as them."
Kristoff turned to see his brother and Aaron walking toward them, paw-in-paw. Hanging from Billy's elbow was a plastic grocery bag nearly bursting with chips, candy bars, cookies, and all other manner of fantastically healthy snacks. In Aaron's free paw was a pre-packaged ice cream cone. And as always, they were proud and shameless together -- paw-in-paw, shoulder to shoulder -- and when a bit of ice cream stuck to his rabbit's nose, Billy even leaned in and licked it off.
As gay as them? Kris turned back to the kangaroo with a chuckle, as the two stopped alongside them, "Well...few are."
"Few are what?" Billy asked...
...and Stephen smiled a wide, toothy grin, "Oh, nothing insulting!"
"With you involved?" the younger husky narrowed his eyes. "I doubt that."
Unconcerned with the assumed insult, though, Aaron simply chirped: "Hi Stephen!"
"Hey Ri-" the kangaroo's voice caught in his throat. And he glanced around the setting with an embarrassed grin before correcting himself: "Aaron."
The rabbit laughed, "Old habbits?"
And with a sigh, Stephen's shoulders slumped, as he confessed: "The second I stepped off that plane, I felt like I was back in high school, again!" He turned his eyes back to Kris, "I promise I'm capable of being a professional, though."
"You'd better be." The elder husky motioned over his shoulder at Aaron, "His brother has a lot riding on you."
"Hey now!" The kangaroo pointed a finger at his old friend, "Not just on me, Toffy. This is a team effort."
"Yeah..." Kristoff awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, "...about that..."
But Stephen just waved a dismissive paw, "Yeah, yeah. I know. Stan told me all about how you & Billy are being camera shy. Said I'd have hell convincing you." And he flung an arm around Kris's shoulders, "But see: I know something ol' Stanley doesn't."
And as his older brother shrank beneath that caramel arm, Billy chuckled and asked: "And what's that?"
"Well, it's just...Toffy here is good at a great many things," the kangaroo playfully shook his old friend as he spoke. "But saying 'no' to me isn't one of them."
With a loud cough, Kristoff slipped out of Stephen's grasp. "Okay!" he clapped his paws together, "Whatsay we grab lunch?"
"Fantastic idea!" their visitor grinned. "I've been told there's a little gay joint that's popped up in Sib since I left. The uhm...Bacchanalian, is it?"
"But..." Kris began slowly, "...that's all the way back in Sibirskaia."
"So?"
"So, we're in Shieldston," he explained. "That's a two hour drive before we can eat."
"Oh, you'll survive, Toffy," Stephen patted him on the shoulder. "Besides, this isn't just curiosity. It's business."
"Business?" Kris repeated, curiously...
...but it was Billy who spoke up, explaining before the kangaroo had a chance, "You wanna' scope the place out, don't you? You want the media to visit the Bacchanalian."
"Well, I'm considering it," Stephen confirmed. "I mean: we want spontaneous, on the spot interviews with the common folk, right? But...it helps if those common folk are on our side. And what better place to find likeminded Sibirskaians, than at the town's only gay joint?"
"Isn't that a little manipulative?" Aaron asked.
"Completely!" the kangaroo admitted with a smile. "But tell me something, Rimmer: you got an example of something on the news that isn't?"
The rabbit took a breath to respond, but simply let it out in silence. And with a huff and a defeated little chuckle, he gave in. "To The Bacchanalian it is, then!"
"Well then," Billy clicked his tongue, looking at his brother through narrowed eyes. "A two hour wait for food. Imagine that. Good thing SOME of us thought to get snacks, huh?"
~
(December 17th)
James Callaway blinked.
He squinted his eyes, shielding them from the sting of the bright, white light before him. He did his best to avert his gaze: to focus on the foam egg crate on the walls, on the microphone suspended above, on the kangaroo and his two associates watching from the shadows...and on the camera...
...the camera to which, in moments, he'd be giving his undivided attention. The camera that would be broadcasting him live across the nation. He wanted to gulp, but his mouth was dry. He tried in vain to wet his lips. He adjusted his ear piece and fidgeted with his tie.
He wanted to ask, again, why there was no monitor. Why he couldn't see the live feed of the show or even himself. Wouldn't that make this easier? Help him to center himself on screen? Help him to respond to the host, by not just hearing her words but seeing her expression?
But it was too late to ask. From the shadows, Stephen -- the kangaroo -- flicked his wrist and pointed at James. The earpiece buzzed, and a monotone voice hit his ear. Somehow sounding simultaneously rushed and bored, it offered him no proper greeting, but simply asked: "We're about to go live. Are you ready?"
"Uhm...yeah? Yes. I am," James stammered to answer.
He took in a long, deep breath. He dug his claws into his knees, and he smiled for the camera.
The voice recited, "Going live in 3, 2..." but there was no '1.' The beat of it passed in silence. And where the zero should have come, instead, a new voice tickled his ear.
Lilting, saccharin, and friendly, but still metered and rehearsed, it began: "Live, via satellite, we have the teacher at the heart of this controversy, Mr. James Callaway..."
"Afternoon," James greeted her on instinct. And here it was. The interview was underway.
And she continued, "as well as frequent contributor and friend of the show, Reverend Matthew Darlington."
"Hello again, Kimberly," another voice chimed in, confident and bold, with just the slightest hint of a southern drawl.
"So," the host, Kimberly, began, "help us out here, Mr. Callaway. By now, our viewers should be pretty familiar with what's been going on in Sibirskaia, but we've heard almost nothing from inside the town itself, other than a statement from the school board. So, why don't you give us your side of the story? What exactly are you trying to accomplish?"
The situation was surreal. James sat here in this hastily assembled room in Sibirskaia, staring past the bright light, and into the lens of a camera. But he was not just here, sitting alone before the eyes of Stephen and his associates. He was sitting alongside Kimberly and the reverend on countless televisions across the country. He imagined himself on a soundstage, sitting 'round a table with them both, before even brighter lights, even bigger cameras, and a hushed studio audience. He smiled.
And he began: "Well, Kimberly, I was -- and still am -- hoping to put a new policy in place for our school district that will help to better protect LGBT students. As things stand right now, the faculty has no guidelines that-"
"With all due respect," the voice of the reverend, Matthew, cut him short, "that's a load of bull, and you know it."
And Kimberly addressed him, in turn, "Reverend?"
"This isn't about protecting your students!" he barked at James through the earpiece. "This is about protecting your job."
"Uhm...I don't..." the raccoon was unprepared for the attack, and struggled to respond. "I don't think I follow."
"Sure you do," Matthew scoffed. "Because you're not just any teacher, are you, James? Everybody already knows you're gay."
"That has nothing to do with this, Reverend."
"No, it has everything to do with it," he argued. "You and your fox-"
"We're not talking about Scott, right now," James cut him off...
...but the reverend just chuckled dismissively, "I'm sure you'd like it if we weren't, but we are. After all, the two of you were in on this scheme together."
"What scheme?"
"Trying to put this policy of yours into effect, to make sure you can't be fired for being gay."
And James was dumbfounded, "We...our jobs weren't even on the line before I proposed the-"
"Only because no one knew you two were gay, then."
"That's right!" the raccoon snapped. "No one knew."
"And why not, James? Did you know it was something you should hide?"
James's ire was rising. He was on the verge of losing his calm: of coming unhinged on national television. And then, as his lips began to part, perfectly on cue, Kimberly interjected herself once more.
"Mr. Callaway," a soft, calming voice, reminding him where he was and what he was here to do. Reminding him to hold his tongue, "you can see how this might look bad, can't you?"
"To someone ignorant of the situation? Sure," he answered. "But that's ignoring the facts. I proposed this policy before me, Scott, and our relationship had ever been outed to the people of Sibirskaia. My job was in no jeopardy before I came to the school board with this proposal. In fact, if I was so worried about protecting myself and my job: my best bet would have been to keep my mouth shut so no one would have even noticed me. But I didn't. I risked my livelihood to protect my kids." He leaned in, to emphasize: "And that's what this should really be about, anyway: the kids. Talking about me and Scott and our personal lives is a distraction from what really matters."
"The children?" the reverend repeated in his condescending tone. "The children are what matters?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Let's talk about the children, then. What about the good, Christian children whose rights you're trying to take away?"
And James couldn't help but laugh, "What are you talking about?"
"I've read your little policy, James." Matthew asserted: "This is an issue of religious freedom."
"What?" the raccoon recoiled. "This is about stopping bullying!"
"There's already rules against violence in schools. This isn't about that. This is about keeping people from freely expressing their beliefs. Keeping their opinions from being heard!" The voice grew in volume, taking on the rhythm and meter of a sermon. "Christians should have every right to speak out against the sin going on around them, and you're trying to stop that. You have no right!"
"To be fair, Reverend," the host spoke up, again, "plenty of other schools have similar policies..."
"That may be, Kimberly," the reverend granted. "But, there are places where prostitution is legal, too. And two states just legalized marijuana. That doesn't make it right."
"Well," Kimberly continued before James had the chance to argue, "if you've really read the policy, you should also know that it's not really enacting anything new. It's just making sure that gay students are included in the school's already existing anti-bullying policies." And she asked: "Don't you think you might be taking this a little bit too seriously?"
"You mean the erosion of American values? Do I think I'm taking that too seriously? No, Kimberly, I don't." And again the voice of a preacher took hold: "Sibirskaia, as it stands, is one of the few places left willing to fight for morality and decency in this country, and this 'coon and his fox want to see that undone. But I'm supposed to just sit back and keep my mouth shut while they do?"
"Morality? Decency? American values?" finally done listening, James forced himself back into the fray. "How is it moral or decent to let innocent children get bullied for who they love? And maybe you're right. Maybe this is about the erosion of American values. But if discrimination and prejudice are still American values, then it's far past time that changed." He tapped his chest, "All I want to do, here, is to see that teachers and faculty are held accountable: that they extend the same protection to LGBT students that they would to anybody else! And what's my reward? I'm being attacked all over the news. I'm having my livelihood threatened. I'm-"
"Good!" Matthew's voice boomed in his ear. "Your job should be in danger!"
"Excuse me?"
"You, sir, are responsible for scores of innocent, impressionable minds -- maybe even hundreds -- and even if you've got enough self-control to keep your paws off of them, you're still an influence on them. The example that you and your fox set, day-in-day-out, normalizing this deviancy for these poor, impressionable children? Turning them away from morality and God? Gays shouldn't be teachers. You shouldn't be in a position where you can have that kind of influence over innocent children. And I-"
"Okay," the host stopped him. "I think you've made your point, Reverend." And James had to restrain a smirk at how quickly her voice took on such authority and how handedly it silenced the preacher. "Mr. Callaway? Any final words?"
He nodded, "This is exactly the kind of bigotry and ignorance I'm trying to fight against."
There was a moment of silence. The reverend didn't respond, and neither did the host. True to her words, James had been given the final word. And when she finally did speak...
"Reverend Matthew Darlington, Mr. James Callaway, I'd like thank you both for your time."
And a sudden movement caught James's eye: Stephen's waving paw, signaling that he was off camera. The light before him finally shut off, the Kangaroo and his associates rushed to his side, and he heard three final words through his earpiece -- "Next up, we..." -- before the audio finally cut out.
He slumped, deflating in his chair, and he noticed for the first time just how hard his heart had been beating. And they were right beside him, but even still, the sudden chatter of Stephen's two associates was nothing but unintelligible babble in his one free ear.
He pulled the earpiece out of the other and looked up, as two paws gripped his shoulders.
And there, hanging inches from his nose was the grinning face of a Kangaroo, "You did great James. That couldn't have gone better!"
"What?" the raccoon shook as he answered. "Are you kidding me? Did you even hear what-"
"James," Stephen, though, just squeezed his shoulders and smiled. "You did good."
~
(December 19th)
Another day, another interview, another host.
Two days prior, Michael Taylor had watched from the comfort of his bedroom as Mr. Callaway verbally sparred with a fat little badger in a nationally broadcast argument, which was barely moderated by the collie running the show.
Today, though, was different. This time, it was Mr. Hammond's face on the screen. And there was no satellite uplink projecting him into a studio states and states away. Instead, the interviewer, himself, had come to Sibirskaia. They sat opposite one another in an opulently decorated living room. But Mic knew, despite never having seen Scott, James, & Jeffery's home, that this was not it. It was simply a set.
And two days ago, Mic had watched the proceedings alone and barely dressed. But this afternoon, he sat on a couch in someone else's home. And a little gray cat stood only a foot away, arms crossed and brow furrowed, as he watched his adoptive father navigate the interrogation.
This was Jeffery's temporary home: Hunter's farm. The boy had been torn away from his family -- his secret masters -- amidst the ongoing turmoil. He was alone here, and it was up to his new circle of friends to make sure that he was legitimately alone as seldom as possible. Today was Mic's turn.
And together they watched as the second of what was planned to be a string of interviews unfolded before them. But, again, today was different than the first. Two days ago, James had faced an impartial collie: a journalist. He had fought against a preacher, while that host watched on. Today, though, Mr. Hammond was face-to-face with a different beast: not a journalist, but a loud-mothed and openly biased little porcupine.
A pundit.
"I already told you," Scott repeated, "I'm not here to talk about me and James. This isn't about-"
"No, no," the porcupine cut him off. "I think our viewers have the right to know-"
"Yeah, I know, I know," and the fox interrupted him, just the same. "You're worried about what kind of...'influence' we might have over your kids."
"No. To be frank with you, Mr. Hammond, influence is the least of my worries." The pundit's voice lowered to nearly a growl, "I'm talking about the real, immediate danger of allowing gay men teach our children.
"Oh. Of course, you are," Scott met the statement with a dark, sarcastic laugh. "So, you're on the side of that preacher, then: the one who spoke to my boyfriend? And you want to sit here, on national TV, and tell me that you think we can't, uhm, what was it? 'Keep our paws to ourselves?' Is that it?"
"Well..." the porcupine smirked, "don't you think we have reason to worry?
"Homosexuals are not pedophiles!"
"Is that so?" The brash little pundit shuffled a stack of papers in his paws, "Well, why don't we talk about what just happened in your neighboring town of Brooksboro, then, Mr. Hammond? The arrest of one..." he adjusted his glasses and looked down at the papers, "...Anthony Sutela."
And Scott's voice rose, nearly on the verge of yelling: "That has nothing to do with-"
"Doesn't it!?" the porcupine, though, met his volume in kind, and cut him off yet again. "He was a high school teacher and a gay man, just like yourself, wasn't he? And what has he been charged with, again?"
"I am nothing like Anthony Sutela!" Mr. Hammond bellowed back at the interviewer. "And if you can't-"
His voice abruptly stopped. His muzzle, animated, wide, and contorted, continued to move there the screen -- as did the pundit's only seconds later -- but there was no sound.
Mic let the remote fall back to the couch with muffled little thump. He'd muted them. He had to. The last thing Jeffery needed to hear was some cable-news blow-hard, shooting off at the mouth on something he knew nothing about. Reminding the poor boy -- and surely any other victims unlucky enough to be watching -- about Anthony Sutela. And, at the same time, comparing an innocent fox, Jeff's own father, to such a monster.
The hyena looked up from the couch and caught his friend's eyes staring back down at him. The cat didn't say a word, but his brow was sharp, and his gaze was pointed and bitter. Despite the silence, it was clear he was asking why.
"You don't need to hear any o' that," Mic addressed the unspoken question...
...and his little gray friend sighed, "Yeah," his expression softening as he looked away. "You're probably right."
With a huff, Jeffery dropped down onto the couch beside his big, spotted friend. And for a moment, neither of them said a word, as they watched the silent argument continue to unfold on the screen.
In time, though, Mic spoke: "Sorry. I shouldn't've even turned this on. We coulda' done somethin' different, and-"
"No. It's fine," the kitten shook his head. "I wanted to watch it, too. I mean...it's my dad."
"Maybe. But I didn't know they were gonna' bring up..." he didn't even want to say the name aloud.
"Tony?" so Jeff did it for him. "Really, it's okay. James, Stan, and my dad all warned me about this, already. They told me that somebody would bring him up, eventually. Use him as an example of how terrible gay people are." He chuckled half-heartedly, "Just like this," and motioned at the screen. "So I was prepared."
"...doesn't keep it from hurtin' though."
"No," the boy hung his head with another sigh, "it doesn't."
Again, they were silent, and the hyena was torn. On the one paw, he worried that anything he said would be an intrusion: that he should leave his newest friend to his thoughts. But on the other, he felt compelled to help. There had to be something he could say or do: something appropriate to the situation.
And after a moment, he picked up the remote again and turned the television off, completely.
Jeffery's head jerked up, turning to look at him...
...and he offered the boy a timid little smile, "I, uhm...I might have some good news. Maybe. Somethin' to cheer you up a bit."
The cat returned the smile along with a shrug, "I'll take whatever you got."
"Well, it's Brandon," Mic began. "I know...I know how much it bothers you that you can't go to the police. How much you wanna' help put Tony away. And...and I know why you can't."
"You..." Jeff's eyes were suddenly evasive. "You do?"
"I know a lot more than I let on," the hyena flashed a wider and more confident smile: an assurance that the boy's secret was safe. And he continued: "Just. I just wanted you to know...you did help. After he talked to you last week, Brandon decided to...well, to talk. He finally told his family what happened. And he's gone to the police."
Jeffery simply turned away, looking down at his lap in silence...
...and Mic went on: "I know. I know it's not the same. I know that you want him to pay for what he did, and...and that no matter what else they catch him for, it's not the same as him having to face up to...as him being held accountable for what happened to you." He took a breath and lowered his own head, trying to shift himself into the boy's line of sight, "But, I just...I wanted you to know that thanks to you, at least he'll pay for what he did to Brandon."
Still though, the kitten didn't say a word. He barely moved, in fact, until a shaking breath parted his dark, little lips. And Mic noticed the shimmer: the tiniest sparkling of a tear in the corner of his friend's eye.
"I'm sorry," the hyena sat back up. "I just...I thought you might..."
But suddenly, the boy was on top of him. Without a word of warning, he'd lunged across the couch, tight little gray arms squeezing and encircling him in a hug. "Thank you. Both of you."
~
(December 21st)
Hot wings.
Mic could smell them on his fingers as he wrapped his scarf around his neck. Vinegar and spice. He'd washed his paws after he ate, of course. He had to; no amount of napkins could ever really clean that sauce from his paw pads, let alone the fur around. But, despite the most valiant efforts of water and soap...the scent remained.
How the hyena could smell it, at all, over the din of fur behind him, though, was a miracle in of itself. As usual, musk -- both natural and non -- had filled the air of Dewey & Buster's from wall to wall. Groups gathered around arcade machines or drifted from game to game, bottlenecking here, and clustering there...
...but to be fair, the scent had begun to thin out, bit by bit, as he followed Hunter toward the door.
The last time they'd come here, their exit had been somewhat rushed, in an attempt to avoid an impending fight. Tonight, though, they'd simply had their fill. Circumstances had changed: Hunter's mood was brighter, the tiger had gotten a turn at his favorite rail shooter, and no one had been drenched from head-to-toe in a soft drink. Instead, it was simply time to head out into the cold December night.
Before they could make it out the door, though, a familiar voice tickled Mic's ear.
"I'm not afraid to out myself on TV..."
The hyena stopped and turned to look at the nearby television on the restaurant & arcade wall. And on it was the face of a tiger: the same one, in fact, that was at his side tonight. On the screen, though, he stood before the high school with a microphone in his face. The footage had been filmed the day before, in a somewhat staged 'on-the-spot interview with a real student from Sibirskaia High.' And this was the second time, today, it had aired.
"...the thing is, though: everybody already knows about me," Hunter's recording continued. "My sexuality's not a secret around here anymore. But it still is for other kids. And they shouldn't have to be scared to be themselves. But they are. That's the kind of place Sibirskaia is. And Mr. Callaway and Mr. Hammond are trying to fix that."
"Ugh..." the same voice groaned in Mic's ear, but from a different direction. And as the on-air report cut away to different footage, Mic turned again to look Hunter -- the real Hunter -- in the eye. "I don't know about you," the tiger sighed, "but I am sick and fucking tired of all this media attention."
"It's only been going on for five days," the hyena reminded him...
...and his friend winced, "I know. But that only makes it worse. It means it's only just begun."
Mic might not have known much, but he knew Hunter wasn't really angry with the news.
Though, to be fair, he also didn't know what really was bothering his friend, either. Nearly two months earlier, when Hunter tried to start a fight with Brandon right here in this same arcade, Mic had understood why. The tiger's grandmother had just died. He needed to vent. Tonight, though, had so far been a pleasant evening, and his friend had no reason to be irritable.
But more importantly: the media attention was a good thing. It was their idea. It was a vehicle for change. Mic knew that. And he knew that Hunter knew it, too. But Hunter was upset, nevertheless. And the hyena knew that a little news report was NOT the real reason why...
"Hey," Mic flashed him a little grin. "Whatsay we head to the park?"
The park.
There were a few in town, but there was really just the one that they called 'the park.' It was the biggest, the most well-maintained, and it was close enough to Dewey & Busters that the two didn't really even need to drive to reach it. But they would anyway.
The boys stepped out into the cold December air and the gently falling snow: the first of the season. They hopped into Hunter's car for the short drive to the park, and when they arrived, they found it full-to-bursting with every color of fur, feather, and scale this town had to offer. Saturday had long since drawn to a close -- the sun having set hours ago -- and if it were November or January, the bitter chill and snow would have already driven everyone indoors.
But it was December 21st...
...and the park was a multi-colored starscape. Lights had been wrapped around every tree trunk, and hung from the otherwise barren branches. They adorned decorative archways, wireframe figures of holiday characters, and each and every already standing sign, fountain, and statue in sight.
Once out of the car, they walked for a time through this sparkling, yuletide rainbow of a winter wonderland. And all throughout the snowy park, parents barely kept up with their hyperactive children, teenagers snapped photos on their phones, and a tiger and a hyena strode silently through it all. Along the way, they passed the brush, the entrances to the park's secluded trails, and a certain memorable restroom. And Mic couldn't help but think back to all the fun times that he, Hunter, and Donald had had here, tucked away just out of sight...including, of course, the time that he and Hunter got caught.
Though, amidst this Christmas crowd, there wouldn't be any of that, tonight. And, instead, the two simply stopped and sat together at a picnic table -- seated atop, with their feet on the bench below -- as they watched the swarm of life before them.
"Do you ever feel...overlooked?"
It was the first thing Hunter had said since they'd arrived, but it didn't exactly take Mic by surprise. He could tell, for some time, that the tiger had been mustering the will to speak...to say whatever it was that was on his mind.
"Overlooked?" the hyena repeated.
"Yeah. I've just...I've been feeling like an afterthought, lately," Hunter explained. "Elliot's parents are getting divorced, and he's having to live with his mom. Jeff's been...like...forced into seclusion. And now even Brandon is..." he turned to look at his friend, trailing off and shaking his head before he continued. "Just...up against all of that, I feel like I've kinda' been forgotten, y'know? Does that make me selfish?"
Mic smiled back at his orange friend and shook his head, "Not at all. There's nothin' wrong with wantin' a little attention."
"And it's not like I haven't had my own shit to deal with, too, y'know?" The tiger went on: "My grandmother's only been in the ground for...for what? Two months? And...okay, I know I saw it coming a mile away, but that doesn't change the fact that I've just been through a break up, either."
"I know, Hunter," Mic placed a comforting paw on his friend's shoulder, "I know."
"But so much focus is being put on everyone else. And I get it. I understand why. I just..."
Hunter hung his head with a sigh. And beneath his paw, the hyena could feel his friend drawing in long, slow breaths, calming himself before he finally lifted his head back up with the smallest hint of a grin.
"My point is: thank you."
Hunter hesitated, just for a moment. He bit his lip and averted his eyes. But it happened.
Mic felt the tiger's paw on the back of his head, and he was pulled in. The heat of his friend's breath washed over his muzzle in the cold night air, the scent of hot wings filled his nose, and their lips met.
He'd expected a hug. He assumed Hunter was leaning in for an embrace, or at most an innocent peck on the cheek. He wouldn't have even been taken off guard by an errant paw at his groin! But this? A kiss? THAT took Mic by surprise!
Not that it was something they'd never done before, of course. There was a time when they were as free with their kisses as they were with their paws. A time when it was simply expected: when it was just a natural part of their...benefits.
After all, that was exactly why he'd always liked Hunter best. Until recently, no one else compared. Before Elliot, Viri, and Jeff -- and before Donald stopped being so damn coy -- no one else was gay, or even bisexual. They were just 'bored.' 'Hard up.' 'Curious' at best. And they were always so damn shy. A cock in their muzzle was simply them returning a favor. But a kiss? That was always a step too far...
...not for Hunter, though. Never for Hunter.
The problem was...Mic might not have known much, but he knew that this was something different. This wasn't passion and hormones and heat. This wasn't Hunter losing himself in the moment. This wasn't lust. This was something different. Some tender and vulnerable...
Hunter pulled his lips away. And the hyena blinked in silence. He wanted to pull him back. He wanted to cinch his arms around the tiger and bury himself back into the kiss. He'd been so shocked, so taken aback that he hadn't thought to reciprocate.
But now it was too late...
...and the tiger wiped his lips on the back of his paw, before he went on with his little speech. "You've always been my best friend, Mic. You've always made time for me. You were there when I was moving out of my grandmother's place, when even Elliot couldn't make it. You stood by me every step of the way while Elliot and I fell apart. And even now, you have Viri and Brandon to worry about...but you're still here with me, tonight."
Mic smiled, shifting closer on the bench, and taking Hunter's paw into his own. Their fingers intertwined, and his friend's face lit up at the touch. The hyena didn't do this for thanks, but it was nice to be appreciated. This was who Mic was, after all. This was his mantra.
He might not have known much, but he knew-
"You're a good friend, Michael." Hunter laid his head on the hyena's shoulder, "It really means a lot."
~
(December 22nd)
The next day, Hunter waited in the living room of his grandmother's -- now his - farm house.
He stood, staring silently out the window, but he was not here alone. On the couch behind him, sat a lithe, little husky, awaiting the return of a German Shepherd who'd disappeared into the kitchen moments before. And when he returned, Donald came bearing a soft drink in each tan paw. He gave one to Elliot with a smile, and cracked open the second...
...as he made his way to Hunter, by the window, "How much longer?"
"Any minute now," the tiger answered with an uneasy breath. "Any minute."
And a few short miles away, a wolf stared out a window of his own. Brandon Sutela watched as snowy trees zipped past him on a winding country highway. His left paw, still in its cast, lay in his lap. He listened to the barely audible radio, whispering its melody from his friend's dashboard. And his head lent forward, stopping with a thump against the passenger side glass.
"It'll be okay, Brandon," the hyena in the driver's seat reassured him once again. "You're ready. They're ready. We all are."
"I know," the wolf closed his eyes. "It's time. I know."
"And I get that you're uncomfortable. I get that it's scary, but-"
"I'm not scared!" the wolf snapped on instinct, sitting up and shooting a piercing glare at his friend. But just as quickly, he deflated, shaking his head and leaning it, again, against the glass. "Sorry. Yeah, it's...it's scary."
Mic could only grin at his conflicted friend, as he continued: "You won't be alone, here, Bran. I promised you that, right?"
And Brandon nodded as well as he could manage with his forehead against the glass, "Yeah. I know. You'll be there. I just hope they'll..."
"Forgive you?"
"Or at least give me a chance."
"They will," the hyena assured him. "You just have to do the same for them."
Again, the wolf nodded. Again, save for the whispering melody and passing wind, the car fell silent. And in moments, it began to slow its pace along the old country road. A driveway lay ahead: dirt and gravel disappearing into the trees. Mic never hit his blinker -- no one was around to see it, anyway -- but he pulled slowly into the turn, nonetheless.
And as the car rattled and shook along its slow course down the rough, rocky, and frozen dirt road, Brandon sat up. He watched on as they approached an old farm house, and he blinked and recoiled at the sight: though not of the house itself...
...but of Jeffery sitting on its porch.
They pulled to a stop, but the wolf remained seated. He watched as Jeffery stood and offered him a tiny little wave, which he cautiously returned. And, in fact, he hadn't even noticed that Mic had gotten out of the car, until his own door cracked open, to expose the hyena waiting, paw extended.
"Jeffery's here, too?" Brandon asked, as he took the paw in his right and stepped free.
"I told you," Mic closed the door behind him, "you're not doing this alone."
And gingerly, the wolf walked along toward the house, eyes on the little gray cat every step of the way. He offered a timid smile, and Jeff returned it. And as he stepped up and onto the porch, the cat leapt into him without warning, wrapping himself around the uncomfortable lupine in a vice-like embrace.
"H-hey kid," Brandon chuckled nervously. "You really ready for this?"
"I am," he muttered into wolf's chest, "as long as you're here."
As long as you're here.
Brandon's eyes went wide and he coughed, his own breath catching in his throat. Blinking, he turned his gaze up to find Mic looking on with an amused, almost mocking smirk. And for a long moment, the wolf could only stare back in silence. But in time he let out a low, shallow breath...gave the hyena a gentle nod...
...and waited as Mic turned and pulled open the door.
~
(December 23rd)
Two days shy of Christmas, Stanley Jones received a frantic phone call.
His adopted son, Hunter, begged him to make the drive out to the countryside and to Dorothy Thurman's old farm. As the young tiger pleaded, assuring him it was urgent, Stan could hear the faintest sound of Jeffery's voice in the background: "Is he coming?" And though the rabbit tried to press them, to ask the boys what could possibly be so serious, he was met only with renewed pleas for his presence. He asked if it was an emergency -- if they'd called 911 -- but it was nothing so terrible as that. So, he promised he would make his way over as soon as he could, but he was at work, so it would still take a while...
...and by the time he stepped through the door of that old farm house, it was evening. Outside the window, a pitch black sky contrasted the snowy white ground, while inside the living room, a tiger paced before a television screen, its DVR paused on the chubby face of a chipmunk.
"Hunter? Jeffery?" the elder rabbit spoke up, halting Hunter's stride and rousing Jeff from his seat on the couch. "What, exactly, was so urgent?"
"Everything!" Hunter exclaimed. "This whole thing is just...it's going so bad!"
"What 'whole thing?'" Stanley shifted his eyes between the two boys, "Jeffery living here?"
"No. That's fine," the young tiger waved a dismissive paw toward the little gray feline in question. "I meant the news."
"You two are worried about the media attention?"
"Yeah!"
Stan narrowed his eyes, "And...why did I have to come over here, to talk about this?"
"Well," Jeff answered, "we couldn't really talk about it on the phone, could we?"
And Hunter added: "Open line. Might be dangerous."
The rabbit could only laugh, at first, before managing any sort of verbal response, "You...you two were worried that the line was tapped?" He considered explaining to the boys that a non-criminal investigation carried out by a school district would never warrant bugging phones, and he seriously doubted the investigation being carried out for the custody battle could either. And even if he was wrong, it would be Scott, James, Kristoff, and William's phones tapped, not his. And definitely Hunter's cell. But, instead, he simply shook his head and stated glibly: "You watch too much television."
Hunter, though, remained flustered nonetheless. "It's better safe than sorry, though, right?"
"I suppose," Stan shrugged, before padding around the couch to sit down. And with a breath, he bid them: "Go on, then. Tell me why this has you so upset."
"Like I said, it's everything!" the tiger standing before him repeated. "I know it was your plan to get the news involved, but everything's backfiring, Stan!"
And, at his side, Jeff joined in: "They're making us...o-or Scott and James, anyway, look like the bad guys."
"It's all just turning into some huge controversy..."
"...and everybody seems more against us now than ever!"
"Just..." Hunter sighed as he asked: "Just what's the point of all this, Stan?"
"To expose what has been happening in Sibirskaia," his adoptive father answered. "To affect some level of change...for Aaron and William, for Kristoff and his family, for everyone."
"But it's not working!" Hunter maintained.
"Is it not?"
"What?" the boy furrowed his brow. "You think it is?"
And Stanley simply shrugged, "Well, you seem to believe otherwise. Tell me why."
"Haven't you watched the interviews?" Hunter asked...
...and Jeffery took over to explain: "That badger: the preacher? He made it sound like James was just being selfish and trying to protect his job. He said the policy was attacking Christians, and that gays shouldn't even be allowed to teach." He pointed to the television, even though the face on it now was that of someone else altogether, "And then the porcupine who interviewed Scott the next day compared them to Tony! He called Scott and James pedophiles on national television!"
"Those two are just a pair of talking heads, Jeffery," Stan offered, in an attempt to calm the boy.
"Okay, fine." Hunter granted: "Maybe they're...isolated, or whatever, but the point was to change things in Sibirskaia, right? But everybody here in town has been getting worse, too!" He tapped his chest, "I'm not the only student who's been interviewed by the local news, and half of them sounded JUST like Brandon used to. And look at this!" he, too, motioned to the television. Though, unlike his friend, he WAS referring to the chipmunk on the screen, "Have you actually heard the shit that Mr. Cheney's been saying?"
In a flash, the tiger snatched the remote up from the end table and pointed it at the screen...
...but Stanley spoke up, halting him before he could press play, "I have already seen the interview. I am well aware of what he had to say."
And as the tiger's arm lowered, the little gray cat, responded: "Then you heard him bring up Tony, again, just like the porcupine." As he spoke, Jeff began to pace as well, just as Hunter had been doing when Stan arrived. "They keep doing that, over and over. Everybody keeps talking about him: saying that he's proof that all gay guys are rapists. Saying Scott and James are just like him."
It was involuntary. He barely even realized he'd done it. But the rabbit knew he'd averted his eyes, when he heard Jeffery hiss:
"They're not like him, Stan!"
"I know," Stanley held up his paws, defensively. "I know."
"But you flinched!" the boy pointed at him. "And that's the problem. What if they convince enough people it's true? What if they find out about me? What if Scott and James end up in-"
"Jeffery, no. That will NOT happen."
"Probably not, but he has every right to be worried," Hunter argued. "I mean: look at how bad this has already gotten, and they're still just talking about the policy change. No one's said anything about Aaron & Will's jobs, yet-"
"Or Elliot," Jeff added.
"Or Elliot!" he agreed. "What happens when Will & Kris end up on television? What happens when the divorce and the custody battle are all over the news? They already have so much evidence against the two of them. Do we really want even more eyes on them?"
"Or their dirty laundry all over TV?"
"What happens when this lands them in jail? Or even just gets everyone thinking that they-"
"Hunter," Stanley cut him short. "I understand. Really, I do."
"So...so then you agree that this needs to end?" the tiger asked.
But his father only laughed and shook his head in response, "No, Hunter. No." And as a look of horror and concern washed over the boys' faces, he waved a paw toward the couch beside him, "Please sit down. Both of you."
And they did: Hunter directly to his right, and Jeff far to the opposite end, as the little cat asked, "Well, if we're not gonna' stop it, then...then what're we gonna' do?"
"Nothing," the rabbit answered. "Boys, I know this looks bad right now." He looked Hunter in the eye, "I know that hearing your classmates say awful things on the news," and then turned his gaze to Jeff, "and hearing your fathers being attacked in their interviews was difficult. I know that both of you are worried about what might happen when William and Kristoff are put in the same situation. I know the attention is frightening, and that our goal seems very far away right now."
Stan watched as the two boys sunk down in their seats, hanging their heads in thought. And he shifted closer, leaning in and draping a comforting arm around Hunter's shoulders. The tiger looked up. His adoptive father met him with a smile...
...and he continued: "But trust the cliché when I say: though we may be losing this battle...we have already won the war."
~
(December 24th)
If he was being honest, it made him angry.
Seeing his brother so blissful and content should have made Kritstoff Masters happy. He should have been pleased to see his brother have even a single joyful night amidst the drama of these recent months. It should have put a smile on his face. But it didn't.
He watched on from the kitchen as Aaron and Billy sat in the darkened living room, before the sparkling white lights of their little Christmas tree. He listened to them laugh. He watched Billy grimace at the taste of egg nog: something he'd never tried before tonight, at Aaron's behest. This was their first Christmas Eve as a couple. And they were making the most of it, waiting for the clock to strike midnight...waiting for it to officially be Christmas so they could exchange their gifts.
And Kristoff's stomach turned at the sight. He hated himself. He hated the person this day had turned him into. This day...and his wife. He wanted to join them. He wanted to share in the joy of a young couple, completely and totally in love, enjoying this night with one another.
But he couldn't. He was angry. He was jealous: bitter that they could have one of the best nights of their lives...while he was having one of the worst.
He wouldn't ruin this for them, though. He wouldn't interrupt their happy night with his brooding. He wouldn't look for their sympathy and comfort. He would let them have this. And so he passed through the room in silence, slinking through the shadows toward his bedroom. He set his drink -- his own warm mug of spiked egg nog -- on his dresser, and slowly extended a paw.
His fingers traced wood and glass. His palm clasped a frame. He lifted a decade old framed photograph up from its place there on the dresser. And his eyes stung as he stared into the frozen eyes of the one person who should be here tonight, but wasn't.
His son.
And Elliot -- miles away, holed up in his room in the home they used to share -- looked into his father's eyes, just the same. He was more than a little surprised that these photos were even still here: surprised his mother hadn't burned them or shred them to pieces.
But here they were, safe behind the clear, plastic protection of a photo album. Pictures of a young Elliot happily ripping through wrapping paper, and holding up his gifts with a smile: a pose his mother demanded for each and every present. Pictures of his mother in happier times, when her love was a welcoming warmth: when it was safety and affection instead of captivity and oppression.
And pictures of his father. The father who'd accepted him in every way without question or reservation. The father who respected him enough to trust his judgement with Hunter, and forgive the tiger who had cheated on his son...respected him enough to believe that he'd been a willing participant with Will, and to forgive what might otherwise have been the unforgivable. The father who protected him and kept his secrets in confidence. The father who made a singular and unbelievable dream come true for just one night...and gave him a farewell he'd never forget.
Outside his room, his mother waited amidst Christmas decorations and gifts. She waited for her son to come and join her for the holiday: to stare wide eyed at the tree, to shake his presents, and to beg to open just one before the next morning, just like he had as a cub. He knew it was what she wanted. And it hurt. Despite everything, it hurt to think of his mother sitting out there alone on Christmas Eve, waiting for her son who would never come.
But how dare she!? How dare she make him feel guilty? She'd brought all of this on herself. It was Christmas Eve, and because of her he couldn't spend it with his father! He couldn't even call him. She couldn't deny him that call completely, of course -- they were allowed to speak -- but she could limit it to her heart's content. And this was a rule that he simply couldn't break. He could sneak off with Hunter and run away to that old farm house whenever he pleased. But this was different. Calling without her permission would only get his father in trouble.
She would allow him a single call. She would have to, even if it was just the one. And he wouldn't waste it tonight. He would save it for tomorrow: a gift to himself.
With a sigh, he sat the photo album aside and looked over to his clock. 12:01.
Merry Christmas.
~
And Sibirskaia continues...
* This particular chapter (and the rest of Sibirskaia) was written entirely by Oloroso Rhone. But it was based on characters and story lines I created jointly with my friend Phil Anthro Pist
If you'd like to go say hi to Phil, he's got an account on here at http://phil-anthro-pist.sofurry.com/ *
The media campaign has begun! Stephen has returned to town to take the reins, Scott and James have made their appearances on national television, and the local debate that became a state-wide story is becoming a minor national controversy. But the question is: who is winning? Are Hunter and Jeff right to be afraid? Or does Stanley know something they don't? And, meanwhile, life continues inside of Sibirskaia itself: lonely holidays separated from those they love, unexpected kisses between longtime best friends, and the possible final reconciliation between a former bully and his victims.
But what happens now? Will the following interviews be anything like the first few? What role will Stephen come to play? Has Brandon finally recovered? Where are Elliot & Hunter's lives headed now that they're single? And as the media circus continues to play out, who will come out on top? Find out in Sibirskaia 28, or "Taking the Stage" Part 2!
Thanks for reading! I welcome any feedback. Comment or PM me here, add me on skype, or email me at theottercoon[at]gmail.com
And if you enjoyed this chapter, and want to support my efforts to write more, I welcome any donations you would be willing to give
See you around for the final 3 chapters of Sibirskaia!