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Big Ed's Diner was a dark and dingy place, but it had earned that designation from sheer endurance through the ages. The lights hanging down from the low ceiling were coated with decades of grease, struggling to light the cracked vinyl and well-worn wooden tables and booths that dominated the establishment. One side of the diner was dominated by the counter where most of the regulars perched on stools that were at once too small for their ample seats and strong enough to handle their weight (with complaints, of course). Right next to the door was an ancient jukebox Big Ed himself would proudly tell you he restored himself and stocked with his favorite music -- an eclectic mix of the typical fare, obscure indie bands, and a small sampling of whatever was playing on Top 40 radio. It pumped music into the diner constantly, though most animals ignored it in favor of conversations with each other, or that morning's newspaper, or whatever outrage happened to be on television.

Bernard Aines sat at one of the stools in the center of the restaurant, or at least half-sat. The tiny round surface was clearly made for a smaller animal, as were most of the booths; the diner was constructed back when Big Sky was almost exclusively a farming town and its population consisted almost entirely of Rabbits, Sheep and Ground Squirrels. In the twenty years since the state university opened up its campus just south of the main strip, the population more than doubled and diversified heavily -- now, there was a healthy mix of Bears, Cougars, Foxes, Wolves, Deer, Badgers, and even a few exotic animals from out of the country like Kangaroos and Elephants. Most of the newer animals were still getting used to the town's small shops and undersized infrastructure.

Not him, though. He had lived here for half his life, ever since his father came to be a ranch hand for the Silverleaf family. He got his degree at the university, then his job as an English professor there. For Bernard, navigating the small and fragile interior of Big Ed's Diner was second nature.

He shoveled the bacon and eggs into his broad muzzle and chewed thoughtfully, going over his lecture notes for the day. There was something about the ever-present smell of frying meat, the comfortable conversation of the old-timers, the warmth and coziness of the diner that made it feel like a second home to Bernard; he stopped here every morning before walking to campus because it was the comfortable kind of chaos he preferred to the relative minefield of the university. You never knew what you would have to deal with there, especially these days.

"Top you off, Ber?" Big Ed hopped up onto a small platform behind the counter with a full put of coffee, somehow managing not to spill a drop. He was a Rabbit, tall and broad-shouldered for his species, a few inches over six feet tall if you counted the ears. Before the great student migration a generation ago, rumor had it he was Big Sky's tallest resident -- hence the nickname. When they were both standing upright, however, Ed was about eye-level with Bernard's chest.

"Hmm? Oh, sure, thanks." He slid his mug over with a flick of his claw and tried to decipher the notes he had written over lunch yesterday.

"I will never understand why it takes so much work to understand a book." The Rabbit shook his head as he poured half the pot into Bernard's oversized mug. "If people have to study a class just to make sense of what they're reading, that book is more complicated than it needs to be."

Bernard glanced up and gave a small grin. "That's because life is often more complicated than it needs to be."

Big Ed snorted and shook his head, his long ears clapping together with a soft flicking sound. "Which is why you should be teaching those eggheads over there to write simpler books. Not everything has to uncover some huge truth about the universe. Sometimes, a story can just be fun."

Bernard reached for the creamer, palming it briefly before pouring it into his mug with a thumb and forefinger. "You're not wrong, but writing a fun story is harder than it sounds. You have to work hard to understand what makes something fun."

Ed chuckled, his nose twitching and eyes twinkling. Not for the first time, Bernard caught himself thinking just how adorable the little Rabbit was. "No you don't. Either something's fun or it isn't. If you stop thinking so hard and just pay attention, you'd be able to know which is which well enough."

Bernard raised an eyebrow and leaned forward; this was the opening gambit of a longer debate. "Well..."

But Ed had stopped listening to him. He was staring at the front door with wide eyes.

He swiveled his stool to follow the Rabbit's gaze and found the door was blocked by the biggest Wolf he had ever seen. The top of the door's frame barely reached the giant's shoulders; one enormous paw pushed it open, and an arm half again as thick as Bernard's own followed behind. Then one thick shoulder, then the whisper of the Wolf's chest and back squeezing itself through the too-narrow frame, then the great and shaggy head behind it. The lupine bulk poured into the diner, making it a much smaller space almost immediately, and the plates rattled when one huge paw thumped the floor. One gigantic thigh revealed itself, denim jeans stretched around the trunk thick muscle and rather obvious bulges that seemed too big to be believed. Then the other paw; the diner shook again, and it felt like the beast's breath was enough to make the counter thrum with its resonance.

The giant Wolf looked around at the silent diner as he stood up, his ears flattening against the ceiling until the top of his head pushed against the stucco. "What are all of you looking at?" His voice was a shock of thunder in the enclosed space, loud and booming enough to make half the diners flinch or startle. He grinned without humor, showing a mouth full of savagely-large fangs. "You ain't ever seen a REAL predator before?"

The stranger hunched over and made his way towards the back of the diner, casually bumping animals and tables out of the way with his bulk or slapping them with his tail. He was followed close behind by two others nearly as big as he was -- a Tiger who seemed simultaneously leaner and stronger, and a Kangaroo with paws that were almost cartoonishly oversized. They filled the space they were in and then some, and by the time they joined the Wolf at the back of the diner the place felt way too small.

"Ugh, what a shithole," the Kangaroo said, casually kicking a chair into a corner with one foot and sitting back on his tail.

"Food's got to be better than it is at the college, though," the Tiger said, glancing at his chair before sitting in it gingerly. Bernard saw the legs bend visibly under the big cat's weight, but it held.

The Wolf sat down without such consideration, and the seat simply shattered beneath him. He landed hard on the floor, shaking the entire room with the impact. He swiped the debris behind him with a few audible thumps of his tail and shook his head. "If it's as piss-poor as this furniture, I sincerely doubt it. Hey! You." He turned and pointed to Big Ed, then crooked his finger to demand the Rabbit closer.

Big Ed looked at Bernard pleadingly, then set his pot of coffee down. "Welcome, fellas, what can I do for you?" He opened the small hinged counter extension to let himself out into the main diner.

The Wolf stared at the Rabbit with burning yellow-gold eyes, and when he was within striking distance, grabbed his apron with a fist the size of Ed's head. The stranger lifted him off the ground effortlessly, chuckling at the way Ed's paws bicycled in the air. "You can call me Fang. These are my friends, Rai and Bruce. We're your new #1 customers, you see? Now bring us a pot of coffee, each, and the menus. And be quick about it."

Fang let go, and Ed fell on his tail, eyes wide and muzzle working dumbly. The Wolf turned to his friends with that humorless predator's grin. "You gotta make sure these townies know their place right off, or else they'll start getting all kinds of dumb ideas."

"You need to leave." Bernard rose from his stool, and the entire diner turned to him. Even he was surprised; he hadn't planned on doing anything, but the anger inside him built and crested so quickly he found he couldn't contain it. "Come back when you have some idea how to treat people."

The silence that fell in the diner was the same kind of tense stillness that you felt before a tornado. Fang narrowed his eyes at Bernard and growled, turning to face him.

"You want me to leave, fat boy? Make me."