Legal Regal: Strip #1
Legal Regal : Strip #1
by
Argo D.D.
It had been three years since he'd come here to this old churchyard. He used to always come here, whether it was the night before filing a complaint or a closing argument. This was his place--when he was still a lawyer.
Regal didn't care that the stone bench was wet from the rain that had stopped only an hour ago. His dress pants were never stained or wrinkled beyond repair when he used to sit there--before The Lingo. It gave him comfort to see that nothing had changed. There were the two dozen graves spread semi-linearly between two weeping willow trees, the earliest going as far back as 1843. A neon light shinned from the steeple of the small chapel, which made the willows and stones glisten an eerie bronze.
Regal looked at his watch. It was 10:18pm. He looked up at the stained glass windows, then up to the steeple light, and then above to the crescent moon. The moon was just starting to piece out of the breaking clouds. He couldn't help but smile.
Maybe something's don't change.
A warm feeling settled in his chest, and he was immediately brought back to this place three years ago, when he made a decision.
Volt.
That name seemed to belong here. Regal took a deep breath of the warm summer night. It was then that he realized how silly he was for fearing, almost dreading, to come back here. No. It was still his place, and Volt belonged here too. Regal didn't cringe with guilt when thought about him here. He was not some abomination. He was just Volt, his little gray fox. His man.
This was the answer he needed.
Regal Gooden was thirty-three, the father of two, an ex-husband, and a second husband--sort of. He was mix between a Rottweiler (from his father's side) and a Bull Terrier (his mother's). From his father, he'd inherited black fur with some rusty patches down his muzzle and arms. From his mother, he got an angular muzzle and squinting red eyes as well as her thin frame. At five-eleven, he was not small, thought slender, especially when compared to his brothers. Still, his body reflected his mind--sharp. Regal picked up his suitcase from the side of bench.
I'm going to do it.
He cracked a smile as he remembered that he said the same thing to himself the last time he was here three years ago. When he decided he would stop hiding. Regal got up and started for the street. He'd gotten what he'd come for here.
Once he walked past the gate, he was on Main Street of Downing. Downing was a quaint little town with a nice colonial atmosphere. There were shops one the street that looked like they'd been there for over two hundred years. They probably had. This was the oldest town in the greater Queenston area. In the air, Regal could smell the salt from the nearby shore only a mile away. The old brick sidewalk was lighted by electric lamps designed to look like eighteenth century oil lamps. Puddles shined in their reflection. There were some houses, which if not ancient made the effort to match the colonial decor of Downing. He loved it all so much, and he was somewhat disappointed that the bus had already arrived at the bus top. He was tempted to let this one go and wait for the next one, but Volt wouldn't be too happy if he got back at midnight. He'd be lucky if he got back at eleven now. So he hustled to the bus, which looked so out of place here, walked up into the blinding white light, and took a seat. As his eyes adjusted, he saw the driver, a wiener pig, look at him in the rearview mirror. The pig smiled and nodded and Regal returned the gesture. Still, Regal wondered if the driver was put off by him being still dressed for work at this hour and in this area.
The bus began to pull away. It didn't take long to get to South Green Street, the road that went all the way into downtown Queenston. Once it did swerve onto South Green, the skyscrapers of downtown Queenston. The skyline seemed to hover over everything within a twenty mile radius, made easier by the fact that the region was generally sunny and clear. Most of the bulding were not even ten years old, making them some of the most contemporary in the country. They even had built in lighting that illuminated them with different colors each night. Regal looked at an advertisement hanging above the bus's entrance. It read "Welcome to Queenston, the Gateway to the New South". He looked back up at the skyline ahead.It certainly was. Everything was new here.
Well...almost everything.
The face of Shade popped in his mind. The face of that pieced up, dark furred mountain lion who showed up in his office today. He remembered how out of place Shade was in his office. It was not just his body piercings, ripped jeans, and band shirt. He also hadn't seen him for three years. The conversation played in his mind.
"They tried before. But I think they're going to succeed this time. My own business is going to be turned into a community center. My own business. Shut down!"
Shade owned The Lingo.
"God Finchy, we need a lawyer. We need one now."
Regal remembered his ears perking up at that. Finchy? He hadn't been called that for years. Not even by Volt. Just the hearing it brought him back to the cold dark halls of The Lingo, where he met his gray-eyed fox.
"We need you."
Regal leaned his head back and rested it on the window. He thought of the comfort of the churchyard. He thought about going there almost every night those years ago. It was not just thought of Volt that kept him away, it was also logistics. That churchyard was once not too far from his home. His old home. Now he had to take a bus.
Regal Gooden was a born and bred southerner. An Episcopal. Still a registered Republican. A lawyer...technically. A father and former husband. And he was now heading home to Volt. His gray-fox with gray eyes and a faith French accent.
His _boyfriend_of three years.