A Walk on the Wilde Side: Chapter 1
"You want to go to Zootopia to be a musician? Good luck with that." "I heard they only like Gazelle there." "You won't be famous! Stay here!" "Zootopians won't give a crap about your loud screaming music. It's all noise." Those words--and many others--came from my friends and family who disapproved of my dream to become well-known and successful in the music business. I had just split my band up two days before I boarded the train to Zootopia (much to the chagrin of my buddies) and made my ambitions clear: that I was going to the fabled mammal metropolis to make my livings off of wider audiences and a more bolder plan for success. As you can tell beforepaw, most of my peers' reactions were negative and/or skeptical about this. To all of them, I say this: I admit that my plan seems rash and desperate, but if you don't try any risks in life, what is really the point of living it? After all, Gazelle's hit single urged listeners to "try everything", and that's what I was going to do to achieve fame. After all, what's a young Manx Bobcat got to lose? The scents were overpowering. As I stepped off the bus, I could smell the earthy scents of lions and tigers, the musky odors of foxes and wolves, and even the tiny nips of small rodents, all mingled together with the smells of freshly washed fur. This directly contrasted the colorful surroundings of the terminal: emerald and jade arches high above, with vendors selling food and drinks everywhere. As I made my way to the escalators with my microphone stand case in one paw, I caught sight of a blue-clad giraffe getting a smoothie via a high-rising tube for specimens his height (he was pretty freakin' tall!). I gave him a wave and a smile, and then continued on my way. It took a bit before I got to the heart of the city. Once I did, though, I stopped in awe. So many high-rise buildings! I jumped as a familiar voice made it to my ears; the voice of Gazelle, I knew, welcoming visitors to the city. It was really only at the last second that I saw her famous visage, horns and all, gracing the animated billboard, but by then I was already heading to find a place to stay for the next week or so. The day before, I'd called the local limo service there to get me to the Bearaton downtown (I had reserved for a room that morning), and the guy (a Grizzly named Cumberton) said he would be there as soon as I arrived. So when I, with my Catswitch Engage t-shirt and my mic case, spotted a black limo roaring up nearby, I bolted for it, knowing it was
Cumberton's because of the vehicle's sheer size. I slid into the front passenger seat, dropping my briefcase, and looked up to face the bear. He was massive, his one brown arm resting on the wheel, and he was giving me quite the frown. "A bobcat, eh?" His voice was deep and subdued, just like it had been on the phone (though I did sense a bit of irritation in his words--maybe it's just me and my oversensitivity). "Um, y-yeah," I said, gulping, "does that matter?" It certainly didn't matter where I came from (hint: the same area where Peter Moosebridge resides), but maybe this bear just waxed nostalgic for the ancient times when predators hunted prey. "No," he answered, much to my surprise, "the old rules are gone anyway." He booted up the vehicle. "Ever since the arrest of Bellwether, it's been all about inclusion." I nodded. "If you ask me, that's great. Animals should be treated for who they are, not for what they eat." We kept quiet for a while, going through the busy traffic of a Monday afternoon in Zootopia. Several speed bumps, long waits and impatient car honks later, I asked him, "So why did you look at me strangely when I first got in?" He huffed out a sigh. "I haven't seen a bobcat around these parts for around a month now." A smile crept up my muzzle at that response. "Well, consider me the first, then." Cumberton rolled his eyes, and then gripped the wheel tighter, focusing on the road with a newfound purpose. "What brings you to Zootopia?" "A mission," I said proudly, "to be successful in the music industry. I want to form the first metal band in the history of this great, stunning metropolis!" Despite all of my paw flourishing and pompous air, the bear wasn't sold. "If you say so," he growled, making my ears flatten, "I will tell you this: It. Won't. Happen." I fought the urge not to cry on the rest of the way there. How dare he say such things, the same as several of my friends back home! It made me want to claw his smarmy muzzle apart. But, as a responsible feline being, I kept quiet, patiently waiting for the hotel to show up. It didn't take very long before it did: another tall
high-riser, flanked by a roofed drop-off point out front. A lovely garden stretched out beyond that, full of reds and yellows (and, thankfully, no blues in sight), culminating in a grand marble statue of Micheliongalo's "The David". I chuckled softly as I saw that the figure's privates were covered with a leaf. I sighed. Me and my dirty humor! The limo halted to a stop to the right of the door. Extracting my wallet from my jean pocket, I asked, "How much do I owe you?" "Ten Zootopian Dollars." "Crap," I hissed. I only had Catnadian money! "Take this," I said, offering him a lone twenty, "it's all I have." The bear took the money, nodding, and then gave me my change. I thanked him, stuffing the coins and bills in my pockets, before getting out of the limo. "Have a good day." "Same to you." And just like that, the bear drove away. He was intimidating, but I tried not to dwell on that too much as I padded inside. Then, I stopped. Amid the hubbub of bears and lions and tigers relaxing in the lobby, I spotted a stand to the right of the reception desk. "ZPD Doughnut Fundraiser," it read. And a certain fox and bunny was at its helm. Without thinking, I strode towards the stall, knowing at once who they were. Everybody from far and wide knew (or had at least heard of) the heroics of Officers Judy Hopps and Nick Wilde in solving the case of the missing mammals and the repercussions it has had on the city since then. All of those six months I had wanted to meet them, and now here I was, getting a snack from them in exchange for charity. "Um, hey," I panted, planting my arm on the table of the booth, "what's this all about?" Sweat was glistening down my forehead, wetting my fur plenty. Oh, the nervousness of it all! Nick gave Judy a disapproving look before the bunny inhaled exaggeratedly. "So our fundraiser helps raise money for the cure from the Night Howler poison," she explained rather speedily, "and one doughnut equals one dollar paid towards that cause." I nodded, wiping my brow with a free paw. "Soooo," Nick said, "do you want one?" I
nodded again, a smile slowly forming. "Sure." Judy tilted her head, looking at me with concern. "Are you all right?" I paused in the middle of picking out a doughnut. "Yeah, sorry about that." I chuckled. "I was just... nervous, y'know? Like, you're the guys that did the digging of that case and it was widely covered where I'm from, and while I may not be interested in your field of work, I am certainly inspired by what you guys did." The rabbit's eyes widened at my compliment. "Wow, thank you for saying that! You really made my day." She stuck out a paw. "Your name?" "Thaddeus Greystripe," I replied, accepting her gesture, "though you may call me 'Twitchy'. Most of my family does anyway." She chortled. "Well, just plain old 'Thaddeus' will do it for me." Nick nodded in agreement. "So tell us," the fox said, "what you're interested in." I took a deep breath. "Well," I began, "I'm into heavy metal, and playing that type of music." "Oh!" Nick's eyes widened. "I know what that is! Like Metallicatz, right?" I did a sort of half-smile at his response. "Sorta'," I said, taking in his half lidded gaze, "but heavier than that." I tugged at my shirt, showing him the band logo. "You've heard of this band?" Nick arched his brows in unknowingness. "Mm... can't say I have." "Well," I explained, "that's the type of music I am into: metalcore. It's like a combination of metal, punk and a little bit of emo thrown in for good measure. You know, I'm looking to form a band here--" "Sorry to cut you off," the fox interjected, "but are you gonna' try any of these doughnuts?" I studied the row of sweets. There was glazed, chocolate-filled, honey, vanilla with sprinkles (oooh, that looks good!) and-- "Yes, ha-ha," I chuckled, "I'll have the sprinkled vanilla, please." Judy happily wrapped my future snack for me, handing it over with a million-watt smile on her muzzle. "Your doughnut, sir! Money, please?" I gave her part of my change. "One Zootopian's obviously enough, right?" "Yep," she replied, taking the money, "thank you for contributing!" "You're welcome," said I, "have a nice day, you two." As I padded up to the reception desk, I realized that I had spent half of the conversation staring at Nick and how gorgeous he looked. Now, I usually don't have gay thoughts towards males. But this... was different. Mr. Wilde, with his neatly brushed orange fur and his striking blue police uniform (not to mention the silver aviators tucked in his breast pocket), looked miles away from his sloppily worn bog-green shirt and tie that I'd seen him wearing on the news. In fact, I would say that it brought out his stunning green eyes, algae pools of beauty and-- I facepawed myself in embarrassment. Curse those gay thoughts! I took a deep breath and straightened my shirt. Time to be a sensible feline being. "Ma'am," I said, strolling up to the desk, "I need a room for two weeks, please." My ears pinned back when I realized what I was dealing with: a sloth, turning ssslllooowwwlllyyy towards me. She was dressed in a violet wool shirt peppered with pink flowers. Her badge read, "Mona". "Yes," she droned, "how... can... I... help... you?" My head dropped onto the limestone. I was too fed up to face this crap. Of all the species applying for jobs, they employed a SLOTH? I looked at the line behind me. Of course; it was super long, so I slipped out of there. Luckily for me, a lithe snow leopardess headed the neighboring desk, her spots standing out amidst the royal blue shirt she wore. "Excuse me," I asked, planting my paw onto the desk, "can you search up a reservation for room 259?" Her ears perked up at my inquiry. She smiled, her tail swishing from behind. "Sure." In the long wait for my name to (most likely) be spoken, I began to fantasize what it would be like if I was a drummer for a band. Pretty soon, I was one; my drum kit in front of me, the crowd beyond, and the feeling--that awesome feeling--of just playing on stage to an audience sinking in-- "Thaddeus Greystripe?" I blinked away my daydream, startled. "Yes?" Reality started to catch up. "Oh, you found it?" The leopardess nodded, chuckling to herself. I heard the sounds of a drawer being pried open before she handed me my key--actually a flat white card with "BEARATON" written on it in gold. Shocked, I asked, "No ID?" The leopardess stopped, staring at me for a minute. Then, she covered her muzzle in guilt. "Oops." I smirked at her honesty. "First day on the job?" "Third, actually," she said, drumming her claws on the limestone, "It's pretty busy here." "Yeah, I'll say." I was fishing out my passport right then: a pamphlet with my nation's coat of arms on its front. "Here you go," I said, handing the booklet over, "It's the only thing I have." "That's fine," she assured. She scanned the picture and me, flicking her icy blue eyes between the two. "You're all set." "Thanks," I said, retrieving it back. I looked over at the doughnut stand. Nick and Judy were still selling, and almost all of them were gone now. The fox looked majestic sitting there, his smiling muzzle buried in his right paw, regarding the crowd with a suave sort of interest. This time, I didn't hold my adventurous thoughts back. I wanted to be with him. I wanted to get to know him better so that, in due time, I could steal his heart and keep our love forever entwined.But that, I decided, rushing for the elevator, I will save for another time.