The Fire Triangle, A Zootopia Fanfiction -- Part One: Fuel - 19

Disclaimer: Zootopia stories, characters, settings, and properties belong to the Walt Disney Co. This story is written under Fair Use Copyright laws.

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The Fire Triangle—A Zootopia Fanfiction

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Part One:

Fuel

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Chapter 3 – Day of Carrots and Blueberries

(Continued...Pt. 11)

They came in three vehicles. Once again Judy was riding with Nick, sitting up front in the Hopps Family Farm truck. Next in line was a venerable Jeep Furrokee with her mother at the wheel and Erin seated beside her. Bringing up the rear was the standby ride for smaller Hopps outings, a stretched passenger van that had once belonged to the county.

Not everyone in the clan had joined Erin Hopps-talent show caravan. (Good thing; even if they'd snagged every vehicle in the warren, there wouldn't have been space for everyone.) Just the same, when Erin stepped into the spotlight later on this evening, she'd have a decent sized cheering-section in the audience.

Judy turned and glanced through the truck's rear window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the younger bunny. Yep, there was Erin, wearing an expression that would have made stone sphinx proud—frozen and immobile, showing no emotion whatsoever.

She wasn't fooling anyone, especially her older sister. Judy knew from her own experience that Erin's stoic façade was just that-a façade. It was the same look she'd had on HER face while waiting in the foyer of the Zootopia Police Academy, preparing to make the pitch for why she should be the first animal admitted into the ZPD under then-Mayor Lionheart's mammal-inclusion initiative.

To the outside world, Erin Hopps might appear to be all placid and serene, but on the inside—Judy was certain of it—she was pins, needles, and butterflies. It couldn't have been more obvious if someone had spray painted it across the Furrokee's windshield in day-glo orange paint.

"And this is only Carrot Days talent show." Judy reminded herself. "She still has to get through the big one, her ZAPA audition." Hopefully whatever happened here tonight would give her sister a boost for that upcoming endeavor.

At the theater's rear entrance, Erin and her family were forced to separate; the backstage area being strictly reserved for stagehands, security, and performers waiting to go on. (There had been incidents in the past involving anxious parents.)

"Well this is it." Erin offered a wan smile as she hefted her guitar and pedalboard case, too excited and/or terrified to display any attitude now.

It reflected in the ensemble she'd chosen for her performance, a pair of black yoga pants, topped by a pair of torn denim shorts, and a black lace tank top over a wine-red t-shirt. The only item remaining from earlier in the day was the collar she'd been wearing at the train station.

Best of all, as a far as Judy was concerned, Erin had ditched the heavy eye makeup in favor of something a bit more subtle. Now her deep blue eyes were only lined in black and the lids had been left untouched. It gave the younger bunny a sultry air that somehow seemed to fit the occasion perfectly.

"Wish me luck." She said, flashing that skittish grin once more. (NOW she looked like the girl Judy remembered from her previous visits.)

"Good lu..." Judy started to shout, along with Nick, her dad, and several of the other bunnies. But then Bonnie Hopps quickly shushed them all.

"No, no, no, not 'good luck,' you'll jinx her."

Everyone immediately stifled themselves while Bonnie turned to her daughter with a beaming smile. "Break a leg, Erin."

"Break a leg!" A chorus of voices echoed.

"Break both your legs!" A youngster's voice piped up from somewhere near the back of the throng, and another young voice quickly jumped in on it.

"Break both your legs and your neck and also your..."

"Timmy!"

"Sorr-reeee..."

Erin laughed so hard she nearly dropped her gear.

And then she set it down and went rushing to her parents, throwing her arms around their necks and hugging them tight.

"Love you mom, love you dad." She said, and then added with a sniffle, "And I'm sorry for being such a jerk these last few days."

"It's okay Erin." Bonnie reassured her, hugging her back. "You just go out there and make us proud."

"I will," Erin promised, and then grabbed her things and disappeared through the gate.

Almost immediately, it was her father's turn to sniffle. "Ohhhhh, darn waterworks!" he blubbered, prompting a weary groan from his wife.

"Oh Stu, for heaven's sake; what are you going to do when she leaves for school?"

Before dropping Erin off at the stage entrance, Bonnie had wisely sent some of the other Hopps bunnies to put dibs on seats for the rest of the family.

And now that precaution was paying off; no sooner had Judy and the others passed through the gate than they saw Art, Violet, and Stuart Hopps Junior beckoning from the fourth row, just right of center stage. Not the best seats in the house, but still good ones and they had managed to corral an entire row of chairs for the group.

"Good work," Judy thought, but then another, unsettling idea crept in and settled on top of it. Had it really been such a good idea to bring so many family members for Erin's first performance? Her little sister was under enough pressure already without adding that to the mix.

True, even with the Hopps family contingent present and accounted for, the Carrot Days Amphitheater was only filled to half capacity, but Erin would still be facing a much bigger crowd, (by a factor of three at least,) than the one that witnessed Judy's performance those many moons ago.

"Please let her do well," she silently prayed, clasping her paws as she took her seat.

Settling into her chair, Judy became aware of a cluster of young, giggly voices, emanating from somewhere towards the front of the audience. She swiveled her ears in that direction and at once, the voices switched from familiar to easily recognizable; Erin's girlfriends, sitting front and center by the sound of things.

Judy wondered for a second if that was a good or a bad thing—and then finally decided 'good thing.' These girls had been her sister's friends with since forever; having them up front would be a tonic, not a burden.

She frowned for a second as another thought occurred to her, and then turned to the fox in the adjoining chair.

"Think Conor's here tonight, Nick?" With the Gazelle tour-shirts all sold out, it was a strong probability, but who really knew for certain?

Nick Wilde didn't know, as things turned out. Raising his nose and sniffing the air, he pursed his lips and quickly lowered it again.

"Sorry Carrots, no idea. I'm not catching his scent, but that doesn't mean he's not around. Look how breezy it is out here tonight." He raised a paw, gesturing towards one of the pennants, fluttering atop the stage. "Honestly, he could be three feet away from me and I wouldn't be able to smell him, not if he was staying downwind."

"Right, right, yeah.. " Judy sighed. After two years as Nick Wilde's partner she had come to understand that even his sense of smell wasn't infallible.

Then a voice from behind her spoke up:

"Hey there Judy, we made it."

Judy turned and saw Bobby and Belinda Catmull seated in the next row, together with a pair of older cougars whom she recognized at once.

"Hey Bobby, Hey Lin," She said, and then turned quickly to her parents, nudging her father in the elbow, "Mom, Dad? Look who's here."

The instant Bonnie and Stu turned around their faces broke into a pair of broad smiles.

"Well hello Gordon!" Her father quickly thrust a paw in the elder cougar's direction.

"H'lo yerself Stuart Hopps," the big cat answered, taking it.

Gordon Catmull was one of the most respected mammals in the Bunnyburrows community. The owner and manager of Catmull Farm and Ranch Supply, he was always willing to extend some extra credit to a local farmer having a bad year. More than once, the Hopps family had benefitted from the cougar's generosity, and Judy's parents had never forgotten it. Gordon's wife Betsy Catmull was a fine one as well; deeply involved in charity work. (She was head of the local Red Cross Chapter.)

"So it's your daughter Erin performing tonight is that right?" Betsy was asking, indicating the stage with a wave of her paw.

"That's my girl." Stu answered unable to suppress a grin. Judy couldn't help noting that her parents hadn't shown this kind of enthusiasm for her talent show performance, but that was okay. Back then there'd been no such thing as a bunny-cop 'Bunnies don't do that,' her father had said.

A rabbit singer/musician on the other paw was anything but an unknown quantity—and hadn't been for a long time now. Erin's first musical hero, the animal who had inspired her to pursue a career in music herself was also a rabbit, the great Bunny Raitt. And even though Judy's younger sister had since moved on to what she called the harder stuff, she had never lost her affection for Bunny's music; she could still be heard singing it around the warren.

In fact, although Judy couldn't know it, her younger sister was humming one of Bunny's tunes to herself at that very moment, 'I Will Not Be Broken', her go-to song whenever her confidence needed a shot in the arm.

How, she wondered, had she ever managed to come this far without ever once having performed in front of a live audience?

Okay, all right, that wasn't quite true; Erin had played and sung for her friends, (and her family of course,) but never for a gathering of strangers, much less a crowd as big as the one here tonight.

Anyone seeing the young rabbit, humming nervously to herself while she paced back and forth in the wings might have justifiably assumed that Erin Hopps was suffering from a bad case stage fright.

And they would have been mistaken. Erin's bugaboo wasn't anxiety, it was perfectionism; everything had to be just right for her performance or else in wasn't good enough. (She was hardly alone in this; there were many other rockers with the same quirk. The legendary guitarist Jeff Buck was known to cancel entire tours if everything wasn't going his way.)

What was really driving Judy's sister to distraction was great fear of all entertainers, the possibility of having to go on stage in the wake of someone better than her. Even at the age of thirteen, Erin knew that for any performer, this was the death sentence—and also something over which she had no control, (the worst part!)

So far, it had been so good. The first animal she'd seen onstage had been a high-school bunny with a juggling act...who'd kept losing his props every few minutes, (and then come off the stage acting like he'd owned it, much to the amusement of everyone in the wings, Erin included.)

The animal out there now was someone she knew, Bobby Flowers a skunk and also an amateur stage magician. She rated him no more than 50/50, a virtuoso with his tricks and illusions but possessing all the stage charisma of an unvarnished footstool; every word he said to the audience was delivered in a flat monotone. The applause that greeted the finale of his performance was only a notch or two better than polite.

But the next animal up, ahhhh, here was the one that might offer the possibility of bettering Erin at her own game.

Maya Curry was a black sheep, three years older than her and the niece of Sharla Curry, one of her older sister Judy's best friends. Though she didn't play an instrument, Maya had a great singing voice; her specialty was the blues and on a good day, she could kill it. While it was never in Erin Hopp's nature to wish ill on anyone else, at least a part of her couldn't help but hope that this would not be one of Maya's better nights.

The bad news (for Erin) was that Maya Curry was in excellent voice this evening. The good news was, for some inexplicable reason she had chosen to perform the song 'Rehab' by Amy Whitemouse, a tune not calculated to go down well with an audience of staid farmers.

And it didn't; by the end of the first verse, the crowd was a sea of scowls and folded arms. (Erin saw at least one set of parents take their children and leave.) It was a reception Maya clearly hadn't counted on; midway through the tune her tone began to falter and the rest of her performance could only be described as a game effort.

Watching her practically stumble off the stage, Erin was immensely grateful that she had changed her mind about performing Adam's Song tonight. (And no, her decision had nothing to do with that smartmouth silver-fox, Conor Lewis. Absolutely not, are you kidding me?)

No, instead she had decided on a different song, a bass driven tune with some soaring vocals on the chorus.

"I'm just glad that fox isn't going on ahead of me."

Erin started and almost gasped. The thought had come into her head straight out of left field. And why should she care whether HE was performing ahead of her? She was better than him, right?

RIGHT?

The next act onstage was a troupe of young bunnies, performing a skit entitled The History of the Carrot, recalling how The Festival's namesake had originated in ancient Persia and then been picked up by the Romans, selectively bred for generations to produce the modern version of today. It was a sumptuous production, complete with costumes and period music, (pre-recorded.)

By rights, Erin should have been reassured; yeah, the kids were doing a great job, (in the fourth row her sister Judy and Bobby Catmull were grinning and sharing a fist-bump,) but an act like this was no threat to her performance; apples and oranges.

Except...it was her turn to go on next. And now the butterflies in her tummy were turning into squid—slimy squid that wanted nothing more than to fly up her throat and ralf themselves all over the floor.

She forced them back down again and began humming to herself once more. Out on the stage the young rabbits were just getting ready wrap things up. (About time, they had seemed to have taken three whole hours with their skit.)

And then finally, they were taking their bows (to a standing ovation.) A moment after that they were hopping off stage and gabbing animatedly amongst themselves.

"Okay Miss, you're next." One of the stagehands, a raccoon said to her. Erin felt hot breath hissing inward between her teeth. What was this 'coon's name again? She thought she knew his name...

"Shut up and get out there!"

Erin nodded and followed the raccoon out onto the stage. Almost immediately she heard her name being spoken over the loudspeakers.

"Please welcome our next performer, Miss Erin Hopps."

At once a burst of applause came from the first and fourth rows of the audience. While Erin's family made a good showing, they couldn't touch the young rabbit's posse; they weren't just cheering, they were standing on their chairs and whooping.

Once again, there was an inverse effect; instead becoming more anxious, Erin felt her backbone stiffening.

"I'm going to DO this!" she told herself, and then waited while the stagehand plugged in her bass and adjusted the microphone.

She tapped it once and cleared her throat.

"Hi everyone." She said, and had to wait for more applause to die down. She took a short breath and then spoke once more.

"Ohhh-kayyy this is a tune by Concrete Sloth; it's called 'Joey'."

More applause followed, just a sprinkling this time. Erin played a couple of exploratory notes on her bass and then nodded into the wings. The bunny in charge of the soundboard nodded back and then the music began to play.

The tune opened with a quick drum flourish, and then Erin joined in on bass.

The first riff went great, but when she tried to get into the next one, what she heard instead was a scream like an electronic chainsaw that made her want to slap her paws over her ears. It was followed by a noise like a giant paper bag popping.

And then, nothing; when Erin tried to resume playing, no sound came from the amps, not even a hiss or a hum. She waved frantically into the wings, making slashing motions across her throat. The music cut out at once.

"Come on Erin, keep it together." She clenched and unclenched her fists and then took the mike once more.

"Sorry folk, technical difficulties." She said offering the crowd a wan smile. And then there was nothing to do but wait while the raccoon plugged her bass into a different amp.

Erin took another breath and played another note.

Again, there was nothing.

She tried again.

Still nothing.

"I'm sorry Miss." The stagehand raccoon was sympathetic, but also beginning to sound impatient, "It's not the amps, it's your guitar. You'll have to either go on without it, or step aside for the next performer.

Erin didn't seem to hear him. She played another note, and again there was nothing from the amps.

"No," she breathed, her voice barely audible, even to her. This couldn't be happening, not here, not now.

Not now..."Not now, you stinking traitor!"

A gasp erupted from the audience. Without meaning to Erin had screamed the words aloud.

She didn't care.

"NOT NOWWWW!" she screamed again, and then with the cry like a dying rabbit, she yanked the amp-cord out of her guitar, and then turned and fled from the stage in tears.

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To quote Luke Skywalker, this is not going to end the way you think.