The Fire Triangle, A Zootopia Fanfiction -- Part One: Fuel - 31

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

(Conclusion...Pt. 23)

Dinner had been a complete success; the family had welcomed Conor and Finnick into the Hopps' warren as if they were a pair of long, lost cousins. Gideon Grey had come as well, bringing with him the dessert, (Blueberry carrot cake) and also Bette Renaard, his fiancée. The presence of so many foxes at the dinner table had prompted Grandpa Pop-Pop to spend most of the meal muttering under his breath. ("This dang-fool place, it's possessed...possessed. Need t'find an exorcist.")

Now the family was gathered around a towering pyramid of scrap-wood and old timber, watching as Junior supervised some of the younger family members through the ritual of the lighting-of-the-bonfire. On his word, each young rabbit would hop forward and toss a firebrand into the mix.

The wood caught almost immediately; the same dry air that had plagued Judy through the Rabbithon had now become an ally; in mere moments the pile of wood was cheerfully ablaze.

It was the perfect night for a bonfire; the sky was clear, the stars were out, and air was just cool enough to make the heat from the fire comforting.

As always, Stu had brought up some jugs of 'family friendly' cider from the cellar, and Bonnie had with her a big bag of marshmallows and a stack of chocolate bars.

Conor Lewis had his twelve-string acoustic with him, and Erin had brought her unplugged six. Together they led the gathering in such campfire classics as Red River Valley, This Land is Your Land, In the Evening By the Moonlight, She Moved Through the Faire and Oo-De-Lolly-Day, plus a few more contemporary numbers, Blackbird by the Beastles, Moonshadow by Cat Stevens, and Bob Dylion's immortal Blowing in the Wind.

In between the songs, everyone kept up a lively round of banter while the younger members of the gathering, (and not a few of the older ones,) toasted marshmallows over the fire to make s'mores. (Gideon Grey had supplied the graham crackers, baked fresh in his own ovens.)

It proved to be a task nearly beyond the capabilities of the young fox Conor Lewis, who not once but twice managed to set fire to the marshmallow he was roasting.

Erin Hopps was not about to let such a juicy opportunity pass without comment.

"That's a marshmallow fox, not a witch." She giggled, pointing.

"Hey, gimme a break, I'm new at this stuff." the young fox growled, affixing a third 'mallow to the end of his toasting stick. "You build a fire like this in Zoo York City and you'll get busted by the arson squad."

Everybody laughed, but Judy Hopps caught the wistful note in the young fox's voice, as if by not learning the proper way to make s'mores, he'd missed out on something important. Erin seemed to sense it too and went quickly over to help him.

Much to the surprise of everyone in the group (except for Conor and Nick,) the life of the party was turning out to be, of all animals, Finnick. Grumpy or not, the little guy knew a thing or two about how to tell a joke.

"So one day Officer Nick Wilde is walking the beat in the canal district an' he comes across this little skunk boy, playing with a pile of rotten fish guts. Well, being a naturally curious fox, Nick ambles on over to see what's goin' on."

"'Hey kid, what you doing?'" he asks. And the skunk-kid looks up and says, "I'm making a bunny-cop."'

Finnick paused then for just a second, grinning from ear to ear, seeming to love the uncomfortable expressions on the faces all around him.

Then he went on.

"'You're WHAT?' Nick says, and he gets so upset he goes running to the precinct to grab Officer Judy Hopps. He brings her back and says to the skunk, "'All right kid, tell her what you told me; what're you doing with all those stinking fish guts?' And the kid says it again, "I'm making a bunny-cop.'"

Here, the desert fox paused once more, looking around as if in confusion.

Then he said, "So now Judy's all stressed, and she says to the skunk kid, 'What do mean you're making a bunny cop? That's not nice; why would you even do thing like that?"

Finnick paused yet again, this time with a poker-face and for only the skip of heartbeat.

And then he threw the sucker punch.

"An' the skunk-kid just kind of looks at her an' says, 'Well, coz I don't have enough fish guts to make a FOX cop!'"

Instantly the Hopps Family bonfire became a roaring fire...roaring with laughter. Several of the kids dropped their marshmallows into the blaze, and Gideon Grey went tumbling over backwards off the log where he'd been sitting. ("I'm all right!") Erin Hopps nearly broke a guitar string.

"You should have tried out for the talent show Finnick." Her sister Judy suggested when the laughter finally began to ebb.

The fennec-fox flipped a paw back and forth.

"Naw, then it'd be too much like work."

"Hey, I'm dry here." Nick Wilde called from beside her, raising an empty cup. (They were sitting together on a pair of adjoining cushions.) "Can I get some more of that cider, please?"

"Coming your way," a voice replied, and jug began to move along the circle.

It pleased Judy to no end that Nick seemed so perfectly at ease amongst her family members. She began to think that perhaps she'd succeeded; that she had brought him to the fellowship he had lost so many years ago in the basement of a Happytown rec center.

What she could not know was that there was another fox here tonight whose yearning for the comforts of a family eclipsed even that of her partner

Twenty yards away, on almost the opposite side of the bonfire, Conor Lewis was twisting a tuning peg, and studying her younger sister.

Though he had refused to let it show—never let them see that they get to you— when he and Erin had come through the stage gate after their performance, Conor had been deeply saddened to see all the attention being lavished on the white-furred bunny, while he'd been left to his own devices.

But it was not for the reason Judy might have surmised; the young fox hadn't felt slighted, what he'd felt instead was envy. He was feeling some of it right now as he gazed across the circle at Erin; there she was, chatting with her parents, surrounded by her brothers and sisters.

"She knows," the young fox mused silently, "She may have a 'tude but she knows how lucky she is."

He would have given almost anything to know how that felt; to belong; to really and truly belong somewhere.

Maybe someday...but in the meantime, his opinion of Erin Hopps had just gone up few notches. In the course of his life, Conor had met more than a few kids who didn't appreciate their families; not the way Erin did. (On the other paw, he had also come across one or two families that were worth not appreciating; that pack of coyotes, the Guilfords? Perfect example; they probably fit the category like a favorite sweater.)

Then he saw the young bunny raise her guitar and nod at him; it was time to boot up the jukebox again

The next number of choice was the old Celtic folk song, Raggle-Taggle Gypsies, with everyone taking sides, the guys playing the part of the jilted lord, and the gals taking on the role of his runaway, lady. Led by Erin, the females won that one, but it promptly became a Pyrrhic victory when her brother Ethan urged, "Now you sing something, sis."

The young bunny tried to protest, but was quickly overruled when the rest of the gathering closed ranks behind her younger brother's suggestion.

She raised her paws in acquiescence, strummed a couple of notes her guitar and began to sing.

"I am on old bunny, named after my mother..."

Everyone fell into a hush as Erin sang and played the Bunny Raitt cover of the old John Pride tune, Angel from Montgomery...swept away by the slow bittersweet melody of the song.

"Make me an angel that flies from Montgomery

Make me a poster in an old ro-de-ohhhh."

Watching her, Judy felt her eyes welling, and a lump rising into her throat. The way Erin sang, you could almost feel the longing in the lyrics.

"How the heck can a bunny go to work in the mornin'

Come on home in the evening, and have nothing to sayyyy?"

Watching from the other side, Conor Lewis was equally enthralled. Ever since he'd learned that Bunny Raitt had been Erin's first music heroine he had wondered what she sounded like unplugged.

Well now he had his answer; she was awesome.

On the last refrain, she invited everyone to join in with her.

Which they did

"Just give me one thing that I can hold on to

To believe in this livin', is a hard way to goooo."

She ended the song on a fading chord.

The ovation that followed was not a tsunami, it was more like a slow-rising tide, but what it lacked in thunder, it more than made up for in warmth and enthusiasm.

As the last smattering of applause faded away, Erin looked across the way at Conor.

"All right fox, you're up."

Now everyone was looking at him; but the young silver fox remained unfazed, (Except for the slight spiking of his tail; both Finnick and Nick spotted that one.)

"Okay," he said, holding his guitar aloft. "But can we trade instruments, first? This piece I got in mind is hard enough on a six string, I'd mess it up for sure if I tried to play it on a twelve."

Erin nodded and they both got up.

The met each other at the halfway point and swapped guitars, and then Conor returned to his place and settled onto the beanbag chair where he'd been sitting, tweaking the tuning pegs with a look of studious concentration on his face.

When he'd called the tune 'hard enough' to play, it had been an understatement of almost Classic English intensity. Many a more experienced player than him had broken their teeth on it. Sometimes whenever he performed it, Conor became so wrapped up in the music that he crossed up the lyrics—and you had better believe he didn't want that to happen NOW.

Finally he looked up.

"Okay, this is called '1952 Vixen Black Lighting'.

He settled down and began to play, a lively Celtic 'picking tune', with a bright, intricate melody and fast, nimble fingering.

Then he lifted his muzzle and began to sing, mentally crossing his fingers that he wouldn't flub the opening. (He didn't.)

"Says James, to Red Molly, that's a fine motorbiiike...

A girl could feel special on any such like."

Twenty yards away, Judy Hopps felt her ears standing up. Dang, this boy could PLAY ...and if his voice was quite amazing as her sister's, it was still pretty darn impressive, a cross between a young Joe Jackal and a youthful Scott Wildland.

And one other thing was clear; Conor loved this tune.

"....my hat's off to you.

She's a Vixen Black Lighting, 1952."

It was the classic story of the girl who falls hard for a motorcycle outlaw...

"....I robbed many a mammal to get my Vixen machine."

...only to lose him.

"Come down Red Molly, to his dying bedside."

The song ended with James leaving his bike to Molly before taking his leave of this world.

"And he gave her one last kiss and diiiii-iiiiied

And he gave her his Vixen...to riiiiiide."

Conor finished with repeat of the opening chords and six fast riffs. Once again the ovation built slowly to a rousing crescendo, punctuated here and there with whoops, whistles, and the thumping of feet.

"Who was that by?" Erin asked him as they traded guitars gain.

"Richard Tomcat." He answered, and when he did, a soft gleam came alight in the young bunny's deep-blue eyes.

"Richard Tomcat, huh? Well I guess you know what we have to play next, right?"

"What else could we play?" Conor answered, favoring her with a sly, fox-grin. And then he became serious. "You should take the lead though; with all apologies to RT, Bunny Raitt's version is the best one out there."

"Of course, it is." Erin answered with a wink, and then the two of them returned to their seats

After a quick tune up on each of their guitars, Erin began to play with Conor joining in on the second bar. Almost immediately a quick round of applause swelled and faded within the circle. If there was one song on Erin's playlist that her family would recognize, it was Dimming of the Day.

She began to sing:

"This old house is fallin' down around my ears

I'm drowning in the river of my tears..."

On the refrain, Conor joined in with her.

"You pull me like the moon pulls on the tide.

You know just where I keep my better si-hi-hi-hi hiiiiiide."

As Erin and Conor continued to sing and play everything around them appeared to soften, faces softened, the glow from the firelight softened; the very air felt like it was becoming softer.

"Now all the bonny birds have wheeled away

Oh I need you at the dimming of the day."

Judy was enthralled; it was as if they'd been performing this song as duo for years. (She was actually closer to the truth than she realized. Though Conor and Erin had never played together on Dimming of the Day, it was a tune with which the both of them were intimately familiar.)

"Come the night, you're only what I want,

Come the night you could be my confidant."

On the last line of the song, they gradually slowed the tempo.

"Oh, I need you...at...the dimming...of...the ...dayyyyyyy."

As the music faded, Judy's eyes widened. What the...? She and Nick were holding paws? When had their paws found each other? She had no idea, and a quick look at Nick's face revealed that he didn't have a clue either.

They hurriedly let go of each other, looking away embarrassed, and then looking around furtively to see any of the others had noticed.

No, thank goodness; they'd lucked out this time. Everyone else was too busy cheering for Erin and Conor; even Finnick had missed it.

Then Stu Hopps stood up with his thumbs hooked into his overalls. That was what finally broke the spell.

"Ahhh, here comes his speech," Judy murmured to Nick, out of the corner of her mouth.

From the sound of her voice, the fox guessed that this was something of a yearly ritual, (and not an especially popular one, given the looks on all the nearby faces.)

"Well, another yeas has come and gone, and it's Carrot Days again," Judy's father said without preamble.

Judy looked at Nick and whispered, "That's what he always says." She was smiling and her tone of voice was affectionate, never scornful.

"I have to tell you," her father went on, "I'm one very happy rabbit tonight, looking around at our family. There's Judy, Zootopia's first bunny-cop, there's Loren, just back from his first semester at Stanfurred, There's Darell and Dean, they're going to expand their tractor business next year, there's Art, made the Dean's list at the University of Harezona, there's Violet, ready to start her teaching career next fall." He smiled and then nodded, "And there's my daughter Erin, on her way to the Zootopia Academy for the Performing Arts. A bunny-dad couldn't be prouder."

His expression turned slightly rueful.

"But I also have to say, I'm feeling humbled, and maybe a little bit puzzled right now; all these Hopps Bunnies going out into the world to make their mark. And here's me, just a plain old carrot farmer, a rabbit who always preached the beauty of complacency; 'If you don't try anything new, you'll never fail,' I always said."

He paused, shook his head, and then put his paws on his hips, sweeping a quiet gaze over the gathering.

"Honestly, I don't think I ever took a chance in my life; I don't know where you all got your inspiration, but right now I think I must have the two luckiest rabbit's feet in Bunnyburrow."

"Uhm, excuse me...Stu?"

Everyone turned to see Nick Wilde raising his paw like a kit in class...while many of the Hopps bunnies stared at him with expressions of pale-faced shock, none more than Judy. Interrupting her father's Carrot Day's speech was something simply not done; an act falling somewhere between heresy and sacrilege.

"Look, I'm just a city fox here," Nick told the group, rising to his feet, "But even I know that no one takes more chances than a farmer." He began ticking off a list on his fingers, "You have weather, bugs, interest rates, crop prices, and probably a hundred other things I don't know about. And not only that, I read somewhere not long ago that as dangerous jobs go, a police officer has nothing on a farmer." He looked directly at Stu Hopps, "You may think you've never run any risks, Stu but from where I sit, you never had a year when you weren't taking any chances."

Stu shifted on his feet for a second.

"Well that's a nice enough sentiment Nick, but I really don't think..."

"No Dad, he's right." Junior Hopps was also on his feet. "How about when you took the Hopps Family Farm organic, the first rabbit in the Burrow to try it? A lot of folks said you were putting us on the fast track to the auction block when you made that move. Instead, half the farms in Bunnyburrow have gone organic now, and there's more converting every year."

"Or how about when you bought that land out on Star Route 47?" Violet Hopps had also gotten up, "200 acres of hillside that no one else had ever gotten to produce, but you planted blueberries instead of carrots, and now it's our second biggest crop."

"And what about ME, Stuart Hopps?" It was Gideon Grey, "A fox with a record, an animal that the banks wouldn't touch with a hunnert foot pole...but you partnered up with me just the same, and now I'm about to open me a franchise in Zootopia."

Fifteen feet away, Conor Lewis' ears had pricked up and he was regarding Stu with an almost gaze. (He knew a few things about banks and foxes that no else here did.)

"That's right, Dad." Judy Hopps was standing up as well, "If you want to know where we got our inspiration, it was from you. You may have preached complacency, but you always practiced courage...and like the old saying goes, action speaks louder than words."

A chorus of acclimation from the others quickly followed.

"A-MEN!"

"Hear, hear!"

"Well said, Jude."

"Darn right!"

Then little Cotton's voice piped up.

"Three cheers for Daddy! Hip, hip...!"

"Hooray!" Every bunny in the circle joined in with her and all of the foxes, too.

"Hip, hip..."

"Hooray!"

"Hip, hip!"

"HOORAY!"

Stu Hopps seemed to hunch over for a second, and then he turned towards Nick with his mouth and eyes quivering.

"Ohhh, now look what you did, you dumb fox; here come the waterworks again!"

He began to blubber uncontrollably. At once, Bonnie Hopps was up and standing with him.

Only this time, she wasn't embarrassed and she wasn't urging him to 'pull it together'.

"Oh Stu," she sniffed, "I love you so much, you big lug—and I'm so very proud of you." She threw her arms around her husband and then the two of them were holding each other tight. A split second later, Violet joined them...and then Dale and Dean Hopps, then Erin, and then it was Judy's turn.

"I love you Dad," she murmured, holding him close, and then from the corner of her eye, she became aware of Nick Wilde, watching from the sidelines.

And she thought, "When you say the right thing fox, you REALLY say the right thing!

I-51 Expressway - 110 Miles North of Bunnyburrow:

It came out of the night like a phantom, a silent, silver-grey spearhead, locked on course for the Burrow.

Seated inside the cockpit of his Roamic Concept One (He could never think of it as the driver's compartment,) Jack La Peigne was fuming like a jalopy with a blown head-gasket; an ironic analogy if ever there was one because the vehicle he was driving produced no emissions; it was entirely electric...electric and also hideously fast, (and even more hideously expensive.)

If it hadn't been so expensive he would have been pounding the steering wheel with his fist right now. DANGIT!

It would have been so much easier just to have had the executive helicopter fly him to the Burrow instead of driving...especially with him getting off to such a late start. Ironically, because of that delay, the big rabbit had felt the need to let off some steam, and a hard, fast drive usually did the trick.

No such luck tonight; Jack La Peigne was letting off steam all right, but it was turning the inside of his car into a mental pressure cooker.

Today had not been a good day for him. No soon had Aker Correctional put that wildcat strike in Pawstralia behind them, (at a staggering cost, thanks for nothing,) than the Philippine President had announced during their teleconference that the price he'd been quoted was too high, and he wished to renegotiate the terms of La Peigne's proposal. There could have been only one possible reason for the switch, and Seth Whitepaugh had quickly confirmed it; Aker's rival security concern Zorya (PAO) had stuck their collective noses into the deal.

Jack had been both flabbergasted and furious; there'd been nothing he could do but accede to the president's wishes. In the end, Aker had won the contract, but only after hours of mind-numbing discussion—and for a fraction of the profits they'd expected. Ohhh, that smirking snow-fox, Dimitri Oloshenko was going to be sorry for this. Zorya's meddling had cost La Peigne not only money but also valuable time; he should have been on the road to Bunnyburrow hours ago.

"Think you're sooo smart, don't you Dimitri?" La Peigne hissed under his breath, not caring that he was talking to himself. "If you didn't have your government backing you up as a silent partner, I could crush you like the bug you are. Just wait...just wait you little snot; when Aker Security implements the Fire Triangle, we'll see who has the last laugh."

That reminded Jack of something, he still hadn't heard back from Seth Whitepaugh. Was it possible, could the information he'd unearthed truly be valid? Jack hoped like heck that it was; right now we would have given his left ear to wipe the smarmy smile off that arctic fox's face—once and for all.

A fox...a stinking fox; how the heck had a member of THAT species ever been raised to such a positon of power? Jack knew the answer of course, Dimtri hailed from a society where trust was a joke and treachery was an old, established rule; in other words, the perfect environment for a fox to grow and flourish.

He allowed himself the cold comfort of knowing that it was both a two edged sword, and a sword of Damocles. Any day now, Dimitri Oloshenko might wake up to find himself undone by ether an ambitious subordinate or a double-crossing bureaucrat. That was one problem Jack La Peigne would never have to face; in his domain, he ruled supreme.

He'd feel better when he got to Bunnyburrow and took care of business with that pack of mangy canids. Mess on HIS memories, would they?

"I don't think so," the big bunny sneered.

Putting the thought aside for the moment, he wondered if he should put in an appearance at the Carrot Days Festival afterwards. He really should; after all, one of his companies was sponsoring the event, and he did feel at least a small nostalgic pull coming for the direction of the community where he'd been born and raised...even if his memories of the Burrow weren't all pleasant ones, (even if MOST of them weren't.)

Well, he could make that decision after sleeping on it, and thank goodness for his assistant Polly Walters. How would he ever manage without that opossum? Wisely, she had sent the executive motorhome to The Burrow yesterday rather than today; had she not done so, there would have been no place put it, every space in the VIP and the regular campground had been filled by early this morning. She had also sent the Tac Vehicle on ahead of him rather than having it follow behind; Hummel had turned out to be needed elsewhere, so she'd assigned Gully to the task instead. Good choice, Jack thought; that particular wolverine might have relatively new to Aker, but he was a real comer, quick thinking and also fast on his feet.

A pair of red taillights materialized slowly in the distance, a pair of dim red dots that seemed to fade and come back again. Nonetheless, Jack could tell that the driver was moving at a speed nearly equal to his own.

He pressed a button on the center console and spoke into his bluefang headset.

"Fritha, give me a speed and distance on the vehicle up ahead of me."

At once, a silky robotic female responded.

"Vehicle is approximately...point four-six-seven kilometers..."

"In miles please," La Peigne interrupted, his nose twitching irritably. Dangit, why did he always have to make this correction? This stupid car should have figured it out the first time he'd said he miles instead of kilometers, especially after all the money he'd invested.

"Recalculating," The female voice came back again, "The other vehicle is...approximately point two-two-eight miles ahead of you. Groundspeed is estimated at...approximately one hundred and eleven, point seven miles per hour.

The 'approximate' Jack knew, was due to the fact that the other vehicle's range and speed were constantly shifting from second to second. Hrm, a hundred and eleven miles per hour? He could beat that easily. But first...

"Fritha, give me the location of the nearest police vehicles ahead of me. In miles," he added quickly.

The console display changed to a highway map, showing two pulsing dots.

And then the slinky android spoke again.

"Highway Patrol vehicle detected approximately sixteen, point seven miles, Exit 97 Overpass. Deerbrook County Sheriff's Department vehicle detected in approximately Twenty-five, point nine miles, Woodward Creek Rest Area."

For the first time since he'd climbed in behind the wheel, Jack La Peigne smiled to himself. Ah, the perks of being the CEO of Aker Security Management; all the satellite technology a king-sized bunny could wish for.

He decided to have some fun; after a day like this one, hadn't he earned it?

Feathering the accelerator he began to creep up on the other vehicle. At 20 yards distance, he was able to recognize the make and model. A bright red, tricked out Lucifer with two white racing stripes.

"A kid's muscle-car," the big bunny snorted, and then dimmed his headlights, moving closer. Now he could make out the other car's license plate, FST NML Ohhhh brother, whoever was behind the wheel of this ride, they had 'poser' stamped all over them.

And they still had no idea that he was there.

"Time to give this idiot an attitude adjustment," Jack smiled to himself, flexing his fingers on the steering wheel.

Then he called out "lights up," and swerved out into the passing lane, pedal to the medal as he shot past Mr. Fst Nml at a 140 Mph, watching in his rear-view mirror for the reaction that must surely follow.

Being passed at high-speed by a vehicle with a roaring engine is enough to disconcert just about any animal. But, as Jack La Peigne had discovered several times before, finding yourself blown away by a vehicle coming out of nowhere and making no noise at all is downright terrifying...especially on an empty highway, on a dark night. Jack had seen it in his rear view mirror at least a half dozen times before, the other driver swerving wildly, hitting the brakes, sometimes you could even hear a scream. Once, nearly a year before, the big rabbit had left a Ramborghini Furacán in his wake and watched it spin out of control onto the highway median. (Tough luck as far as Jack La Peigne was concerned. If the other driver couldn't handle it, he shouldn't have been driving a supercar at such high speed in the first place.)

Except...this time, to his utter astonishment, there was no reaction whatsoever. Mr. Fst Nml was continuing to hold course, as steadily as if the Lucifer was mounted on rails. What, now?

Jack turned away grumbling and put the hammer down again.

"Just get me to Bunnyburrow," he mumbled, speaking to no one in particular.

No sooner had he vanished from the Lucifer's field of vision, than the muscle-car began to shimmy on its axles, swerving back and forth across two different lanes while behind the muscle-car's wheel, Flash's eyes went wide and his jaw dropped open in slow astonishment.

"What...

...the heck...

....was...

....that...

....

....thing?"

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Note:

Nick Wilde's views on farmers and farming ARE necessarily those of the author.

Bonnie (Bunny) Raitt performs Angel from Montgomery

Richard Thompson (Tomcat) performs 1952 Vincent (Vixen) Black Lightning

Together on Dimming of the Day