A Quick Detour

(Not required reading but this is a sequel of sorts to Spots and Stripes)

 

 

 

 

 

Escalators were the last thing mammals usually thought of complimenting, but the ones in the Nocturnal District were always rather nice. They were all stylish and futuristic, and even though Wolter had genetic night vision, the lights lining the steps made everything much easier on the eyes. Him and the tigress were the only ones riding, which was both surprising and completely expected, considering their destination.

 

“You seem nervous,” she purred, regarding him through her compact. “Got somewhere to be?”

 

“Yeah, kind of.”

 

“Important?”

 

“I’m not gonna be late.”

 

They arrived, and the floor at the end of the escalator stretched out into a vast office space filled with nothing but giant windows and a desk at the end. Intimidating.

 

Outside, the district thrived. Neon lights, partygoers and shady business deals all coalesced into a heaping, breathing mass of mammals and buildings. If Zootopia was a university, the Nocturnal District was a giant, ongoing warehouse rave thrown by the biggest frat house on campus.

 

As he got closer, Wolter could make out the polar bear sitting on the desk, holding a shrew in his giant paws. The stuff of movies, until now. Eventually he and the tigress came close enough, and a gigantic paw was raised, effectively freezing the both of them in place. Wolter stood as straight as he could, resisting the urge to take another step or to reach into his pocket to check on his phone. Sudden movement was not a good idea right now.

 

“So you’re the guy, yes?” The shrew spoke with a thick, unplaceable accent.

 

“I–I’m looking for–“

 

“A package.”

 

Wolter nodded. He remembered that the girl was bleeding, or was at least dealing with some kind of blood. He could still smell the salty twinge of the iron. He offered to help her out–absolute saint that he was–and what did he get? A sucker punch to the face and a vague idea of where she ran off to. Figures that she stole his shit too. That’s what he got, he supposed. If someone’s ever bleeding in the Nocturnal District, they’ve probably done something to deserve it.

 

“You’re gonna want to visit Clyde. He’s my eyes. I’ll give you the address.”

 

A single buzz sounded out from Wolter’s pocket.

 

“How did you–“

 

“That’s all I have the patience for. Well wishes with your, ah, package.”

 

He was ushered out quickly. The escalator felt twice as fast going down, but the elevator going down was as claustrophobic as ever. The casino was just as he left it––lively and humid. At least the tigress stayed with him. She was asked by her employer to show him out, but Wolter wanted to think that maybe she kind of liked him, that she thought he was pretty decent after spending that whopping fifteen minutes picking him out of the pit and showing him upstairs.

 

Mostly he was glad that he wasn’t beaten to death, but from the looks of it that might still happen. Perhaps the shrew was just making use of him before finally getting disposing of him. Wolter hoped that whoever “Clyde” was, he didn’t want any help with heavy labour. He wasn’t keen on dying directly after exerting himself with anything other than his cock.

 

How did he keep get sucked up into these bizarre situations? One day he was finding out that his neighbour was a crossdresser, and the next he was hunting down a criminal by asking other criminals where she was.

 

The aardwolf pulled out his phone, eyes ignoring the notification from the shrew: a text containing Clyde’s address. Like a child waiting for a digital clock face to change numbers, he stared. The screen went dim. For a moment he wondered if he wasn’t going to get what he wanted, but then he felt the vibration pattern. Two buzzes. Two syllables.

 

 

“Friendly reminder, 7:00 PM. Dinner. Sushi place. Just reminding you. Not like I’ll strangle you if you’re late or anything. —M”

 

“Dw babe. i’m there. isn’t it a little weird to be signing your msgs?”

 

“Isn’t it a little weird to be buying drugs right before a date? —M”

 

“you can’t prove anything”

 

“Ahaha. So I was right? —M”

 

“not at all.”

 

“You nervous? —M”

 

“no”

 

“Don’t be. —M”

 

“thanks”

       

 

Wolter closed the conversation, checking the older one with a renewed sense of focus. It seemed that Clyde wasn’t too far from here. He put on his earbuds and played music borrowed from one of his sister’s playlists, walking with stride. Idle thoughts  distracted him on the way. Flashes of tan fur and snarky insults played on repeat in his head, dilating time, instilling him with purpose.

 

 

 

Total walking time: fifteen minutes. It seemed like fifteen was Wolter’s lucky number today. Not that he picked lucky numbers for every day. That would be weird. It just seemed as if fifteen was a nice number for him to be associated with. The thought of the number fifteen stayed with him, clinging to his mind as he walked inside of the building with the given address. A run down shopping mall.

 

Crystal Bear Shopping Centre looked like it opened in the 80s, closed in the 90s, and promptly forgot that it was supposed to be dead. Wolter had passed by the place all the time but never thought to find himself inside, which was strange, now that he thought about it. Maybe God had prevented him from coming here until now.

 

Every third step he took was accompanied by garbage skittering across the floor, kicked into gear by his foot. Only about a third of the stores seemed to be open. There was a surreal heaviness in the air, and the dimness of the lights blackened the edges around his vision. He had a feeling that nothing he did here would matter outside. This place was like a prison.

 

Clyde. Clyde-Clyde-Clyde…

 

Wolter’s eyes caught the surprisingly new looking sign for “Clyde’s Horn Carving Clinic”, just above a store that he couldn’t see into. He stepped up to the black glass doors and took a breath. Was this worth it? Sketchy deals with mammals with mob ties? For what?

 

For him, a cheesy, dumb, younger sounding voice in his head interjected. Once, he thought that puppy-dog side of him was snuffed out with age, but apparently it was still around.

 

He opened the door and stepped into sunlight, nervousness gone.

 

Did a mural transcend into a wallpaper when it covered four walls and a ceiling? A soft, luscious forest covered the parlour, leading up into a cloudless sky.

 

“You like it?”

 

Wolter turned to see a lioness, hunched over on a stool, her carving chair empty of customers. Her eyes were hard, but he knew by the way she was smirking that she didn’t mean any harm. Her violet eyeshadow came out beautifully in contrast with her brown fur. She reminded him of a certain someone.

 

“Yeah,” he replied, noticing the mammals at the shop for the first time. It was fairly full. The buzzing of the mini saws rang dully in his ears. Maybe this was the reason for Crystal Bear’s extended life. “You got any idea where I could find Clyde? Think I got somethin’ for him.”

 

“Oh, not gonna stick around? I could use a chat. The deer are usually too spooked to talk to me, and we barely get any buffalo or oxen. ”

 

“Kinda busy here, babe.”

 

The lioness nodded, pointing him towards the end of the shop, where the mural turned into a flowing river. There, behind a big blue curtain, he found an old deer drinking coffee with a young doe. The two seemed to be deep into a conversation that was halted as soon as Wolter approached.

 

“You. You’re Clyde?”

 

“He is.” The doe answered for the elderly buck, annoyance plain on her face.

 

“Sweet, sweet. Listen, Ralphie told me to see you. Maybe he called? I don’t know how this stuff works. Shit’s too classy I guess. Anyway, I’m looking for this cunt who stole something from me. Not to beat her up or anything, unless that’s what you guys want. Because I won’t do that. I just want to get my goods back if they haven’t been trampled or eaten yet.”

 

The doe eyed him with suspicion before taking a long drag out of an E-cigarette. “Description?”

 

“Arctic Fox. Attractive. My age, I think. I’d hope so, anyway. She had a black dress. Was pretending to be bleeding.”

 

The eyes of both deer widened in unison.

 

“Silverpaw.” spoke the doe, drowning out Clyde’s response, which in all fairness was probably the same thing.

 

“Silverpaw? What is that, like, a stripper name, or…”

 

“You’re gonna want the Sahara Square exit. There’s a bar on the outside, the––“

 

“The Silver City.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Wolter blinked, half in disbelief. “You want me to go to The Silver City.”

 

“No one wants anyone to go to The Silver City, but it still happens.”

 

“Fuck.”

 

 

 

 

 

It sounded like Wolter was after a girl nicknamed Silverpaw, as stupid and comic-book-y as that sounded.

 

She stole. A lot. A lot of money. A lot of times. A lot of everything, really. Apparently she was pretty infamous around the Nocturnal District. She didn’t really venture outside of it, but perhaps the occasional pickpocketing incidents in Sahara Square were hers to own up to. The place kind of looked like the N.D at night anyway, the only difference being that it was hotter.

 

Like many criminals, she hung out at The Silver City. Which meant that Wolter was going to have to willingly enter the bar without the need to hire someone or get hired. Many people would say that he had some sort of death wish. In this case, he would be inclined to agree with them.

 

So here he was, strolling the streets, marching unwillingly towards the Sahara Square exit and entrance. He began to wonder if this was worth the trouble. It was only worth fifteen dollars, after all. He could always get more. Well, no. Those were the last ones and why was he doing this again?

 

Two buzzes. He whipped out his phone.

 

 

“You check the time? —M”

 

“no but im sure you’ll tell me”

 

“You got an hour, hot shot. —M”

 

“you’d think that you wouldn’t be reminding someone about this. you’d probably just wait until i was late and then get mad.”

 

“Ain’t that the truth.”

 

“you forgot to sign.”

 

“Maybe I’m done signing. You okay? Why aren’t you home?”

 

“caught up. dw.”

 

“K”

 

 

Not a second after locking his phone did Wolter walk into the first rays of natural light that he’d seen in a while.

 

A hop, skip, and a long tunnel later and his feet were immersed in sand. Warm but cooling. The air smelled like cinnamon, but more in a spicy way rather than sweet. This was definitely an evening in Sahara Square.

 

Like Silverpaw, Wolter didn’t venture out of his district too much. Momentary excursions had acquainted him with most of Zootopia, of course, but right now he definitely wasn’t at home. His fur felt vaguely electric, like it was just waiting for the opportunity to bristle up. The mammals walking by seemed guarded. though that was understandable once one took into account the fact that The Silver City was right around the corner.

 

So around the corner he went, passing by shifty elephants and drunken camels, shuffling through rhino paws and dodging the fists of two brawling lions, scampering through the crowd until he found what he was looking for.

 

He took in the outside of the bar, wondering how something so infamous among Zootopians could look so plain. Perhaps that was the whole purpose. He steeled himself, remembering that innocent things were dangerous or at least something to be wary of.

 

Luckily, the door chime was broken. No announcement was made upon his entering. Only the most curious (perhaps paranoid) would look over to see him walk through the door and scan the bar, searching for the female who robbed him. His face fell when he didn’t, but it was possible that she was using the bathroom or something. He slipped into an unused booth.

 

If he didn’t think about who exactly frequented this place, it wasn’t too bad. Sure, a good percentage of these guys had probably murdered before but that didn’t make them scary. Who knew? He could make a friend today. A friend whom other mammals came to for the express purpose of committing crime.

 

On second thought, the solo booth was a bad idea. It made him look too important. Wolter looked like a damn movie character: paws folded on top of the worn down table, head inclined downward, as if he was waiting for someone–which he was.

 

He nearly left before he saw her.

 

Silverpaw was an arctic fox. Really sort of cute, in a black dress and–were those thigh highs? Minus the blood, this was the same girl who robbed him blind in that alley. Her demeanour was completely different. Gone was the scared vixen, replaced by a more traditional vulpine aesthetic. Smug, with a drink in her hand.

 

They made eye contact, staring at each other from across the bar before she glided over to his booth.

 

“Want a drink or something?” she offered, laying hers on the table as she nestled up against his side. “You seem a little tense, cutie.”

 

“You punched me in the face.”

 

“Doesn’t life punch us all in the face sometimes?”

 

“Sure. Where’s my shit?”

 

The vixen rolled her eyes. “You must be fun at parties.”

 

“I am, usually. I just–“ Wolter stopped. “I’m on a schedule here, ‘Silverpaw’, if that is in fact who you are.”

 

“Late for a date?”

 

Two buzzes.

 

“You gonna get that?” Silverpaw continued, curiously regarding Wolter’s pocket.

 

The aardwolf brought a hand to her chin and tilted her face up towards his. “My stuff.”

 

Two paws snapped onto his wrist like steel traps. He felt her claws unsheathe, dragging themselves across his forearm in such a smooth manner that in any other context, he would have considered it sensual. Her voice was hushed and dangerous. “And what makes you think I’m gonna give your stuff back?”

 

“D-Do you even know what you stole?”

 

“I’m well aware, and now I’m wondering why a cute little dirtbag like yourself is going so far for something so small?” Her claws retracted themselves and she backed out of the booth, as if on rewind.

 

When she walked out of the bar, his only choice was to follow.

 

Silverpaw led him out, past the main street and into a rather friendly looking neighbourhood. They walked into an alley and after  a moment’s hesitation, Wolter walked up a flight of stairs and onto a rooftop.

 

The sun was almost done setting. The violet sky looked like a satin dress.

 

Wolter crossed his arms. “I’m not getting pushed off of here, am I?”

 

“You have some balls, coming after me.”

 

“Don’t give yourself too much credit.”

 

“They’re in the corner.”

 

They were. Wolter picked the flowers out of the vase, holding them like they were precious diamonds.

 

“I hope that they’re for someone special.”

 

“Me too.”

 

He didn’t notice the polar bear creeping up from behind him. Not until he had bashed a baton over the side of his head.

 

 

 

 

Wolter woke up sweaty and cold, and though it wasn’t the first time he had done so, it was the first time he had woken up sweaty, cold, and somewhere he didn’t want to be. A sliver of fear pierced his brain as he felt around him. Phone. Check. Flowers. Check. Wallet…god damn it.

 

At least they left him the phone.

 

Fuck. Oh no. Heart racing, he opened the lock screen.

 

6:45.

 

Shit.

 

Two buzzes. He opened the conversation.

 

 

“Dude, where the fuck are you?”

 

“fine”

 

“Holy shit, are you on your way?”

 

“chill”

 

“NOT chilling rn”

 

“shh”

 

“Where are you?”

 

“literally not important don’t worry about it”

 

“Marty’s gonna destroy you lmao”

 

“you need to capture him more, btw. barely any incoherent rants”

 

“Maybe you need to talk to him more, get a tolerance. Then you wouldn’t need to have your one and only, favorite, greatest of all time sister to pretend to be him so you could feel less nervous”

 

 

Slight indignation aside, he completely agreed with her. It was a super fuckin’ weird thing to do, but they both knew how much it helped him.

 

The next time he checked his phone was when he arrived in Sahara Central. 7:00. He was late, but if he sprinted off of the bus he wouldn’t be TOO late. Apparently the joint wasn’t too expensive, which meant that he could get away with not paying the bill as long as he was charming about it. Marty would probably understand, especially once everything was explained.

 

He found no one waiting for him when he approached the entrance. No angry stoat feverishly checking his phone. Had he left already? Or was he late himself? Wolter paced back and forth, at a loss. At least the flowers were okay. Not one was out of place, and they were all still alive.

 

“Hey.”

 

He turned.

 

Marty was glaring. A trademark expression. His arms were crossed and he was tapping his foot. “Sorry I’m late. I got caught up in something. You been waiting here a while?”

 

“No.”

 

“Really? Then why are you walking around like you really need to take a piss?”

 

Wolter shrugged, grinning goofily. “I thought you left or something. Oh, uh, I got you these.”

 

“Flowers?” Marty studied them, astonished. “You got so many…”

 

“Fifteen.”

 

“Why––“

 

“Had to stand out from people who get a dozen.”

 

The stoat chuckled approvingly. “Is this what you do with your trashy party girls?”

 

“Nah. Consider it a new move. Real experimental shit. Like a drug that skipped all the normal trials and just went straight to college students trying it for money.”

 

“Where’d you get them?”

 

“I…you wanna go inside and sit down first? I could really use some sushi.”

 

“Fine, fine.”

 

Marty smirked, egging him on with dark, tired eyes. Do something. Do SOMETHING. But he was paralyzed. The moment ended, and they took a step towards the restaurant, but only Wolter took another more. Marty stood still behind him.

 

“They’re pretty great, by the way.”

 

“The flowers?”

 

“Yeah. I mean, you’re gonna hold them when we go home because I’m too lazy to, and it was super gay of you to bring them in the first place, but they look nice.”

 

They shared a rare, genuine smile and walked forward once again, stepping in tandem. Wolter took the opportunity to look around. It was a busy night. Cars passed every few seconds. A crowd was beginning to form on the next street over, full of mammals either rushing home or on a night out. The sky was almost perfectly indigo now, though he could still make out the purple. The moon was shining pristinely, casting a light that you couldn’t get anywhere else.

 

He thought of the day’s events. Lots of weird shit, and for what? A nice day outside and some validation?

 

Maybe. No, absolutely.

 

He had zero regrets.

 

 

 

 

 

For Thematic Thursday: Noir

 

(I know some of you also want some stoat on aardwolf action so that's coming up very very soon)