Things Left Behind

I always remember the names of the people who work for me. It helps me and it hurts me. Names are powerful things. Movies with demons will have you believe that the simple knowledge of their names give you a certain power over them. To an extent, I find that true. My name might be the only thing I like about myself, but it gives me power all the same.

He’s coming by today. It’s been a few months since he’s come by. It’s been even more more since the last time, and even then that was for the first time in years.

Family tends to visit me in the winter, when it gets close to Christmas. Everyone somewhat related to me flocks to this cold, decrepit mansion and attempts to ask me a favour for the holidays. They’ve all been turned down now. Except for Nick. He refuses to ask in the first place. He doesn’t want to be “that kind” of mayor, I suppose.

I give myself a little twirl in front of the mirror. A series of small adjustments are made to my hair before I finally unlock my door and go out into the world. Artur’s paw is already waiting for me to step on, and as I do so I take a look at my “room”. It looks like a glass stair built into the side of the wall and the top of the desk. Bulletproof, imposing (for its size), and locked like a safe from the inside.

The breeze that Artur feels when he carries me in his paws feels like a thrilling wind to me. A small rush of adrenaline accompanies our morning walk, and it wakes me up better than any cup of coffee could.

We pass The Gallery on our way to breakfast, and it’s times like these that I don’t mind getting close to my workers. Artur wordlessly knows that he should stop here. He knows I’ll want to look at the pictures. Beautiful, painted portraits of beautiful mammals. My entire family is here, immortalized on canvases too big for me to see up close. A select few outsiders are here as well. Friends of the family.

Energetic, impatient steps race up the stairs like a horse running on all fours.

I turn my head to catch the two tiny polar bears come up on the floor. They laugh gaily, one chasing the other with barely an idea of what he’ll do when he finally catches her. Neither of them notices us until I feel Artur’s body twitch, about to stop them. Thankfully, they realize we’re here before he can.

Awkwardly, they slow before us and bow their heads. It’s Lyla and Koslov II. They’re old blood. Paired to this family through generations of breeding and mutual friendship. Reliable, clever children.

“Princess!”

A nickname he learned from their father. Something which he only called me in private.

“Don’t call her that, stupid!” Lyla trails off, mixing her languages and ranting out a garbled mess of English and Bearruskian.

“It’s fine, sweetheart. Some would say that I’m a princess in my own right.”

She looks surprised. As if I would ever punish either of them.

I interrupt her before she can stammer her way into more innocent embarrassment. “Why are you up here, cubs? I’ve always seen you playing outside or by the kitchens.”

Koslov answers me cheerfully. “We got bored, princess! Can we look at these paintings with you?”

There’s a short moment of apprehension in Lyla’s eyes. She’s the more traditional one. I’ve been getting the feeling that she feels as if I’m unapproachable. As if I’m some sort of queen that shouldn’t be interacting with her lowers; with her kind. It breaks my heart, but she’s still a child. I still have the chance to mould her into a free, independent being.

I can’t tell if they can see my smile as I tell them yes. It’s worrying. The idea that they can only hear my voice.

Turning back to the gallery, I study the portrait of the shrew in front of me. A great-grandmother I never met. This particular one is different. The brush strokes aren’t as methodical, somehow. Whoever painted this did it with extra care. An intangible delicacy that one can only imbue a piece of art with after loving its muse.

“Lyla, look at this one!” Koslov hollers from several feet away. “She’s so cute!”

No action is needed for Artur to move me to the little cub.

“You’ve found one of my favorites.”

A snap of my fingers and I’m transferred from Artur’s paws to Koslov’s. I pretend to not notice Lyla seething in jealousy off to the corner.

The portrait may be the most confusing addition to The Gallery, at least without context. Most of the paintings on these walls are of shrews or polar bears. A small row is comprised of tigers and panthers, even a fox or two takes up some space. This is the only bunny.

“Who’s she?”

“That rabbit right there is Judy Hopps, Kossie.”

“Judy? Like you, princess?”

“Exactly, sweetheart. This is the first one. The original, if you will.”

“Why is–“

“She saved my mother’s life.”

“Oh. Where–“

“She’s dead now.”

“Oh. Her eyes are really–“

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

“Yeah!”

Aunt Judy’s eyes and fur shine almost as beautifully as they did in life. Two pristine amethysts in a field of soft ash. Her eyes are so full of hope that they’re almost childlike. She’s in her dress blues, betraying her occupation to whoever walks by this wall, though that was never too much of a problem when she was alive (or when she wasn't). Her friendship with this family was always uncomplicated by career matters. Ironically, our ties with Judy are what still endear us to the ZPD.

“And this is her husband, right? The man running for mayor?” Lyla asks, almost monotone. The unintentional coldness in her voice reminds me of my own.

I hum in the affirmative, and give my attention to the painting in front of her. Standing proudly is a young Nick Wilde, giving a smug smile whose character is completely ruined by the artist assigned to him. I make a note to get that fixed somehow. Maybe I can get someone to do a really good repaint of a photo. Or maybe I can just get him to pose again. He’s put on a bit of flab over the years, but his face hasn’t changed and his better self isn’t too hard to imagine when you look at him.

A vibration pattern sounds off in Artur’s pocket, startling Koslov and making him nearly drop me. Lyla gasps harshly, but her brother composes himself before he’s given a reason to be executed in the backyard.

Horrified, he stares at me. I give him a pat on the finger, not betraying my momentary fear. “It’s okay, Kossie. Just please, don’t do that ever again.”

He nods, and transfers me to Artur. It’s time.


The dining room is infinitely huge to someone like me. Ivory pillars support the painted ceiling, from which grand chandeliers hang ominously over the table. The chairs are solid marble, tall and elegant. Heavy, too. My grandfather wanted something that only polar bears could pick up.

Artur places me at the head of the table. For a moment we’re left waiting.

One.

Two.

Three full seconds. The doors open, and I see him.

Damn. He’s really let himself go. Does campaigning mayor entail sitting around in an office, eating blueberry pie all day? He has a stereotypical dad body, which is not acceptable since he doesn’t have any children. Real children. It’s hard to imagine this scruffy old dog as the big bad chief of Precinct 1.

His face is relatively unchanged, as I correctly remembered earlier. That’s probably the most important part. He smiles at me, gleefully traversing the room.

“Judy! Miss Big, the shining sun of Tundratown.“

I grunt unintelligibly, stretching my arm out.

He exclaims softly, and chuckles as leans his head over, gingerly kissing the ring on my finger before taking a seat to my side. “Sorry. This old fox never had the best mind for etiquette.”

“It’s okay, uncle. You never really had the best mind for anything else, anyway.”

He breaks out into a grin at that.

“How are you?” I inquire, grinning back. “The campaign and all. I hope you’re not overwhelmed.”

“Eh, same old, same old. I’m still bossing people around. People are still bossing me around, making me look like some kind of a monster. You ever been scared to eat Cookie Crisp, Jude? I have. Someone takes a picture of me eating that stuff, I’m on the front page for being a secret agent of some wolf terrorist group. It’s just cereal! I’m not the one who told Chip to snort all that coke!” Nick’s hands rise, fall and sweep across his chest as he talks, energetically telling me that he’s better than ever. There’s a lively light to him that I haven’t seen for a while.

“But enough about me. How’s everything, kiddo? I know that you’re probably a little…” More waving of his arms. “Tired.”

“You come into my home on what’s supposed to be one of the most beautiful days of the year, during my favorite season, on a  Thursday. My favorite day.” I nearly hop off and hug one of his fingers. “You’re one of my favorite people in this city. I’m happier right now than I’ve been in a long time.”

“That’s good.” He exhales a tension I hadn’t noticed was there.

The doors open, and our food arrives.

“Blueberry strudels?”

“What, are you finally getting sick of them?”

“Not at all!”

Warmth fills me as we raise the our pastries in the air. Mine is simply a minimization of his, but I assume that they’re identical in every other way.

He goes to take a bite, and I mimic him, but he stops to look at me.

“Hey, what do you say we enjoy ‘one of the most beautiful days of the year’ and take a walk? I doubt you’ve been outside yet.”


The hedge maze that my grandpa built is a marvel of modern gardening. Organic walls are sprinkled with flowers throughout. Lillies stand proudly amongst the tides of green. When everything was still okay, we’d all walk through this place. The snow would crunch underneath fox, bunny and bear feet, and they’d shiver and I’d wish I could keep them safe from the cold.

Nick’s put me on his head, to the horror of every polar bear we come across. I’m fine with it, though. From here, I can see what he sees. It’s warm up here, anyways. Better than paws.

Artur trails behind us, like Nick would when Judy would take me and run across the maze, pretending to be a plane or a spaceship taking me to another planet.

We walk in a comfortable silence, stopping only to take small bites of our food.

“Where do you want to go, kiddo? I’m probably just gonna get us lost.”

“You remember the fountain in the middle?”

“I know what you’re talking about, but I might need a little help getting there.”

“That’s fine. We’re basically here, anyways.” I take another bite. “Just take a left.”

He turns a corner and we’re brought into a small clearing. Immaculate, with barely a mark in the snow. I’ve ordered the bears to stay away from this place. I wanted it to be perfect when I saw it for the first time in the winter season. The water in the fountain flows smoothly, and the fountain itself is still without signs of age.

A plethora of predators are carved into the ivory basin, chasing each other on all fours in an endless circle of fear and aggression. The middle piece consists of a sculpture of The Lion on a pedestal. His arms are outstretched, pleading to the sky. Water flows from his eyes.

Nick waddles over to the fountain and takes a seat by the water, taking me into his paws as he does so. We quickly consume what’s left of the strudels.

“How’s Morris?”

“Working.”

“His kids?”

“Fine.”

“Judy…”

“What? They’re fine!”

Orange furred fingers pluck me from the ground and turn me to face his disapproving stare. I cross my arms. Tundratown’s queen, and it’s still not enough to stop him from treating me like a kit. “One of them––Lyla, she thinks that she’s going to be working for this family when she’s older.”

“I see. Does Morris know?”

I shake my head.

“That’s gonna be a doozy.”

“Yeah.”

His paws are colder than his head, but I lie in them anyway. He strokes my hair. The pity I feel for the larger mammals who can’t lie in fur like this is boundless.

“Jude? I’m sorry.”

Nick stares down at me, unwarranted in his sorrowful demeanour. For a second, I feel like he might cry.

“I need to ask you a favor.”

Oh. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be caught off guard, but it seems that it feels like someone has stolen all your blood. I’m left speechless for a full minute as my mind races for the right emotion to feel. What will I do for him? What will I not? He certainly picked a good day for this.

“What?” I ask, staring up at him with my dark eyes. My mom used to compare them to a bird’s, even though we were both born with whites in our eyes as opposed to the usual rodent beads. She called them unpredictable, like an owl’s eyes. “Ask what you will, and I will decide what to do.”

“Quit.”

My eyes widen. “What?”

“Stop this, Judy. This is the one thing your godmother didn’t want for you.”

“She wanted me to help people. That’s what I’m doing.”

“She didn’t want you to run an entire district of the city’s underground. You don’t want this, kiddo. I know you.”

“I am a grown woman.”

Vindictive anger scalds the inside of my belly, and I fall victim to its beckoning. Fucking idiot shouldn’t say things like that. He doesn’t know. He KNOWS he doesn’t know. He wasn’t here for the past three months. He doesn’t know what it was like. I am the only boss in this entire city that actually helps people. I need to be here. I need to work.

“Jude…”

“Shut up. Just shut your fucking trap before I make you,” the words spill out of my mouth like wine down the side of a cracked bottle. “You don’t know shit, Nick. You don’t know what I’ve gone through ever since Grandpa died. I had to trudge through dirt to keep our place. We’ve had rats in the fucking WALLS, Nick. Bears whose names I can’t scrape out of the back of my head. I’ve iced–“

“ENOUGH!” He can’t slap me, so he smashes his free fist against the fountain. The thud rings in my ears.

“Quiet,” he commands. “Don’t talk about business around me. You know better.”

I calm my breathing as quickly as I can, and turn around. “Tundratown needs me. This place is an icy wasteland and it needs order that the police don’t provide. You know this.”

“Well, okay.” Nick sighs, relaxing his posture. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have yelled.”

A moment of silence.

“Do you think Judy would have liked it here? As it is today, I mean. The new florist is kind of a slacker. It looks the same, but I feel like the gardenias aren’t as nice as they were.”

“She would have loved it, kiddo.”

We look on at the clearing of snow, now vandalized with Nick’s footprints. It’s peaceful out here. Quiet. The soft flowing of water splashes behind us, and when I don’t anticipate it, a bird sings sweetly in the distance. We’re without words for a long time. Two of the miserable things She left behind, sharing a moment without her.








For Thematic Thursday: Winter
Based in Mead’s Judy is Dead universe