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It was the mid-day grazing rush and at the small food bar a fox sat at the communal bench, hunched over his bowl of broth.
Other mammals filtered around him, variously talking between themselves, stoically ignoring each other, or just scrolling distractedly through their phone. Most food orders were take-outs — plastic wrapped breads, just-add-water soups and expensive juices — with only a few groups choosing to pay and eat in like the fox had done.
The little radio behind the counter was playing in a news update, the headline still the press conference debacle from the week before. The media were holding onto that story, day and night.
And suddenly, again, there were those words, her voice.
She was everywhere.
He winced, shifting a little on the seat he was slightly too big for.
The soundbites were a painful reminder of a moment when the world had been made fresh again, filled with possibility.
It only took a moment to spoil, a moment he was reliving day by day.
Stupid rabbit.
He longed for the news report to finish, to move on, and for the unassuming, bright music to resume.
Despite his listless poking and fishing around in that bowl of broth, he’d managed a few mouthfuls, at least. It wasn’t all that tasty, but at least it had been something warm. He hadn’t the energy to send it back.
He closed his eyes — they still stung a little, even now — and sighed out through his nose. Then, breathing in again, he became acutely aware of the scent.
There was always a faint scent of unease, wherever you went in the city. In the districts it was barely noticeable, but downtown was always stronger. Today though, it was overtaken by something far stronger, something that sharpened his senses and quickened his heart.
He blinked, ears instinctively flattening a little.
It was coming from the smaller prey mammals.
Most were wandering past, wrapped up in their own concerns; those bills, that deadline, the supper, the date tomorrow evening — unaware they were broadcasting their elevated alertness for keen noses to interpret.
A moment passed and suddenly that scent came again, stronger still, sharp like metal and vinegar.
Fear.
Of what? Of who? Of him?
His head motionless, he glanced left, then right, and noticed that even in the cramped space of the food bar, the groups were taking their seats away from him.
His body language was closed, protective, hunched over his food as he was. That in itself might have been enough to consider sitting away or giving him space, but as someone brushed past, he bristled slightly and began to wonder what he was broadcasting back, what his scent was communicating.
Under their breath, someone mentioned fox pointedly in his direction and he tensed.
Well, nothing good, he thought. That’s for sure.
Another conversation, elsewhere in the bar, guarded, almost whispered, thinking he wouldn’t hear. The scent had sharpened his hearing far more than he’d liked. An ear twitched and rotated as he continued to stare straight ahead.
“The city can’t seriously be considering collaring, I mean really?”
“Well, when you get mauled, tell me how you feel about it then.”
Muttered insults and furtive glances — he’d put up with years of that, but since that press conference, things had started to become decidedly more threatening.
Time to go, he thought.
He looked at the oily shimmer on the half eaten broth, and pushed his bowl away. He could hear laughter. Definitely time to go.
As he swung around in the cramped little bar, he was very suddenly, very acutely aware that he’d reared up to full height, just as a customer busy with their phone rounded the corner, his bulk nearly knocking their own little bowl of broth out of their paws.
“Hey!”
A rabbit. A buck with a sharp white shirt and skinny black tie.
Why did it have to be a rabbit?
The mammal was aghast as the fox bent apologetically and backed up, his paws up and flat. The food bar suddenly hushed.
“Oh — oh, I’m very sorry, sir, I didn’t see you there.”
“Watch it! I have to go back to work in this shirt,” scolded the rabbit, nose wrinkled as he studied the fox’s rather more casual attire.
The rabbit started making himself look a little bigger, nose twitching rapidly.
“Hm, well, it is a small bar, I suppose we’ve all got to watch where we’re going,” the fox replied.
He lifted his eyes to address the rest of the bar.
”Though, maybe if you stuck a bell on me, that’d help, huh?”
The rabbit glared at him. The fox motioned to his empty seat at the table.
“You enjoy your meal, sir — mine had a bad taste, but I’m sure yours will be fine. I just got unlucky.”
With a measured, lazy smile, the fox stooped again, slunk backwards to the door, and left.