by Simon Archer
Just like I was hoping for, Preymeister stepped up from his giant chair again to intervene as baron. However, as a baron who loved fighting, he didn’t stop the situation but made it so much wilder by joining it. Like a Wolfish Goliath fighting so many drunk war puppies, Preymeister picked up the Wolves around him and slammed them down while they crawled upon him. The living jungle gym of muscles swung them around with his whipping arms, smashing them into each other while the fluffy windsocks flailed about.
Tinker hadn’t moved from her spot, but it had taken her a while to stop hula swaying with her hammer fan after Preymeister had gotten up from his seat to brawl. Once she’d calmed down, she realized that she didn’t need to stand so close to the baron anymore now that her job had ended. Smart girl that she was, she scuttled away to safety, giving the brawl all the space it needed to between them as she circled around to a less observed spot.
Paw-Paw was furious, in the way that someone who looks at the failing engine of their car right before they had to leave for a busy workday might have been. I knew the feeling and chuckled to myself as he tried to salvage the situation. He jogged a few steps towards the baron’s throne, probably to get the poisoned mug himself, but stopped when he realized that he had no way to give the poison to Preymeister when drunk Wolves trying to pull him down in a huge dogpile surrounded him. His waist twisted with indecision as he tried to find the right path to take. Looking over by the giant chair, he noticed the other fan wavers standing next to it, leaning against their fan staves as they took a little break while the baron wrestled the whole city at once. He must have gotten an idea that pushed him over to talk to those fan wavers, ripping the fans out of their hands one by one as they ran away from him. With a quick power walk, he found a few of his thugs hiding just outside the square, giving them off to them.
Trying to bottle the heat, huh? Pfft, like I hadn’t already thought about that.
“We’ve got the Wolf, we’ve got the bunnies, we’ve given them all weapons,” Donatello summarized what they had so far, “Is that the whole movie? Do we have enough to make the entire thing? How long does it have to be?”
“He didn’t say that part,” Leonardo admitted, “It can’t be more than a minute, right?”
“Hey, how long do these movies have to be for you to make and sell them?” Rafael shouted over to me.
“Try for an hour and a half.” I fired off a few more inaudible shots and hoped that would buy me another couple moments of peace. “They have to watch it long enough to want to buy the sequel, too.”
“What?!” Rafael yelped.
“We might need a few more bunnies,” Donatello conceded.
Like Paw-Paw was hoping for, things were getting gross and sweaty. Like a time-lapse video, the increasing, glistening shine on Preymeister acted as my measure for how warm things were in the fight. With that much sweat, he was probably making things humid by himself. It was falling off like liquid golf balls on the other brawlers. Wolves were breaking off, dragging themselves to the tables and booths around the edges, and picking up their goblets and cups to rehydrate themselves. Now seemed like a good time to cool things down.
The tun was still out in the square, set on wooden blocks shaped to hold it in place while many Wolves lined up to get their sweet relief from the furnace of the fight. They dug their drinking vessels into the side of the wood, guiding themselves sloppily to the spigot to pour about half of the purple alcohol in the right spot. A few grouped shots into the inside of the rim poked a mighty hole in the great repository of delicious wine, pouring out the waters of party life in alarming volumes.
The baron, bearing witness to this travesty at his festival and reminded of his salvation from discomfort, dragged the mass of clawing monster canines over to the uber barrel like a bridesmaid struggling with the gaudy dress she’d never worn before that day. Pushing other Wolves out of the way, Preymeister took the tun in two hands, somehow lifting the giant thing above his head along with the fighters still hanging on his arms, my boy Snoopy being one of them, and bathed in the makeshift shower with an open mouth.
As if by strange fate, I spotted a very inebriated Wolf nearby the wine shower holding a hare in his hand, sloppily going to take a bite. Not to trivialize the hare’s trauma, but a great reason to shoot a hapless victim nonlethally was exactly what I needed at the exact moment. One shot to the foot, and the hare dropped to the ground while the Wolf howled in pain. In everyone’s stupor, they mistook it for the beginnings of a chant to call Preymeister to party legend greatness and joined in, pressuring the behemoth to put the leak in the tun right up to his mouth and finish like a true fraternity brother.
“What do we do?” Donatello freaked out, “How are we supposed to come up with enough story for two different movies? We can’t even get enough for the one we’re making now!”
“Shut up and let me think!” Rafael snipped at his coworker’s panic, “Maybe we can stuff the rest of it with more bunnies to eat?”
“We’re not making a movie about a dinner,” Leonardo rebuked his coworker’s brashness, “If we get some variety, we can stretch out the time we have to run with this.”
“Then we’ll add hares, too!” Rafael begrudged. “How’s that for variety?”
“That’s a lot of Rabbits and a lot of cottontails,” Donatello doubted the suggestion, “Are we sure that’s not too much fluff?”
“The pressures of this industry are high,” Michelangelo answered, “I’m sure that, to a certain extent, grunts like myself will understand the amount of hard work and effort put into these artistic pieces, and that even when we have to stuff parts of it with filler, we’re still giving our best effort to deliver something of overall quality.”
“Would you stop that?” Rafael requested in his aggravation, “Look, we’re just trying to make some cash, not a sculpture. We’ve all got lives outside of this, and we can’t spend all of our time making this perfect for everyone.”
The noble powerlifter had just upgraded to a power-chugger, bellowing out a cry of victory over drinkable fluids to the roaring admiration of his citizens. To crown the moment and burn it into eternal memory, he threw the entire tun over his head as easily as a hook shot in basketball. It flew far over his head and actually reached the trench of the moat by the castle almost a dozen yards away from him, forever removing my use of it when I would become baron of the city. But it also disposed of the evidence of any tampering I’d done, so that was a great stroke of luck.
I had to convince myself over and over that he was still in his normal form, supposedly, and the fact was ringing true for me a little less with every feat of strength.
Looking down at the now bare floor of the center of the city square, I bit my lip when I saw the craters I’d made in the stone from my rifle. Quiet as a church mouse on every level, but still devastating to whatever it hit. My only saving grace was the mess that the brawler baron had made on his playful warpath. He’d carved such a destructive swathe through the whole area that it probably looked like it was just a casualty. My unknowing and hulking partner-in-crime was a better accessory to my subterfuge with every flex. The irony of using the highest law of the city to keep the proof of my unsanctioned actions from the figurehead of the local criminal element was not lost on me.
All good things came to an end, and my day as the phantom of the festival was no exception. Paw-Paw had a mug in his hand, holding it up high above him for a toast. The Wolves around him did their best to do the same, succeeding in inverse success to their drunkenness. Preymeister, the target of the toast, sloppily made it over to his own drink by his chair, tickling the handle of the stein with his fingers before they caught in the loop, giving him the control he needed to lift it up. Everyone cheered for whatever Paw-Paw was telling them to cheer for, and the party took a collective chug.
“Should we make the movie special in a way?” Donatello asked, “You know, we’ve got the Baron’s Day festival going on, right? Maybe we could add some Baron’s D
ay elements in there.”
“Yeah, that’s good!” Michelangelo affirmed, “That way, they’ll want to see it every time the festival comes around. It’ll be a movie for the holiday.”
“Isn’t that a bit of a cheap trick?” Leonardo turned his nose up with his voice, “We still want them to buy the movie. They can’t suspect we’re giving them something terrible right away. Plus, it’s about the bunnies and guns, not Baron’s Day.”
“Then we just put a little in, then,” Rafael amended, “Just enough that it technically counts as part of Baron’s Day, but not so much that it overshadows the movie itself. We can just set the movie at the same time as the festival if we need to. The softies get their Baron’s Day movie, and everyone else gets the bunnies and guns they came for.”
“I appreciate that,” Michelangelo said, “because sometimes it’s not so much about where the story is set, but more about where the moment is shared. Tradition gives us all the opportunity to make those moments, and what is a story but a grand moment, captured in-- ow!”
“Stop it.” Rafael’s tone was as sharp as his slap. “It’s just money. Don’t get so attached to it. We have our pitch, let’s see if--”
“Personally, I think it’s derivative.” The heavenly messenger I’d been waiting for all day spoke with her sweet voice. “Lord Dragonoak already has the best guns, and now he’s got all of the bunnies.”
“Well, we can’t make something totally new every time,” Leonardo scoffed, “Who’s even heard of this bozo--?”
Oh, that sounded like it hurt.
17
Leonardo couldn’t say anymore before the swift asskickery of my girl Hopper thoroughly dealt with every Wolf around me. The satisfying smacks of those ballerina's feet on her cannon legs, along with a distinct, but also familiar metal conk, were music to my ears. Looking away from my scope, I saw the four thugs-turned- movie-executives and all the others down on the ground, leaving only Hopper, as well as Tinker and her now cartoonishly gigantic hammer, who must have met up with her after she’d left the party. Both were breathing heavily after their fiercely speedy battle, just as happy to see me as I was to see them. Oh, the relief was like a drug kicking in my head, tickling my temples. My muscles had relaxed so much that I almost couldn’t get up, and Hopper was just staring at me, alternating her knees popping out in a little dance. Tinker looked at Hopper, then rolled her eyes.
“Oh, just kiss him already!” Tinker brought the hilariously giant hammerhead down to herself, pressing the charm on the bottom to shrink it back down to just humorously large. “You look like you’re about to explode.”
“I can wait,” Hopper lied with her mouth and pleaded the opposite truth with her eyes, “We should get back to the party down there.”
“If you won’t now, then I’ll just sneak in--”
Hopper torpedoed on top of me before Tinker could fully lay out her prodding bait as the alchemist smirked to herself. My lips met the warrior girl’s, and my hands wrapped around the small of her back while hers were in my hair. Damn, it was good to see her again.
“I’m good now,” Hopper said right before she laid a long wet one on my lips, “Okay, now I’m good,” she kissed me again, “Hang on…”
“I know the feeling.” I kissed her right back. “How was your mission?”
“Oh, you know,” Hopper kissed me again, “Led a Wolf battalion, fought some thugs, saved some bunnies. They can’t wait to meet you, my lord.”
“Come on. We still have work to do.” Tinker pushed under my back with, rolling me over with a grunting hoist and shove.
I braced my elbows behind Hopper so she wouldn’t feel my weight as we rolled along, but I had not braced my psyche for how close to the edge we were, only realizing after we’d fallen off. There was a strange exhilaration in my stomach and bladder, the kind you couldn’t quite tell if you liked or not at the moment. Very next moment, Hopper and I were twirling like dancers on the empty street below, the portal-hopping girl having saved us with a timely magical pathway in the air. Once we’d stopped spinning, we both looked up to the rooftop we were just on, seeing a red-faced little bunny with a hammer.
“Sorry, sir!” Tinker shouted down, “I was just trying to move you! I’m really, really sorry!”
“We’re okay, don’t worry about it!” I called back up, “I’ve gotten out of tighter pinches. Just bring my rifle when you come down!”
“I’ve got her.” Hopper put her hands out to make an angled portal at the edge of the rooftop, with a second one right next to us. Tinker picked up my rifle and jumped in, throwing her head forward to stand up straight as she matched the direction of the portal next to us. Taking the rifle from her, I peered through the scope, still seeing a clear shot to the center of the square from here. Paw-Paw was grandstanding in the center, most likely giving a speech about how he’s so qualified to challenge Preymeister, and how the baron has failed the city, Wolf supremacy, yadda yadda yadda. I’d have been surprised if anyone was listening, what with how quickly the baron’s special drink had the Wolves plastered.
“Looks like our favorite mob boss is a real buzzkill,” I addressed the bunnies. “I’m thinking we make a grand entrance to liven things up. Y’all ready to crash a party?”
“Damn right! Let’s wreck some Wolves!” Tinker raised her hammer valiantly into the air, then meekly retreated from her enthusiasm. “I am ready, sir.”
“Damn right, my lord!” Hopper brought the enthusiasm back for Tinker. “Let’s wreck some Wolves!”
Our getaway driver opened the magic pathways to zip us across the city and to the square in a flash, coming into earshot of the festival events. While we were approaching, we caught some of Paw-Paw’s speech, and I hated to say that I was pretty on the money with my guess of the content.
“It is our right as the masters of this world to take advantage of the Blood Moon!” Paw- Paw put his hands out, holding his cane like a master of ceremonies, while disguising his personal gripes as nationalist pride. “We are the kings, my brothers. The superior creature! We built our destiny on the backs of the weak, like Preymeister. This giant fool would shackle us to poverty with his complete disregard for tradition!”
“If you hate his policies, you’re gonna rip your fur out when you find out what I have planned for this city.” My entrance through the last portal with the girls was just as grand as I wished for. Some gasps and murmurs came out of the crowd, especially among the still sober Rabbits. “First off, absolutely no one is to wear white after Baron’s Day. You can put it back on once Duke-Mas comes around, but not a day sooner. Second, everyone gets one free slap to someone’s face a year, starting today, to be used at your discretion with absolutely no repercussions. Third--”
“What are you doing here?” Paw-Paw interrupted me with wide eyes and a shouting whisper, “Why are you not back where you belong, doing your job? This disobedience will not stand!” He lifted his hand with the cane, showing off the cufflink with the rune and tapping the run six times, turning the rune off and on three different times. “I’d think that kind of disrespect deserves at least three, don’t you? Go back to work this instant, or I’ll add another for every second that you linger, as a start!”
“Dear God.” I put a hand to my mouth with the lowest amount of energy possible. “What an upsetting turn of events. What an outrage. What a startling consequence.”
“Nooooooo.” Hopper hung her arms up in the air and ran around me in circles, the nonexistent panic being almost tangible. Tinker joined her, the two both droning out their authentic displeasure at Paw-Paw’s displeasurable actions.
“Hoooooooow could he do such a thiiiiiing,” Tinker added with powerfully absent enthusiasm.
“The malice,” Hopper continued.
“The cruelty.”
“The evil.”
“The horror.”
“The badness.”
“Do you want me to add more deaths?” Paw-Paw double-tapped the cufflink again to flash
the glow. “Quit your tarrying and leave, or there will be many more! I’m far past impatient!”
“What a monster.” My hands moved about the air in a slow simulation of panicked chaos. “Will the atrocities never end with him. His social awareness is vast, and his contextual insight is mighty. Truly, he is the Wolf to be feared. Take him very seriously.”
“I’m not quite sure what’s happening here,” The bafflingly Scottish accent of Baron Preymeister stopped us from adding more sarcasm, “Did I miss something? Why is Gingerclaw touching his coat such a bad thing, again?”
“‘Gingerclaw?’” An explosion of laughter escaped my mouth, directed at the lord aliased as ‘Big Paw-Paw.’ “Your public name is ‘Lord Gingerclaw?’ That sounds like a donut! Your real name sounds absolutely delicious. Oh, I could go for a dozen ‘gingerclaws’ right about now. What about you, Big Paw-Paw, crime boss of Jackalope? What are you feeling like buying at the festival with your criminal connections?”
“Quiet, you little vermin!” Lord ‘Big Paw-Paw,’” Gingerclaw yipped at me, “Or I will make you regret making one indignant breath toward me.” He switched hands, pointing at the other cufflink. “Whatever you think you’re doing here isn’t worth it, and whatever you think has changed has not, I promise you. Don’t fool yourself into thinking you have any more control than before. I’ve already won.”
“This has gone on long enough!” Preymeister stood up from his chair, faltering just a bit before regaining his balance. “Your baron demands explanations of this disturbance to the festival. Who is this Rabbit? Why did he call you ‘Big Paw-Paw?’ How do you know each other? What job is he supposed to be doing? Baron’s Day has been so grand this year, do not make me ruin it by putting on the ‘Sit Down’ Suit.”
Very many gasps came out of the crowd. They’d seen the ‘Sit Down’ Suit before, I gathered. Not what I would have called my legendary battle transformation into an avatar of combat, but I wasn’t judging. Curious, but not judging.