Transitions II - Chapter 13

Zig Zag is Copyright © Max Black Rabbit. Sabrina, Darke Katt and R.C. are Copyright © Eric W. Schwartz. James Sheppard, Marvin Badger, Rhonda Badger, Yohni, Alexi, Michael, Esteban, Mia, Wanda Vixen and Tamara Rabbit are Copyright © James Bruner. Jean LeBrun, Francois LeBrun, Marie LeBrun, Gabrielle Ryder, Theodore Bigglesworth-Farthington von Salzburg the Third, Roxanne Bigglesworth-Farthington von Salzburg, Timothy Bigglesworth-Farthington von Salzburg, Malcolm Grazer, Doctor Lupin, Doctor Fox Jones, William Pongo, Captain Archibald, Peter Spermophilus, Miranda Spermophilus, Leo Leon, Vincent Leon, Abu-Yusuf, Sergeant Otetiani, Lieutenant Black, Julie Black, Miriam Redtail, Lizzy Doe, Emma Grey, Rowena Spyke, Jeremy Mustela, William White, Hannah Vulpes, Richard Terry, Hantaywee Twofeathers, Professor Nutkin, Professor Moose Nicholson, Professor Werner Schnauzer, Professor Erica Belge, Charles 'Mouse' Mombay, Ulf Søndergård, Signe Enoksen, Gertrud Katze, Rita Sanchez, Agent Grochy, Agent Manchilla, Paul Donkey, Harley Davidson (Not the motorcycle manufacturer, obviously) and Pethouse Magazine is © Joan Jacobsen, 2005.

Legal Notice: This story is Copyright © 2005 by Joan Jacobsen. This story may not be sold or used for commercial profit in any form or fashion. This story may not be modified in any way. This story may not be posted on a mirror site or any other Internet site without the written permission of the author. This story may not be distributed on print, magnetic, electrical or optical mediums.

Permission to use characters that are Copyright other individuals was obtained prior to the appearance of said characters.

The author, Joan Jacobsen, hereby asserts moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is an independent work of fiction with no connection whatsoever to Max Black Rabbit, Eric W. Schwartz, E.S. Productions or James Bruner and is in no way meant to imply any connection with Max Black Rabbit, Eric W. Schwartz, E.S. Productions, or James Bruner. This story contains characters created by Max Black Rabbit, Eric W. Schwartz, James Bruner, Tigermark and Silver Coyote. Events and characters occurring in this story should not be considered part of the storylines for either 'Zig Zag', 'Sabrina Online' or 'Sabrina Online - The Story'.

In fact, as far as 'Zig Zag', 'Sabrina Online', 'Sabrina Online - The Story' and 'Zig Zag the Story' are concerned, this story does not exist. The artists disavow any knowledge of and do not officially sanction the events in this story.

Zig Zag put down the phone. She'd been calling around most of the morning, talking to at least a dozen different furs...and by now she had a distinct feeling that her ear was going to fall off within moments. At least if she had to listen to one more shrill secretary simpering that Mr. So-and-So or Mrs. This-or-That was in a meeting and terribly busy.

She'd managed to get through to most of them. Mainly by saying that she had an appointment. Of course, that was what she would call a little white lie, but her name did open doors in the business.

It had been a very long week. Normally, she had some time to enjoy herself every day at work. Whether it was by directing shots in the studio, or teasing Sabrina...she would find time to relax. The last week, however, had left no time to relax and a lot of extra hours. It had been two years since she experienced anything like it. More like two and a half, and she had to admit to herself that she had forgotten how stressful it was.

"You really are getting older..." she muttered to herself and ran a paw through her hair, puffing it up a little.

At least she'd have time with James over the weekend. She planned on spending it more or less curled up in that particular coyote's arms, doing nothing more exhausting than kissing him.

She looked at the paperwork in front of her, and at her computer screen. Just while making her last call, a little message had popped up no less than seven times telling her she had new mail. Sabrina had kindly installed all kinds of things on the studio computers, to prevent too much spam-mail getting through...so Zig Zag felt fairly sure it was mostly emails she HAD to read. She just needed to find time for it too.

How had she landed under such a workload? It was simple, she reminded herself. She had plans for another big costume piece, and she planned on doing it properly. After the success of AVC, she couldn't very well allow herself to get sloppy. She turned and smiled, looking at a cabinet by the wall...

They were very nice, she had to admit that. It was a considerable achievement to win a single one, but four...she had only dared dream. But to herself, she had to admit that there was something else in that cabinet that she treasured even more.

She got up and headed over there. A frame, holding what looked to be a newspaper clipping stood next to the awards. Most furs visiting her office naturally thought it was about the four award statues. It wasn't. The article was from a major New York newspaper. Gabrielle had brought it to work one day, saying her brother had sent it to her. It was as positive an article as she could ever expect to see, regarding her work, in any 'established' newspaper. An article saying that if it hadn't been for the explicit sex, AVC would have been an excellent mainstream movie.

It was better than sweeping the floor at the Hot D'or awards. Far better. It was, of course, nice to receive high acclaim like that from within the porn community...but it was a small miracle to get it from someone outside. She brushed her fingertips down a wooden panel and smiled to herself. She'd done something good. Everyone at the studio had. That was one accomplishment she was loathed to take all the credit for.

She went back to her seat. The movie didn't even have a definite title yet, she reminded herself. It was still just something on the horizon. She'd have given a good deal for Jean's expertise...but she realized that it wouldn't happen for two reasons. Firstly, Jean's new job and the fact it'd look odd if she wrote for a porn studio now that she was a teacher...and secondly, because she happened to know the time-period was wrong. Jean had an almost overwhelming interest in history...and she probably knew something about the period but it wasn't the vixen's field of expertise.

Zig Zag smiled and nodded to herself...Jean would probably know someone who did specialize in the right time period who could use an extra spot of cash. She'd call and ask, as soon as she had some more of the paperwork in front of her out of the way. After all, this year's big convention was considerably closer than that movie.

The best she could do now, though, was get some more of all this paper out of the way, she told herself. Jean was undoubtedly very busy at University, and she didn't want to call and disturb her friend needlessly.

Picking up the next piece of paper and a pen, she leaned back, looking over a list of necessary purchases for the editing crew...

Jean was, in fact, not very busy. She was bored to tears, more like it. She had played 'minesweeper' all morning and she mostly felt like packing up and going home. It wasn't an option, however. She had a meeting later that day, and she'd simply have to wait.

It wouldn't have been so bad if the library had managed to do as it had promised. She'd waited three days over the expected time for a book, and she was stuck in her work until she got it.

Growling to herself about inefficient librarians and wondering why all the really important works were never available in more than a few dozen examples all over the country, she closed down the minesweeper window on her computer.

The reason, she told herself as she did so, that all the important books were never available, was of course that they were important only to a small group of furs, and that those furs would simply have to compete about getting them. It was still damned annoying.

The sound of someone knocking on her door was a liberating and extremely welcome break in her boredom.

William White peeked inside and smiled politely. "Hello Miss LeBrun. I was wondering if you had a few minutes?"

Jean felt like telling William she had several hours and that she would be more than happy to pass them, helping students...but instead she simply nodded and smiled.

William entered. Followed closely by the rest of his group. Jean's office, already desperately cramped by stacks of books and paper became claustrophobic in a moment. The vixen blinked and chuckled.

"Ooookay...this clearly isn't working. Tell me...what do you need help with?" she asked.

"Well...we've got an idea for a paper, and we'd like to check the details with you. Such as the length of the paper and if our sources are valid and if you have any suggestions for sources that we have overlooked...that kind of thing?" Richard Terry said and smiled. His tail was wagging hopefully.

"...but I don't think we'll do any constructive work in this room. It's too cramped. Why don't we go and get a cup of tea or coffee or whatever takes our fancy at that Café across the road from campus?"

"Wha...I mean..." Hannah Vulpes began. She smiled...clearly pleasantly surprised at the suggestion. "I didn't think teachers went there...it's kind of a student hangout, isn't it?"

Jean nodded and got up. "It was when I was taking my masters at least. They make a terribly addictive cup of hot chocolate there. It's awful. You just sniff it and you're hooked and if you go too long without it, you probably start getting the shakes...look," she said and held out a paw, letting it tremble on purpose.

It got a good hearty laugh from the students. "Well, besides..." Hantaywee grinned, "...Miss LeBrun is strictly speaking still a student. As well as a teacher."

"AHA! That settles it then. I can go indulge my cravings," Jean said triumphantly and got up. "Let's go. I'd love to hear what you have so far."

She quickly scribbled something down on a piece of paper and nodded to the four students in front of her. They filed out of the tiny office and Jean closed the door behind her, locking it. Then she stuck the paper on the door and smiled, turning around and ushering the group towards the doors.

Out indulging myself

In dire need of chocolate

Be back in an hour

Jean LeBrun

Esteban checked his box of fishing tackle. He had enough flies in there to make a colony of bullfrogs happy...and enough spinners to make him dizzy thinking about it. Tomorrow, he'd be off fishing. At least...officially. Unofficially...well, he didn't want to think about that right now. The problem was, he knew he had to. Leo was about to arrive. They'd talk things over then.

He'd made it an absolute condition to the lion, that Jeremy wouldn't actually be harmed. At most...roughed up a bit. Given a good scare. He trusted Leo to keep his promise not to go overboard.

He grinned to himself and began humming. It was nice getting a good idea like that once in a while. It was usually Jean who got the brilliant ideas in their relationship. At least in Esteban's own opinion. The vixen would vehemently disagree and he knew it.

The door opened and he looked up. Leo entered, nodding and smiling in greeting. The lion had brought a large, oilskin sack probably holding most of his camping and fishing equipment.

"I figured I'd bunk out on your couch tonight if you and Jean have nothing planned? So I brought everything..." he said.

"It was her suggestion. She said she can't bear listening to more stories about 'the one who probably WILL get away'. She seems to think I talk about the big fish I'm planning to catch too much."

Esteban grinned and nodded. "You do, amigo," he said and put his tackle-box aside. "Leesten. I have an idea..."

Leo put his sack down and let himself collapse backwards into a comfortable chair. He exhaled heavily and closed his eyes for a moment. It had been over two years since he'd come to know Jean and Esteban and he could not remember ever having friends as good as them. Or Emma...or Miriam. That whole group was just perfect for him. He liked Jean's and Esteban's home, on top of things. It was welcoming and friendly. The rooms were any interior designers absolute worst nightmare, but it was comfortable and cozy. The chair he was sitting in was very old, but had been taken good care of. The upholstery was new. It clashed hopelessly with the black leather couch across the tea-table...which in itself was desperately out of fashion since it was solid wood and square, rather than oblong glass. The walls were in a warm mustard yellow. He'd helped paint the room...he and Esteban had been covered in paint and more than half drunk from all the beer that Jean had bought. Somehow, the vixen had seemed to think that doing maintenance on the apartment meant getting enough beer to drink a football team under the table. It had been a great day and it was a memory the lion cherished.

The whole apartment was like that. Full of good memories. And it wasn't even his own home. It felt good to visit such a place.

Esteban noticed and grinned to himself. He sat down on the couch and put his feet up on the tea-table. One of the reasons why he liked it being made of wood was that glass tables were too fragile to do that on. Wood he could rely on. This particular table had been a housewarming present from Zig Zag and James Shepard. Apparently the coyote had actually made the table himself. Esteban was quite happy with it, at least.

Leo nodded, still smiling. "I am," he said, opening his eyes. "I think your home is fantastic...you know that. I always like visiting you. One feels welcome here. It's...warm, you know."

"Si...I know. We've tried hard to make eet that way," Esteban said and smiled. It was always nice to be confirmed. "Aneeway...I should tell you about my idea for tomorrow."

"Go on. I'm all ears!" Leo said and reached up, pulling his ears upwards out of his mane with a big, wide grin.

"I don't want to actuallee heet Jeremee tomorrow, Leo. Eef we do that, we'll leave marks and he could go to the poleece. There's no need to geeve heem a weapon against us. So...I thought up a way of makeeng heem understand what we mean."

Leo nodded. There was truth in Esteban's words. The last thing they wanted was for Jeremy to come back to civilization after spending 36 hours alone with him and Esteban, looking like he'd crashed into a runaway eighteen-wheeler.

"You're right. But it's still got to be clear to him that we know what he's done and that it stops...right there," he said.

Esteban shifted a bit in his seat and nodded. "So what eef I were to tell you I have a great deal of deefeecultee seetteeng steell een a boat?" he asked.

"First, I'd try very hard not to laugh at your accent," Leo grinned and ducked as Esteban pretended to throw something at him. "...then I'd say you're a damned liar. I've been on a lot of fishing trips with you and you sit perfectly still in a boat. But I think I'm getting the picture here. We get him to stand up...any excuse will do and I don't think he knows about not standing up in a rowboat..." the lion said, a devious smile spreading on his features. "I like your way of thinking, Esteban..."

"Bueno. Now, how about you and I cook some deener before Jean comes home? She's probablee goeeng to be grateful. She's got some seellee meeteeng today...weell last teel late een the afternoon..."

Timothy was walking along the sidewalk. Classes had been good. Even if he had to endure the usual snide comments from a couple of his peers. He'd long since gotten used to it. Fortunately, the vast majority of furs he studied with were nice and decent types who couldn't care less about his lifestyle. There were always a couple of idiots in any group, however, and since Malcolm's big performance, they'd been particularly intent on getting Timothy to react to their feeble attempts at wit.

He simply ignored them. The newspapers had unanimously agreed that Malcolm's performance was incredible. The bronco had started collecting a scrapbook with newspaper clippings about Malcolm's dancing. It'd be fun to have in old age, he told himself.

He hadn't actually looked at the newspapers yet, today. It was late afternoon and he was in a mood to simply get home, turn on the TV and flop down on the couch with a cup of something hot and steaming. Just enjoying the weekend.

Well, at least enjoying the weekend for a few hours. He had a pile of homework he needed to get started on.

Turning a corner, he spotted something that made him smile. A stall, full of fruit and vegetables. Behind it stood a large oryx. Timothy had never actually spoken to Abu-Yussuf, although he'd passed the stall many times. But it had been demolished after the bombings. It was good to see it was back up.

New York was still recovering. It was still a dazed city, but Timothy had noticed a clear change in one particular area. Strangers were nicer to each other. More helpful. The ruins at Ground Zero no longer smoldered but the anger inside every New Yorker certainly did...and they all wanted someone to direct that anger at. But at the same time...there was a clear understanding that it had to be directed outwards. The news had even spoken about how crime had dropped dramatically in the city after the bombings. Even the criminal fraternity seemed to agree that someone else had to pay.

Timothy pondered a while longer, standing on the sidewalk. The death-toll was still being worked out but it was only a matter of an exact count now. Well over three thousand innocent furs had died that day. As well as roughly twenty very guilty ones. He shook his head to clear it. He didn't like to think about it.

Instead of lingering on the number of dead furs, he put a smile on his face and stepped up to the stall.

"Good afternoon, sir. You must be Abu-Yussuf..." he said and smiled in what he sincerely hoped was an honestly friendly way.

The oryx smiled back. "Indeed, indeed...Abu-Yussuf, purveyor of fruit, vegetables and nuts...and probably New York's most underutilized stall salesfur these days..." he answered.

"I think slow is a serious understatement. Not many want to buy fruit from anyone from the Middle East these days, sir."

Abu-Yussuf chuckled warmly. Then he looked up and down the bronco in front of him. Timothy was a young male...with chestnut fur and a white spot down his muzzle. He looked just like...

"You must be Timothy. Malcolm talks about you often..." the oryx said and extended a paw. "I tease him, you know. But he's a good fur. He's got a big heart and it's right where it's supposed to be."

Timothy shook the offered paw. At the edge of his vision, he could see several furs looking disapprovingly at him. Clearly, some New Yorkers didn't approve of anyone shaking paws with the oryx. It just made the bronco smile wider.

"Ahh, you mean these little things? I wonder whatever they did to deserve such a terrible name..." Abu-Yussuf mused and picked up something that looked mostly like an orange tomato.

"That'd be them. Can you give me five of those and some cherries? The last batch you sold Malcolm got squashed all over his T-shirt..."

Abu-Yussuf nodded and picked out five of the largest Sharon-fruits he could find, before weighing out a pound of cherries. "How come?" he asked.

"Well..." Timothy began, scratching his neck. "He isn't quite sure, himself. He said he'd put them in his jacket and he'd fallen on them when the rubble started coming down..."

Abu-Yussuf's eyes went wide. "Goodness me..." he muttered. "I had no idea he'd been that close. He didn't say much...when we were...you know, the feds and all."

"He did say he ran into you there..." Timothy nodded, and took out some money to pay for the fruit. "I...hope they treated you better than him."

"I don't know exactly what they did to him but I can tell you they weren't exactly kind to me. But...believe me, I have seen much, much worse. And I've experienced worse. Far worse," the oryx said, darkly. "Which reminds me...can you take a message to Malcolm for me?"

"Just tell him that I would like to accept his invitation. He asked me if I'd like to come by one day and I told him I'd like that. I just need him to tell me when would be a good time..."

Timothy smiled crookedly. "Sunday? Neither he nor I have anything planned that day. If you'd like to come by...?"

"Of course...I would be happy to. I already know where you live so I don't need you to give me the address or anything..." Abu-Yussuf answered.

Picking up his purchases, Timothy nodded again. "We'll see you Sunday then," he said and headed off.

As he walked away...he saw a few more furs slowly approaching the stall, taking out their wallets. He smiled to himself. All it had taken was for someone to make the first move.

Lizzy got home from work to find the apartment empty. There was a note on the table saying Leo had gone to stay overnight with Esteban in order to leave early for the fishing trip. She'd expected that. Besides, the lion was unbearable the night before a fishing trip anyway. He'd go on and on about fish...endlessly.

She chuckled to herself and turned to look herself in the mirror on the inside of the bedroom door. She was wearing a perfectly nice suit. Nothing extravagant or fancy about it really. But she had to present a certain facade at work. Turning up in a beret, combat boots and a pair of camouflage pants, as well as a T-shirt with the image of a crossed hammer and sickle on the front would probably not go down too well.

She went to get changed. If she had to look like something out of 'America's most Boring' for another minute, she'd scream. No doubt, her in-laws would highly approve.

They were nice furs, she reminded herself. It wasn't fair of her to think that way. Leo's parents were as decent furs as one could hope to meet in high society.

She'd picked up the mail on the way in, but hadn't checked it yet and after changing, she decided to do so. She sat down by the table, popping open a root beer, and picking up the small stack of envelopes.

She chucked the junk away and was left with three envelopes. Two of them looked suspiciously like bills. Opening them, she nodded. Neither would knock the bottom out of the household economy.

Lizzy swallowed hard and opened it with trembling fingers. Unfolding the paper, she read through it. It didn't bother her having opened that particular letter. Leo wasn't home, and if it was what she thought it was, he needed to know right away.

The letter she'd been expecting...but hoping wouldn't come. Calling Leo back into active service.

Slowly, Lizzy lowered the paper to the table. She swallowed, heavily. There was a date on the letter. Leo had one week before he needed to report to his company. Just one week.

Lizzy's first instinct was to call Esteban and Jean's number to get a hold of Leo, demanding he come home so she could sit on him for the next week. But she controlled herself and shook her head. Leo had looked forward to that fishing trip. A lot. She owed it to him to have at least that time with his best friend, before...

She looked down at her paws, cradling the root beer. She didn't want to think about it.

Getting up, she went to the telephone and picked it up. She dialed a number, and waited for the connection to establish.

"Hey...Emma...it's me. Yeah...I know I sound odd. Leo's recall to active service is laying on my kitchen table right now. D...do you think you could come over?"

She'd call Jean and Miriam as well...but Jean was most likely on her way home and Miriam was too far away to drop by quickly. She needed a friend...right now.

A moment later she hung up. She went to make a cup of tea. Emma would be by in a few minutes...

The city of lights was everything Gabrielle had hoped it to be. Her first look at the city of Paris was from above, flying into Orly, the Parisian airport. Air traffic had started again and after checking the prices, she and Yohni had realized it was actually cheaper to fly from Berlin to Paris than to go by train.

Yohni had been very wary of flying. The mongoose never liked it, and after the bombings, it had just gotten worse. But Gabrielle had persuaded her with two very solid arguments. The first was that it had probably never been safer to fly. The security measures in every airport were staggering. It had taken them over three times as long time to get to their flight in Berlin as it had done in the United States. The second one was that...eventually...they'd have to get on an airplane to get back home. It was better to get it over with.

Nonetheless, Yohni had been a shivering wreck the entire flight and she looked incredibly happy when her feet were back on the ground in France.

The taxi drive from the airport to the hotel was, however, enough to take her mind off the flight. The driver appeared to have no idea where the brakes were, and three times, he even made use of the sidewalk to overtake cars in front of him. It was a harrowing experience to put it mildly.

But when they reached the hotel...it was all forgotten. It wasn't luxurious or extravagant in any way...far from it. Before going, Gabrielle had asked Jean for advice on what to see in the various cities they were visiting. It had been part of the lecture. Paris, Jean had said, could be experienced as a tourist...or as a traveler. Tourists saw all the usual stuff. Took guided tours of the Louvre and climbed the Eiffel Tower. Travelers experienced Paris. Then, the vixen had told Gabrielle to talk to Francois about it. After all, he was French and Jean had been born in the United States. Given a choice between the two, Francois did seem like the better fur to ask for advice.

Francois, however, had agreed that Paris should not be seen the tourist way. It should be lived, breathed...experienced. He'd told Gabrielle to avoid the big, fancy hotels and book rooms in the Latin quarter instead. It was the soul of Paris, he had said, and while the hotels were certainly cheaper and consequently a lower standard there...it was the best way of getting right into the thick of things.

Gabrielle hadn't argued and had booked a room in a two-star hotel in the Rue de Gobelin.

Once they arrived, Yohni took one look around and caustically commented that the two stars must've been drawn onto the sign outside by the manager himself. But she warmed to the place the moment she met the staff.

They were welcoming and friendly, and clearly not used to seeing Americans in their establishment.

Again and again, they offered help with guides and tickets...but Gabrielle kindly refused all their offers, saying that before they even started seeing the sights...they wanted to see Paris. The hotel manager...a very, very old badger with wire-rim glasses and a wild, extravagant mustache leaned over the desk in the reception and smiled, with a glint in his eye.

"That, M'mselle...is the right attitude," he said in a voice so thickly accented it made Francois' English sound spotless.

Yohni beamed. She had completely forgotten the hotel standard and she leaned against the bronco, slipping an arm under hers. "I like Paris better than Berlin already," she said.

"Oooh, you are doing le grand tour de Europe?" the old badger asked, mirth in his eyes. "Mais oui...so many young furs do that nowadays. When I was young...ahh, we had less opportunity for such things. Well, if you want to experience Paris...you are only a few hundred meters from the place to commence..."

Gabrielle grinned and slipped her arm around Yohni. "Sounds great. Might as well get started. If this involves food, then I'm going to be very grateful. What did you have in mind, Monsieur?" she asked the badger.

"Food? You are in PARIS, M'mselle..." the badger chuckled. "Home of the finest French cuisine...and the worst garbage in the world. But...I suggest you both walk down the street to the market at the end of the Rue de Gobelin. It is one of the 20 Arrondisement markets. Each district in Paris has one. THAT...cherie...is Paris."

Smiling and thanking the badger for his advice, Gabrielle and Yohni headed out and down the street. Gabrielle pointed out it hadn't been necessary with directions. The market was very brightly lit.

Sounds of Parisians hawking their wares and haggling over prices could be heard all the way up to the hotel entrance.

Yohni pointed at a fountain. "Look...they even set us a lit table..." she said, dreamily.

They headed towards the market. It wasn't very late, but it was fall, and dusk was slowly creeping in over the city. The market square had no streetlights. Nothing except the lights from the market itself, and the fountain with lights in it. One could see the stars above.

Pointing upwards, Gabrielle smiled. "Look. I'd never have thought we could see them in a city like Paris..." she said, softly.

Yohni nodded. "I'm willing to bet this may be the only spot in Paris where you can, Gabby..." she said and bought a bottle of wine and a corkscrew.

A few minutes later they were sitting on the edge of the fountain. Passing the bottle back and forth, breaking pieces of a large loaf of still steaming bread. It was as good as anything Francois could've baked. Between them, on a plastic shopping bag, they had placed three different kinds of cheeses. One of the stalls had offered plastic knives and forks and they were using such a knife to cut little pieces off the cheeses.

It wasn't exactly a five star restaurant. But sitting there, under the starlit sky...listening to Parisians arguing at the top of their voices over prices for vegetables and meat, while the darkness slowly intensified, Gabrielle knew she would never forget that moment.