aoiremart:

“How’s she doing?” Jack asked, walking inside the room. As Kohle gave him a perplexed look, he coughed: “Walker, that is.”

Colonel smiled. “Come and see for youself” he said, then turned again to the young vixen beyond the separating screen. “She’s talented” he simply stated, but a prideful note sounded loud and clear in those few words.

Walker’s talent was something the hare had nor right neither intention to question. “That was not what I meant…” Jack tried to say, but he stopped as soon as he realized he didn’t know how to continue the sentence — what did he mean, exactly? “However,” he quickly changed the topic, “how long has she been there?”

“Less than an hour” replied Kohle. “She’s working him like she was born for this.”

“To paint others into a corner? Yes, I agree with you.” Jack wanted to crack a joke, but he sounded more serious than he intended to. He hoped Kohle hadn’t noticed… but judging by the way he was now looking at him, the dog had felt the frustration behind his words. “You two… I still don’t know if you get along very well or hate each other. Which is it?”

Jack shrugged. “Half ‘n half, I suppose. Overall, we sort of… communicate.”

“You’d make a great duo.” Kohle called him over; then, when Jack was close enough, he pointed out the weasel Cynthia was questioning. “She’s got the dialectics you lack, and you have a self-confidence she can only dream of. You complete each other.”

“We fight each other” Jack replied. “Quite often, actually. I think she despises me for some reason.”

“She doesn’t, trust me. Cynthia is just a little… uncooperative? And shy, terribly shy.”

‘Shy? Walker?’ Jack frowned. “With all due respect, colonel… I wouldn’t call Walker shy not even by mistake. As for uncooperative, though, I think it suits her very well.”

“Oh, my boy!” Kohle gave him a vigorous pat on the back. “You’re so dense it’s almost heartwarming.”

At that moment, something happened in the interview room: the weasel suddenly jumped over Walker, showing his claws and teeth. Jack’s paw instinctively reached for his gun as his eyes were literally glued on the scene; he saw Cynthia dodging the mammal, grabbing him by the neck and ultimately pinning him down on the table. All in a blink of eye.

“Wow” said Kohle. “How fast.”

Jack was at loss for words; his body relaxed, but his vision had been sucked into the fight to the point his brain was still processing what had just happened, replaying the scene over and over again. Soon after the incident, a panther came in and took custody of the weasel. Cynthia said something to the feline, then left the room mumbling to herself. That was when Jack finally came back to his senses and honestly thought: ‘Walker, you’re really something.’

As soon as she looked up and acknowledged Jack’s and Kohle’s presence, her eyes widened. “Wha… what are you doing here?” she asked, quite surprised.

“Observing you” Gregory Kohle replied, giving her a warm smile. “Amazing speed and reflexes, my dear.”

Cynthia shook her head. “Not exactly; I… had a vague prediction of how he was going to attack me, judging by his attitude” she explained, massaging her eyebrows. “At some point I thought he was about to jump right on me, but they were just mere conjectures. I was nowhere ready to defend myself if he would have ended up assaulting me from another angle.”

“But… being able to make such a prediction, isn’t it proof you’re amazing?” Jack found himself saying, one second in advance of his own, poor brain. He blinked, a little confused. “What?”

Continua a leggere

aoiremart:

“You know, Walker, I think I really like you.”

Cynthia closed the drawer of the desk with a thud and dropped against the backrest of her seat. What at the crack of dawn had manifested as a light headache, was now turning in a fully fledged migraine that, she knew, wouldn’t have given her a break until dark. 

But Cynthia had no time for headaches whatsoever. “Stella”, she called, a hint of suffering in her voice that the vixen would have rather concealed.

“Yes, ma’am?”, the ferret replied, popping up on her side with a glass of water in her small paws.

Cynthia gave a look at the glass and smiled a bit. “Is my migraine so noticeable?”

“It’s hard to not notice, actually. I believe that every mammal on this floor is aware of your discomfort by now, Ms. Walker”, was Stella’s comment, followed by a slight nodding as she proceeded to ask: “Did you already have breakfast?”

“Breakfast…? Ah”. Cynthia averted her eyes instinctively and mumbled: “I ate a cookie a little while ago… I think.”

“You think ?”

“Ok, maybe I didn’t. But I will, I promise. That is… after taking my medicine.”

“Medicines are meant to be taken in the fed state”, Stella quipped, impassive. “So, if you’re willing to swallow your paracetamol, you’d better eat something first.”

“I’m not hungry right now”, Cynthia said, although she knew that such a trivial excuse couldn’t work on her secretary.

And… it wouldn’t have worked on him , too, if he was in Stella’s position.

That thought yielded a vibrant sound inside her ribcage, something between a growl and a yelp. “What is this groan supposed to mean, ma’am?”, the ferret inquired.

In a spur of the moment, the vixen considered the possibility of telling Stella what was going through her mind: ‘ It means that Jack Savage is a damn idiot who raves about things he doesn’t even understand. And I’m dying to pack up, get on the first flight to Zootropolis, find that hare and rip him apart ’.

She thought it… but, unfortunately, that was all she could do. “Work”, she said instead. “The past few days have been quite… tough. But I’ll bounce back”, she promised, trying to give the ferret a positive smile.

Smile that, despite her best efforts, probably looked like an ungracious wince to the ferret, who just gave a little, exasperated sigh. “I’ll bring you a candy bar, and you’ll eat it all . Only then you will take your pill” she said, putting the glass of water over Cynthia’s desk.

Before Cynthia could reply, Stella had already headed towards the so-called “Emergency Supply” – which basically was a lockbox containing all sorts of sweets, saved specifically for those occasions when Cynthia needed to eat something, but her stomach had a different opinion on the matter.

Needless to say, only Stella had access to this special supply, to prevent the vixen from assaulting it in the opposite case… that is, when she got the munchies. Which had recently started to happen at an alarming rate. “Stella”, Cynthia called her again.

“Yes?”

“Just… thank you. I don’t know how I’d be if you weren’t here to keep me in line.”

“I’m pretty sure someone else would”, was the ferret’s aseptic reply, as she rummaged in the lockbox.

A light laugh escaped her. “I have my doubts, but thank you for the confidence you placed in my socializing skills.”

“They’re still better than those of a certain someone…”. A sudden touch of animosity crept in Stella’s voice and made Cynthia’s ears slightly rise in curiosity.

“Who do you mean?”, the vixen asked, although those words tasted like unpleasant rhetoric in her mouth.

“I don’t think this question needs an answer. I don’t want to ruin your day even more by naming mammals one can easily refrain from talking about, after all.”

“…”. Indeed, the thought of talking about Jack had already been discharged by Cynthia who, in order to preserve her already faltering mental sanity, would have done better to pretend the hare’s existence was on a par with a quantum phenomena, something that was fair to forget about until proven otherwise. ‘ If I don’t see him, I can safely pretend he doesn’t exist ’. That sort of thing. “I’m obliged to agree with you”, she eventually said, stretching a paw to reach the candy bar Stella was now lending to her. “Thank you, Stella.”

“This is the second time you thank me within three minutes. Are you sure you don’t need a chamomile too, in addition to paracetamol?”

“Ugh, I hate chamomile”, Cynthia grumbled, carefully unwrapping the candy bar. “It tastes like nothing. It’s like drinking hot water.

“I wasn’t wondering if chamomile was to your liking, but if it could help you deflate your overblown…  passionateness, ma’am.”

“Mh”. Cynthia sniffed the candy bar, then gave it a little nibble, to test the limits of the nausea which was putting knots in her stomach. But when the sweetness of the snack melted in the vixen’s mouth, she felt a sense of relief, as if part of her tension had just slipped away from her body. “Ingesting food or drink I don’t like irritates me”, Cynthia commented, chewing on the bar with a little more enthusiasm.

“Good grief…”. Stella shook her head, exasperated. “Ms. Walker, let me tell you that I find your approach to nutrition really immature for your age.”

In response to such honest – and unexpected – criticism, Cynthia gave the ferret a quite astonished look. “Stella, did you just… call me childish , basically?”

“Not you directly, but your way to perceive sustenance.”

“Well…!”, she rumbled, before swallowing up the second – and wider – bite of candy bar, “I have my reasons. Don’t you start too, please.”

Realizing she had probably stepped outside her role of secretary, Stella nodded briefly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to bother you”, the ferret apologized. Then, she moved to return to her workstation. “However”, she added, “I told you this for your own good, ma’am. A healthy diet could help you with your recurring mood disorders.”

“You just sounded so like Jack…”. The sentence left Cynthia’s lips before her self-control could seize it, smack it and finally lock it up in the same dump it had squeezed out from without her consent.

She’d have gladly bitten her tongue… but Stella’s glare hit her before she could find the time to do as much. “ Jack ?”, she hissed. “Did you perhaps compared me with Mr. Savage, ma’am?”. The apparent calm in her voice was filled with wrath as much as Cynthia’s stomach was now filled with gastroesophageal reflux.

The vixen gulped, with the glaze of her snack suddenly feeling like glue inside her mouth. “Wouldn’t… dream of it”, she mumbled, before coughing to unclog her throat. “I was just saying. I could never compare you with J— Savage .”

Stella’s eyebrows had just took the form of a gliding eagle. “You’re doing it again.”

“That’s not true! … I mean, what was I doing again?”

“You know what, ma’am.”

“No, no, I really don’t know.”

“You’re lying .”

Cynthia crossed her arms over her chest and raised her muzzle, trying to take a leading position in the debate. “This is a serious charge, Ms. Rogers. Do you have any supporting evidence of your claim?”

“… Everything about your behavior is an evidence, I’m afraid”. Pity and resignation could be glimpse in Stella’s eyes, but Cynthia wasn’t even sure those new emotions were better than the killing aura that had passed over her face like a eerie shadow just a few seconds ago. “If I may be so bold, ma’am… you should definitely put that mammal out of your head. For your own sake.”

“Wha—?!”. Her exclamation had the same musicality of a rusted hinge, even the same taste of iron and dirt. “I… I don’t know what you mean, Stella.”

“Do you?”, she quipped.

“I do. I mean, I don’t!”. She was getting so flustered – and what was worst, she didn’t even know why – her head felt like it was about to explode. “Anyway, I believe it’s nothing that concerns you. I can perfectly handle myself.”

“I wonder… if it’s true”. This time, Cynthia sensed a hint of sadness in her voice. “I admit that I’m feeling a little worry about you. When it comes to him, you always look like you’re about to have a mental breakthrough.”

It was curious how they had actually ended up talking about Jack Savage – which was something they both agreed to not do – but secretly doing their best to avoid calling him by his name during the conversation. It almost made her laugh in suffering. “It’s because I can’t stand him, but I have to”, she sighed. “He’s so dense, selfish and stubborn. Unpredictable… and obscure. Sometimes I really want to…”.

And then… those cursed words were echoing inside her aching head, again and again: ‘ You know, Walker, I think I really like you ’.

‘ No, you don’t ’ , she silently argued. ‘You probably have no idea what it really means to like someone. You call me, ask for advice, try to guess trivia about me, and then… why are you like this? ’

“Ms. Walker?”

Cynthia came back to her senses abruptly enough to have her head spinning. “W-what is it?”

The ferret was looking at her with rather concerned eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Of course”, she lied. “Now, please, get back to work.”

“But, you just… became silent all sudden”. It was clear that Stella was doing her best to not push Cynthia more than she had already done. Indeed, right after that she murmured: “No… nevermind. I’ll get back to work, as you asked”. Stella made a little nod, averting the vixen’s eyes. “… I apologize for my importunity, ma’am.”

Cynthia shrugged. “It’s okay. I also apologize for making you worry about my condition”. She casually glanced at the clock on the wall… and made a considerable effort to keep her unpleasant groan confined in her chest. “Stella… would you mind confirming me that I have an appointment with Colonel Kohle in fifteen minutes?”

“That’s right”, said the ferret. “You remembered on your own, this time. What a rare event.”

‘ Unfortunately, it seems I’ve a tendency to remember the most unpleasant things ’. “It’s all thanks to the candy bar you made me eat”, Cynthia smiled. “Maybe I should start having breakfast regularly, after all.”

“Even so, you still haven’t took your medicine, Ms. Walker”. Stella pointed to the tiny, white capsule of paracetamol on her desk, next to the – still untouched – glass of water. “The candy bar wasn’t enough, I gather.”

“Oh…”. This time, the vixen couldn’t help but manifest her fatigue with a deep, tired sigh. “… Jesus Christ.”

“I hardly believe He’s listening, ma’am.”

“Oh, you bet He isn’t”. Cynthia chuckled as she picked the pill and finally swallowed it with a single sip of water. “He probably has other businesses to take care of. And now”, she continued, getting up from her chair, “I’ll proceed to take care of mine.”

“Please don’t push yourself more than is necessary, Ms. Walker. Otherwise, I expect your head to explode without prior warning.”

“Oh, it’d be awful to have my head exploding before that of a certain mammal. I must prevent it from happening”. Cynthia massaged her eyebrows, mentally preparing herself to her meeting with Gregory. It wasn’t gonna be easy, and the vixen was perfectly aware of this fact; still, she had to do everything she could to continue her investigation. By then, it had became a matter of principle. “Oh, yes”, she said when she reached the door, “care to have lunch together later, Stella?”

“I wouldn’t mind”, Stella replied. “That is, if you’re not planning to make me eat chips and candies.”

“Hey, I don’t—! It just happens once in a week.”

“I’m pretty sure there were seven days in a week, the last time I checked.”

“Stella!”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“You…”. Cynthia shook her head, concealing ad amused smile which wouldn’t have been appropriate in that context. “I’ll take you in a nice place for lunch, and then you’ll apologize for your sarcasm, my little ferret.”

“Okay”, she simply said. “See you later, then.”

“Right. See you later”. Cynthia exited her office, still trying to gather her resolution – which was being undermined by her rough migraine – as the thought of confronting Gregory started to build a subtle nervousness in her.

But Cynthia would’ve gotten to the bottom of that story, once and for all.

___________________________________

if you’re wondering where the first sentence of the story comes from (“You know, Walker, I think I really like you”), it’s because you didn’t read Exhausting phonecall – which would be a huge shame, actually.

I think this is the first time I show you a consistent interaction between Cynthia and Stella, her secretary. It also is the first time I make Rem draw such a smiling Cycy! She’s cute, isn’t she? ❤ This story is settled right after Episode 7 of BJ and hints to something going on that will be very important in the sequel.

Anyway, infodump aside, I want to thank you for your support, because it’s your encouragement that makes me want to write more and more, even if English is not my native language – I think you can feel it in my stories. Really, I’m so grateful to all of you. See you tomorrow with, hopefully, a 💕 S. Valentine 💕 art!

For the original link of the story on AO3, go here.

For the other stories and comics, please visit this page: 📚 AoiRemArt Comics & Stories

Please remember that this is aoimotion and rem289’s common blog, in which we’ll post all our works made together, past and future!
For more information, check this post: ❣️ AoiRemArt Inauguration

Author: aoimotion
Drawings: rem289

Donations through PayPal: support us!

aoiremart:

Murmuring. Whispering. Indistinct chattering.

Every one of those sounds reached Jack’s sensitive ears, as he took his books from the locker. The hare exhaled a calm sigh, as the hubbub caused by the soft chattering around him slowly faded away, turning into the regular veneer of boredom he was now accustomed to.

It had become part of his daily routine, alongside lectures and practice; a constant presence in the morning, afternoon and even in the evening, when anyone should’ve been too tired to comment on the existence of a small hare in what was the headquarters of one of the most important Private Intelligence in the world.

Jack wasn’t exactly thrilled about the current state of things. Anyway, complaining about it fell outside his priorities. The five minutes he spent every morning to completely turn a deaf ear to the jabbering produced by the other mammals were already a significant waste of time, in his opinion.

As he was dealing with the fading voices, just then, one of them separated itself from the murmuring. It brought a conceit, coloured by venomous sarcasm, that the hare had come to know, reluctantly. “You still here, Turner? I thought they had kicked you out of the Academy!”

Jack sighed, then he slowly turned around. Before his eyes, the mammoth figure of Philip Hawthorne rose up like a mountain amongst the clouds. “Hawthorne”, he greeted him, slightly bowing his head. “Do you need something?”

The moose gave him a smile; however, it wasn’t a pleasant one. Contempt was hidden in the curl of his lips – a contempt that Jack Turner still failed to understand, despite resorting to all the mammals empathy he was capable of – and in the way his small, sunken eyes were checking him out, the same way you’d glare at a detestable bug running on the floor. “I’m surprised to still see you around, pal”, he said. “Your parents must have paid out a boatload of cash, for you to be allowed to stay in such a place”. He leaned over him and added: “You just won’t tell me how much your tuition is, will you?”

“I’m sure it’s lesser than yours”, the hare cut it short. He had so many things he wanted to say, but no actual voice to give them. Jack had always hated this part of himself; he hated his ‘instinct of the weakest’, which prevented him from saying exactly what was going through his mind… but most of all, he hated his inborn inability to oppose it.

It was, indeed, terribly frustrating.

Hawthorne cackled. “Of few words as usual, aren’t we? But I bet you’ve got something to say, it’s written all over your cute face.”

“You’re wrong”, Jack replied, feeling his throat suddenly constricted. “It’s just that class is about to start, and… I should get going now”. But in spite of what he had just said, the hare didn’t take a single step – and he couldn’t tell if the force which was keeping him in place was foolish courage or stark terror.

“Class, huh? That’s also quite expensive, right?”. The question sounded awfully rhetorical in Jack’s ears, as the moose’s minty breath assaulted his nose like a cold gust of wind. Then, the large mammal laughed: “Between room rent, lectures and training, I wonder how much money you pay in a single month. But I’ll found it out, pal. Ha!”. For a moment, Hawthorne’s unpleasant guffaw overcame every other voice inside the hallway, and it felt like it had never existed another sound in the whole universe, apart from that.

The thought upset Jack Turner’s internal balance, who finally dared to ask: “… Why do you care so much?”

The moose blinked and stared at him, as if he had never expected a reply from such a tiny mammal. This made Jack proud of himself, in a sense… at least until that animal, many times bigger than him, narrowed his eyes and emitted a low, vibrating growl that sent chills down his spine and made every inch of his fur stand up in fear. At that moment, the hare was reminded of the reason why his instinct always begged him to keep quiet around the moose.

… And that reason was, that Philip Hawthorne didn’t like when mammals – especially the small ones – answered his question with other questions. Which, to be fair, was something Jack had grew accustomed to do, when he was asked about things to which he didn’t know how, what and why he was supposed to reply.

His dad would say it all the time. “This is a nasty habit of yours, son. It’ll get you in trouble faster than you’ll be able to run”—

A heavy hoof-fall just a few inches away from his feet abruptly dragged him back into reality. “You messing with me, rabbit?”, he grunted, clearly not pleased. “I let you talk, and that’s all you have to say?”

Jack swallowed non existent saliva. ‘ Damn, I’m shaking’ , he thought, partly angry at his own cowardice.

It has to be congenital, the pusillanimity worming its way inside of him. Something that all the lapins had in common and, sadly enough, he was no exception. But the hare had no time to wonder if he could actually win over his own genetic makeup, because the moose’s voice continued: “You’re not a wise animal, are you? Actually, you kinda look like an idiot”. He said the last part loudly, so that the other mammals around could hear it.

Some looked the other way, others sniggered or chortled without even bothering to conceal their laughters. Jack knew he was supposed to hate each single of them… yet, the only mammal he couldn’t forgive was himself. “Think what you want”, Jack murmured, trying to normalize both his breathing and his heart rate. He needed to keep cool, if he wanted to escape Hawthorne’s clutches and proceed to class. ‘ He would be expelled if he harmed me. That’s why making fun of me and intimidating me are the only two things he can do ’. He restated the obvious, hoping it would give him the modicum more of bravery he needed in order to duck out quickly and avoid further moral damage.

“And are you okay with that, Turner?”. The moose shook his head, almost looking disappointed. “You’re so pathetic, pal.”

That was when he saw it: a breach between Hawthorne’s long and ungracious legs – which the moose had stretched apart in the act of making his scornful pose – large enough for the hare to get through them easily… assuming Jack worked up the nerve to ditch him while the latter was still intent of making a fool out of him.

He was already four minutes late. At this rate, he would’ve been compelled to sit through Ms. Flaubert’s – the most nitpicking English teacher in the whole history of English teachers  – reprimand. Compelled to apologize for his tardiness. Compelled to feel more questioning glances all over him.

… No, he couldn’t definitely do that.

“I’m late”, Jack stated, words that were born both from his already offended sense of punctuality and the premonition of what potential disaster was awaiting for him in the classroom. “I gotta go.”

And then… the hare sprang free.

Since the only talent Jack was provided with was, basically, dashing faster than his chasers, it took him no time to outdistance Hawthorne enough to call himself out of harm’s way.

At least, that’s what his instinct of the weakest told him. He never turned back – not even once – throughout the whole run, which came to an end only when he arrived at the class’ door.

Then, the young lapin took a deep, long breath… and went in.

*

Much to his relief, he had managed to arrive in class before homeroom.

Jack spent the first hour listening to Ms. Flaubert’s monotonous voice; she was repeating facts about the life of James Joyce as if they were ingredients in a grocery list, and the hare couldn’t help but find the lesson a little disrespectful to such a great and talented writer.

It was, however, a kind of peripheral observation. Others were the thoughts lingering inside his mind, so many and confused that they were on the whole nothing but a nuisance.

When questions can find no answer, they gangrene. Jack had learned that the hard way, in all those years he had spent raising unnamed questions which, in the same way as blind alleys do, always led him to a dead end.

That’s why he had eventually came to the conclusion that, sometimes, it’s better to just stop thinking. Silence the mind. Follow the instinct.

From this perspective, Jack found his appreciation for Joyce a little paradoxical. The so-called ‘Stream of Consciousness’ was a literary technique in direct opposition to his personal approach to thinking. How could mammals be brave enough to let something so chaotic go on a rampage, giving up on any form of control? He didn’t know, and he didn’t possibly want to.

‘ But… James Joyce really was bold ’, the hare thought. Maybe that was the reason why Jack liked him as an author… and couldn’t definitely appreciate the way Ms. Flaubert was giving the lecture about him.

That consideration made his lips curl upward.

He wasn’t able to protect himself from the teases of the other mammals at the GSD Academy, but he’d still find the time to feel offended if the English teacher didn’t give proper relevance to a writer badger died sixty years ago. ‘ Maybe Hawthorne is right. Maybe I really am an idiot ’. Even his father had told him – that, and a number of other things he wasn’t exactly willing to recollect – on the doorstep, the day Jack had made up his mind, packed up and left home to chase his aspirations. Maybe there was a kernel of truth in those words, and he…

“Mr. Turner?”

Jack blinked and raised his ears. Ms. Flaubert was glaring at him… and she probably wasn’t particularly well disposed towards him, judging by the way the mink had narrowed her eyes. “W-what?”, he eventually squawked. Perhaps it wasn’t the first time she had called his name?

“Did you hear the question I asked you, Mr. Turner?”

“… I didn’t”, he admitted, dejected.

The mink shook her head with a sigh. “Your attention span is low as usual. That’s not good for your grades.”

“I’m… I’m aware of it”. Jack bowed his head to the point it almost touched the desk. “I apologise, Professor Flaubert.”

She gave him another surly look, before returning her attention to the book she was holding in her paws. “As I was saying, Joyce wrote…”

Behind him, someone giggled. His hearing was sensitive enough to potentially allow him to tell who those voices belonged to… however, Jack chose to not be so attentive.

He breathed in, breathed out and closed his eyes for a moment. It always managed to surprise him, the way his mind could wander until he completely detached from reality. There was no doubt that it was something of a talent – at least, he hoped so; however, Jack felt like it was a curse, more than a blessing.

But… one day, maybe, he could’ve turned it to his advantage. And to do so… ‘ I need to be in control ’.

At all times, his consciousness should’ve been under strict surveillance; his thoughts alert and disciplined, like soldiers waiting for orders; his mind sharp and keen, not susceptible to any sort of distraction. That, was the mammal Jack aspired to become; the mammal he needed to become, if he wanted to survive.

And, if Jack Turner really was an idiot… then, all he had to do was pretending he wasn’t. He would’ve fooled them, every single mammal on the planet.

Himself included.

___________________________________

I honestly don’t know why I didn’t post this story right after Alone, since One day follows it directly… seems like I kinda forgot about the existence of this, lol.

But, actually, I’m very fond of this little piece of writing. It shows a much younger and “daydreaming” Jack Savage – pardon, Turner – who is positively adorable. And the artwork Rem did for this story is simply ♥️👌🐰.

For the other stories and comics, please visit this page: 📚 AoiRemArt Comics & Stories

For the original link of the story on AO3, go here.

Please remember that this is aoimotion and rem289’s common blog, in which we’ll post all our works made together, past and future!
For more information, check this post: ❣️ AoiRemArt Inauguration

Writer: aoimotion
Drawing: rem289

Donations through PayPal: support us!

aoiremart:

She admired him.

She was aware of this fact; yet, she couldn’t bring herself to talk to him. She didn’t dare. He was… close and distant at the same time, almost unreachable. Words that begged to be voiced always ended up lingering inside her mind, where no one could hear them.

It didn’t feel particularly great.

“You are…” A voice spoke behind her back.

Cynthia turned and saw a male wolf. He looked a bit confused, as if he was trying to figure out who she was. “Oh, good morning” Cynthia said, and showed him the pass Gregory had given to her. As soon as she did it, the wolf’s eyes widened.

“I didn’t recognize you, Miss Walker. I’m sorry.” The wolf bowed, putting Cynthia at unease.

“No need to bow your head” Cynthia quietly replied. “I’m just a visitor.”

“But aren’t you Kohle’s…”

“Please” she insisted, “don’t worry about me.”

The wolf gave her a perplexed look for a second. “I’ll be going, then. Tell me if you need something” he said, and then left.

At the same time, Jack Savage stopped his practice and greeted her from the shooting range. “Hi there, Miss Walker.”

Cynthia froze. ‘He’s talking to me!’ she thought, in panic. “H-Hi” she muttered. “I’m sorry I distracted you, Mr. Savage.”

“No problem, I had almost finished.” The hare exited the fenced area and removed his ear protection. “What brought you here? Do you have a message from Kohle?”

“Er…” Did she have a message from Gregory? No, she didn’t. So, there was no reason for her to loiter in that place… but she couldn’t simply say something like that. “Yes” she improvised, “he said he wanted to… have some tea with you.” ‘I’m such a moron.’

Silence. Jack frowned, clearly confused. “Tea…?”

“A-and talk!” she added. “About… something important, if I remember correctly.”

“Oh.” Jack tilted his head. He had such a small head. “Okay, when?”

“One of these days. He’ll eventually tell you the details, so, hum… b-be ready.” Cynthia looked down, flustered because of her own stupidity. Her eyes accidentally fell upon the gun Jack was still holding in his paw. “… Nice weapon”.

She realized one second later she had said it loud.

However, Jack seemed positively surprised. “Do you think so?” he asked, shrugging. “To be honest, I don’t think it really suits me.”

“I think it suits you!” Cynthia claimed. “I think… you and the gun make a nice couple.” ‘Good grief, Cynthia, just stop talking—’

Just then, Jack sniggered. “Well, thank you, Miss Walker. Assuming it was a compliment, that is.”

Cynthia felt incredibly stupid and wanted to escape, but it seemed like her back legs were glued to the ground. So, she had no choice but keep talking. “What model is it?” she asked.

“The gun? It’s a Tokarev TT-30” Jack replied.

“It looks heavy.”

“It is, indeed.” Jack handed the gun to her. “Want to try?”

She hesitated. Cynthia had never handled a gun; she didn’t even know how to hold it. And yet, she took the weapon with concealed excitement.

It was heavy, but not too much. And, more importantly… it made her feel like she was powerful. Cynthia raised the gun and pointed at the wall. She was probably smiling. “Amazing” she breathed.

“Hum…” Jack looked concerned. “The weapon is still loaded, actually.”

“… Oh.” Cynthia quickly lowered her arm and returned the Tokarev to Jack. “I couldn’t have fired, though; I never pulled a trigger before. Not like I wanted to do it, anyway.”

Awkward silence descended upon them, until Jack said: “… By the way, Miss Walker, tell Colonel I’m waiting for his instructions.”

“Eh? For what?” Cynthia gasped. And then remembered. “Oh, yes, the tea… the tea he’s willing to have with you. The tea.”

“That’s… correct”. Jack took a step back. “That being said, I think I’ll… get back to practice. There are targets I still need to, you know… hit.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll take my leave, then.” Cynthia looked away, embarrassed. “Have a nice day, Mr. Savage.”

“You too” he replied, before returning to the shooting range.

Cynthia watched him for a while; he was tiny and slender, but a strong aura surrounded his figure. It was almost like nothing could make him waver.

‘I want to be like him’ she found herself thinking. ‘I want his strength, his composure, his dedication.’ Because she felt exposed, she had to protect herself; to do so, she yearned to be strong. Because she was weak.

She finally departed from that place, an unpleasant feeling carving into her heart like a knife. Being weak was an illness she could no longer tolerate.

___________________________________

Let’s continue with the repost of my stories!

Finally, a story from Cynthia’s POV. A young Cynthia, to be more exact — she’s about 17-18yo here, which means she’s 10 years younger compared to her apparition in BJ. As you can see, she really admired Jack since then.

For the other stories and comics, please visit this page: AoiRemArt Comics & Stories!

For the original link of the story on AO3, go here.

Please remember that this is aoimotion and rem289’s common blog, in which we’ll post all our works made together, past and future!
For more information, check this post: AoiRemArt Inauguration

Writer: aoimotion
Drawing: rem289

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