Roomies- Chapter 1

For my darling Hunter



Part 1: Departure

Michael Gabriella, known as Angel by his parents, popped another piece of arctic fish sushi into his mouth. He couldn’t be bothered to rise from his chair, so he swiveled around until he was positioned back in front of his bed. As he chewed, he cheerfully hummed along to the song that was blaring throughout his room, emanating from a small speaker located on the end table next to his bed.

His foxy ears twitched with anticipation as he meticulously folded yet another sleeveless shirt and added it to the pile nearest his pillow. He added one to the number that he had been keeping track of in his head; that made seven, enough for each day of the week, at least until he found a clothing store once he arrived at his destination.

Every stark white strand of fur on his body stood on end as the song ramped up to its climax. This was his favorite part, and he couldn’t help jamming out to it and singing along out loud as he stood and made his way across the room to his closet. Of course, since he was SO focused on making believe he was the lead guitarist in an imaginary band, that he neglected to notice the open suitcase set up at the foot of his bed - for the third time in the past hour.

This time, though, an electric blue claw caught the handle of the suitcase, causing him to lose balance. Without thinking, he placed his other foot down right inside the open compartment of the luggage, and when his foot didn’t release from its ensnarement like he expected, his momentum pitched him forward. The crash that ensued was so loud that it was audible even over the sound of the music. He face planted with enough force to send a shock through his system, but thankfully his reflexes were enough to spare his face the painful sting and embarrassing bruise that could have resulted on his face.

Still though, it wasn’t enough to keep him from ending up on the floor, and upending the suitcase in the process, sending clothes flying about like strips of confetti at a frost festival. When the dust finally settled (as well as his clothes) he found himself on his belly, the suitcase chomped down on his ankle and countless articles of clothing strewn about his normally neat room.

The string of curses that followed would have made even the filthiest arctic fisherman blush with embarrassment. As if on cue, Michael heard the one sound he prayed he would be spared to hear: the rapid thumping of someone ascending the staircase right outside his room. With an audible groan he righted himself, just in time to see his door fly open.

With the instantaneous reaction time of an EMT, Cami Gabriella rushed to the side of her son. The young artic fox sighed as he awaited the inevitable…

“Angel! Darling…. I heard a crash; is everything alright?” His mother said, without even bothering to wait for a reply before patting him down to see if he did, indeed, still have all his limbs.

“Yeah mom, I’m fine, I just tripped is all.”

He knew struggling against her prodding would be futile; in fact, he was FAR more likely to sustain an injury if he put up a fight instead of caving in. His mind momentarily flashed with instances when he found that out the hard way, and he shuttered to himself. The…passion with which his mother fettered over him could be as dangerous a weapon as any blade or firearm.

“Oh no, my Angel…. nothing’s fractured, right? Does it hurt when I touch here? How about here? Or how about there….”

“OW…. when you press that hard, yeah it does.”

“Oh my, oh dear…we should call a doctor. NO, a hospital. NO…I know what to do, I’ll get your father; he’ll get you somewhere we can…”

She stood up, finally freeing him from his torturous imprisonment. Michael wasted no time in seizing the opportunity to get to his feet.

“MOM, I’m fine, seriously.” He let his tail sway back and forth as if to prove what he was saying was true. Unfortunately, a shape caught his eye when his tail peeked into his line of sight; looking down and away, he swatted off the stray pair of underwear that had somehow clung to the thick ivory fur.

His mother turned around, a look of deep concern etched on her face like a performance mask. He hated it when she gave him that look: like always, he felt terrifically self-conscious and eager to have her look away. His eyes scanned in every direction but hers, until he heard her turn away and take a few more steps towards his door.

“Well….all right; but you be sure to call me if you need ANYTHING, okay?” Suddenly, her eyes seemed to sink, and an ominous air formed around her, not unlike the killer gaze of their predator ancestors.

“ANYTHING AT ALL, you understand?”

Instinctively, he bowed his head a little as he affirmed, “Yeah mom, I will.”

And just like a thief in the night, that ominous look was gone from his mothers face. She said her goodbyes in a cheerful tone and bounded down the stairs like a carefree schoolgirl.

He cursed once again, kicking the discarded undergarment that once clung to his tail across the room. He HATED it when she pulled the pred card – and it was something, he admitted, that she did far too often for his liking. It was one on a list of many reasons he couldn’t stand living here anymore. He let his eyes wander from his dresser to his window, and finally out to the view beyond.

This view of his white, arctic home never seemed to change in all the years of his life. Every day it was the same; a glistening small town covered in pure white that never seemed to melt away. The buildings never changed, the people never changed; it was like even time itself was frozen in place in this frigid, icy place. From his window, he could see the snow covered hills not far off, where he would sled with his friends as a kid. Back then, it seemed like a mountain covered in snow as fluffy as his bushy tail; but now it looked like just another blank feature set against a bleak, white world.

He sighed, and took a few steps over to his desk. On a small caulk board hanging over it were dozens upon dozens of pictures, showcasing various exotic locations. Some showed beautiful green rainforests, sopping wet with rain that fell as often as snow did here. Other pictures were of sunbaked deserts, with as much grains of sand as there were stars in the night sky.

He looked on these pictures fondly, until his attention came to the biggest of them all, and the one he treasured the most of any of them. It was actually a blown up picture of a postcard; on it was the skyline of a magnificent city. From out of the ground, like stalagmites in a glacial cave, rose dozens upon dozens of buildings, reaching all the way up until they kissed the clouds. Underneath the cityscape was a phrase written in bold green lettering that read: GREETINGS FROM FABULOUS ZOOTOPIA.

***

The rest of his day was fairly uneventful, filled with packing and last minute preparations before the big day. In the abounding excitement, the hours seemed to drag on endlessly for the young arctic fox. After packing his bags in a flurry of motion, he found that he had very little else left to do. His tickets for the boat ride to the city were already purchased and printed, his lodgings were set up and ready for his arrival, and he had withdrawn whatever money he had left and placed it in his own personal account with Lemming Brother’s; funding whatever adventures he may have in the amazing city.

He simply couldn’t wait for the day to end, not helped along by the fact that both his parents were trying DESPERATELY to keep him from going. Dinner that night was by far the worst experience he had in a long time, mostly because his parents incessant doting ensured that the topics never ventured very far from the absurdly negative.

They were certainly two of kind, Michael’s parents. One alone was enough to keep their darling son in check, but the two together were nothing short of a tidal wave of pure, unadulterated paranoia. They fed off of each other’s fears like a nuclear reactor, reinforcing doubts and mutually confirming fantastic scenarios. Angel was barely done with his first course before his parents had decided that he would most CERTIANLY be kidnapped by a mob boss and thrown into a frozen lake.

“Guys,” he said to his parents, forking another piece of glazed tofu and popping it in his mouth “you know that I can swim just fine, right? And that cold water wouldn’t do ANYTHING to me: I mean, you guys know where we live, right?”

“Don’t give us that lip, young man.” His father, Raphael, stared daggers at him from across the table. “You’re mother and I only want you to realize the kind of dangers that could be lurking in that city for you. You never know what people can do.”

“That’s right,” his mother chimed in, eyebrows raised but not looking up from her plate. “You can’t trust anyone nowadays, ESPECIALLY in that place. You have all types of mammals going there, with their own ideas about how they want to swindle people.”

Then she looked up, her golden eyes meeting with her son’s. “Listen, we only want you to know the truth so you don’t make any rash decisions. You’re not the most…outgoing person in the world, and that’s okay.”

“That’s certainly okay, perfect even,” his father added.

“Right. But honey, you have to understand that the mammals in Zootopia could easily take advantage of you if you aren’t careful. You have to really know what you’re doing in order to make it okay out there.”

Michael rolled his eyes without realizing, an action he instantly regretted. When he looked back at his parents, two pairs of golden irises locked with his own. Under the heat of their glares, he felt himself shrink, physically slumping in his chair like a disobedient child instead of the full-grown adult that he was. He flushed with embarrassment, until he heard the sounds of silverware clanking against porcelain to indicate that the meal had resumed.

Things were quiet from then on, which was a mixed blessing for the young fox. On the one hand, the flood constant worrying had finally stopped, but it was replaced with incredibly awkward silence. Feeling the tension in the air and wanting to escape it as soon as possible, Michael wolfed down the rest of his dinner and excused himself from the table. From there, he practically ran up the stairs to lock himself in the safety of his bedroom. With the door shut, his mind finally opened and he felt he could relax again.

His bottled up emotions began to bleed out at that moment. All the frustration and stress of the day flooded his mind at once, threatening to overwhelm him. Thankfully, he had the perfect therapy right in front of him; he took a seat at his desk and opened up his computer. The instant it was booted up, he opened up the word processing application.

Then, he started to write.

For years and years, Angel had found nothing more soothing to his raucous soul then putting all his feelings down on paper. Everything made more sense when he put it to a narrative; frustration, anger, loneliness, and even joy were all far more understandable in the confines of a story.

Normally, he’d create a whole new world in the form of a short story, but tonight felt like a poetry night to him. The clacking of his claws on the keyboard was the only soundtrack he had as the stanzas grew in length across the screen. He didn’t even break to think about what to say, as if his emotions had a mind of their own and were doing the writing for him.

Before too long, he finished his first poem and moved on to the next. Then he made another. And another. Finally, he let his fingers leave the keyboard, and he took a breath.

When he was finally able to take inventory of what he had accomplished, he gave himself a little pat on the back. He never typically wrote so much poetry in one sitting; what he had now was probably equivalent to an average sized prose story on another day. Reading over his work with a clear mind, he shocked himself with the visceral nature of his feelings that night. It was like he was peering at the work of a totally different person.

He chuckled to himself. Apparently he had more pent up in him then he thought. He put the poems aside, in a folder he made specifically to house all his work. Whilst in there, he scrolled through all his other items, scanning the files in order to pinpoint a specific work. Page after page flew across his screen, until he reached the title he had been searching for.

He turned in his chair and glanced at the clock. It was far too early to go to bed, no matter how much he wanted tomorrow to begin. He had to pass the time SOMEHOW, so it made sense for him to at least be productive in the meantime. After spinning around to face his desk once again, he got to work.

This was a rather ambitious piece, even for a prolific writer like Michael. Many months ago, just as he was beginning the preparations to leave for the big city, he’d had the idea of creating a story that was far longer than any he had attempted before; he wanted to make a full blown novel.

He always looked forward to working on this piece; especially on days like today. His fingers flew across the keyboard with a renewed vigor, though it was clear that his passion came from a different place this time around.

For the first time that day, the hours seemed to fly by. Before long, he stood up to take a quick breather, only to realize it was far later than he initially anticipated. After glancing at the clock in surprise (and disappointment), he decided to tie up the evening’s work with a few sentences and save his progress.

His mind at ease, he could finally let his mind drift to what he was REALLY excited about. The whole time while brushing his teeth and changing clothes, all he could think of was that fantastic city posted on his wall. Starting tomorrow, his life wouldn’t be on permanent pause any longer. For the first time in forever, he’d be able to experience things on HIS terms, without anybody else telling him how careful he should be or what terrible things could happen.

When taking chances, there was always a chance that you might perhaps get lucky. He didn’t know what sort of things Zootopia could possibly throw at him, but as Michael put his head to his pillow and drifted off to sleep, he resolved that no matter what happened, he could take it.