Falling Through the Cracks (2/2)

“I'm going to apologize in advance for being rude and please don't take this the wrong way,” Celia asked, confused. Jean's voice was deep and sounded fairly masculine, but now that they were close to the beastkin, their form looked distinctly feminine. “But are you male or female?”

“Oh. Ah... hm...” Jean's ears twitched, and their fur ruffled a bit, as they led the two toys around a crew of workers hastily moving backdrops around to set up for the next show. “I'm a woman. Pretty much every rabbit beastkin you're every likely to meet will be female. It's really rare for a bunnyboy to be born, maybe a once in a decade. And the squabbling over them usually means that they don't survive much past adulthood.”

“I see,” said Threadbare. “So all of the male roles are played by ladies?”

“Not always. Not all of the actors are bunnykin after all. Which is good for those of us that are, we get plenty of variety in our... diet.” She shot them a sideways smile, that turned into a puzzled frown as the little bear simply nodded politely.

“She's talking about a sex thing,” Celia told him.

“Oh. Sorry, I'm still a little unclear about all that,” Threadbare said. “I found out that discussing that sort of business with me made people uncomfortable and decided that I didn't really need to know those sorts of details.”

“Huh. That's fair I suppose,” Jean shrugged. “I suppose with how you're built and all you've got no need for that business anyway. That's probably a load off, I imagine. Nurph knows my own desires have gotten me into enough messes anyway. Oh, speaking of that...”

“Must we?” Celia said. She didn't like to think about sex, frankly. That door had been shut for her before it had ever had a chance to be fully opened.

“...about messes, not anything else,” Jean clarified. “The reason I came to you was that the manager wanted me to talk to you about the Midsummer Festival.”

“Oh. Is it that time already?” Celia looked to Threadbare. “Time is passing quickly.”

“It's a month away,” Threadbare confirmed, after scratching his chin.

“We were hoping we could find a sponsor to let us perform there,” Jean explained. “With the backing of one or two councilors, the festival board would surely let us have a spot! And if we could get in there and prepare ahead of time, we'd be able to set up the best show we've ever performed!”

Celia kept her face still, but her heart sunk.

Ever since she'd risen to her position, grasped the reins of leadership, this had been her life. People were always wanting something from her, and this, among other things, was wearing her down.

Still, the actors had saved them from a horde of more aggravating admirers.

She looked to Threadbare. He gazed back, button eyes unmoving.

“What do you think?” she prompted him.

Threadbare looked up to Jean, who had stopped by the exit. “Would you say this was a good show, tonight?”

“I think so,” Jean nodded. “Not one of our best, but a solid one.”

“Then I think I would like to see you perform a great show,” Threadbare said, stretching his paw up. Surprised, and acting on instinct, she knelt and took it. “I very much loved this show tonight,” Threadbare told her. “I think everyone did, and they would like to see you do a bigger show too. And it's nice when someone who played a very good person on stage turns out to be a good person in real life. So I think you deserve good things, and if this opportunity is what you want, then let's give it a try.”

Celia saw the actress's face soften and shift. There was a moment of surprise there, and something else. Sadness?

“Well,” Jean said, and cleared her throat as her voice broke a bit. “Well then. Thank you very much, mister Bear. I will try to live up to your expectations. We all will. Thank you.”

“I hope to be back in time to see it,” Threadbare said, giving her hand a squeeze with both paws, then letting it go. “All right, Celia. Are we ready to try this again?”

“I think so. I just wasn't expecting... the crowd, that's all. This time we'll move quickly and stay out of it,” Celia nodded.

She caught a flash of concern in Jean's eyes, as the rabbit lady looked down at her again. “Was it truly that bad?”

“Ah...” Celia shrugged. “I'll be fine. I've been under some stress for a lo— lately.” She'd almost said a long time, there, and she hoped that Jean hadn't caught the slip. If the gossipmongers got hold of that sort of confession, then she'd only face more trouble in the Council, as her opponents switched to more aggressive tactics to capitalize on her weakness.

“I see,” Jean said, and nodded. “Is it all right if we coordinate with you, visit to hammer out the details of the show? With you being our patron and sponsor, we might need help to get things set up the way we'd like them to be.”

“I could arrange a few people to tend to it if you're... too busy,” Threadbare offered, as Celia considered. “There's actually a young lady I met recently who's between jobs, since the Rumpus Room... well, you know what happened there. She's good at arranging things, I'll let her know she could help with this.”

“Sure,” Celia said. “I can take a more direct hand too, from time to time. It'll be a nice change from the regular council business.” She offered a smile to Threadbare, that seemed to relax him a bit.

“Well then! This has been a very good night. Thank you lady and sir, and we'll see you again shortly.” Jean bowed, and opened the door.

It was a much easier walk home this time. They had no crowd to contend with at the back of the theater, and the streets were empty enough that they could sneak him without drawing much attention. And soon they were at the small house that Celia maintained near Castle Cylvania.

“It was a good show,” Threadbare said. “I'm glad we could see it together, before I go.”

“I am too,” Celia offered a smile. But it slipped away quickly. “Are you sure you have to? Are you sure it has to be you? The first generation graduates are pretty skilled now. They could probably find her, you don't have to go out there personally...”

“I do,” Threadbare said. “They're very good, and they've trained so hard and done so much, but it's not just Madeline missing. We've lost two full parties in that region, and everyone we've sent to find them has either come back empty-handed or not at all.”

“Did you at least check with the God Squad?”

“I did,” Threadbare nodded. “I have to go personally, or it won't get any better.”

Celia expected to feel something. Wanted to feel something. But she just felt weary. Felt removed from it all.

But she knew what he wanted, and saw no reason for him to go off unhappy. So she hugged Threadbare to her, picking him up and squeezing him like she had as a child. “You come back to me, okay? Beat up whatever's eating our people, find Madeline, and come back alive. I want to see that show with you at Midsummer. And many more besides.”

Threadbare simply hugged her back.

They made small talk and played a board game for the rest of the night, and for his sake, Celia tried to pay attention and react to his conversation throughout it.

But over and over again, she kept thinking back to that railing, in the theater.

Kept hearing the crack of porcelain in the darkest parts of her imagination.

**********

Long after they'd been gone, in the rented inn back of the Theater, Jean Lafoot got up from the bed where her snoring lovers du jour were sleeping, and moved to the window. She opened it, ignored the drowsy protests from Thumpa and Flopsi as cold air hit their fur, and leaned on the sill.

“Something wrong?” A gravelly voice asked from above her, and her ears flicked in its direction. She didn't look over at the speaker, though.

“Just having some regrets,” Jean said. “That's all.”

“Regrets? Why? Things are going smoothly,” the voice ground out. “Everything's moving according to plan. You've played your part perfectly.”

Jean ran her tongue along her teeth. “You wouldn't understand.”

“I might, but would it matter?” the voice shot back. “At the end of the day, all we need of you is to play your part. You're an actor now, you should be able to do that just fine, yeah?”

“The play's the thing. Always has been,” Jean smiled, without mirth. “I'll do what I have to. Never fear about that.”

Wings rustled in the darkness, as her unseen companion left without replying.

But Jean stayed by the window for a few moments more, staring out into the cityscape at night.

The little bear's words just wouldn't leave her mind.

It's nice when someone who played a very good person on stage turns out to be a good person in real life.

“It would be nice, wouldn't it?” she whispered to the stars above. “But we don't always get to have nice things...”