Epilogues: Ringer – Chapter 9

Rounding the corner to Marion’s office, you’re taken by surprise as you blunder directly into the object of your search, Beanie stumbling back before you catch her, pulling the lithe rabbit close to you.

“Hey.” You begin. You should be selling malt liquor on television with that smooth charm, Mike. “Listen, I just want…”

“I’m sorry.” She interjects, cutting you off

“To…apologize.” You flounder through.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah?” you reply, dumbfounded that she’s not laying this entirely on you, as you deserve. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Do you even know why I got upset?” she says testily, pulling away from you.

“Because I was treating you like you were a damsel and couldn’t do the heavy lifting.” You explain, dropping into jargon she’s used to deride works of fiction before. The barely raised eyebrow tells you you’re not out of the woods yet, and you’re left scrambling again. “And you’re one of the strongest gals I know. I mean, not physically, but you’re tough, and... empowered.” Holy fuck, you’re dumb. Beanie agrees, apparently, her eyelids slitting in annoyance.

“I guess I have to at least give you credit for trying to figure it out.” She grouses. “And you’re close, but not quite there.”

“Sorry.” You concede.

“I got pissed off because you had me grabbing the light shit, when we’ve got friends who are *literally* crippled, my brother chief among them.” She barks at you, whiskers askance in something dangerously approaching anger now.

“Beanie!” comes the retort from behind her, that very same brother sounding crosser than you’ve heard him since you walked out of his apartment in shame last year. Your newly-minted girlfriend flinches, her demeanor softening markedly. “We *just* talked about this.”

“And…” she continues, her gaze pivoting back to you as her voice ramps back down to normal conversational levels. “I overreacted. You’re dumb.” She adds, getting a peeved grunt from Bonworth. “Sometimes.” She clarifies. “But what you aren’t is an asshole. Or intentionally inconsiderate.”

“I try not to be.” You say softly, extending a hand, which she takes hesitantly.

“I know.” She admits, voice low as her ears droop. “And I know I’m not going to be easy to love, Mike.”

“I’m just dumb enough to try.” You reply, cupping her cheek, lifting her eyes back level with yours. You feel her sigh, breath puffing against your wrist. “You wanna get something to eat?” You ask her, an innocuous question to be sure.

“Yeah. You wanna creep out my brother first?” She snarks back.

“Sure?” You reply, not entirely certain where she’s going with this, but you’ve got a good… yeah, that’s where, her fuzzy lips finding yours as she emits a guttural moan of pleasure.

“Is that really necessary?” Bonworth asks, not rising to the obvious bait. The both of you can’t keep up the charade, breaking from a passionate kiss into laughter at the same time.

“C’mon, monkey boy. Chichi made pumpkin pie.” She says with enough enthusiasm that you know it’s good pie.

“Okay.” You reply simply, not relinquishing her paw when she moves to walk away. She stops, looking down, then up at you, favoring you with a faint smile.

“Why, Michael Schmidt, are you getting sweet on me?” She asks with coquettish innocence.

“You started it.” you reply with a wry smirk, getting only a pink tongue blowing a raspberry back at you in reply. Chuckling softly, you let your girlfriend lead the way, dropping into the social melee with someone to watch your back for once.

Finding yourself back in the line for food, the both of you are suddenly up against the imposing figure of April, her patchy facial fur a definite upgrade from the bandages she was wearing when first you met her. If you didn’t personally know her left eye was glass, you wouldn’t be able to tell at all. “Hey, April, you’re looking good.” you offer as a genuine compliment. Judging by the lack of a sidelong glare or finger jab to the ribs, Beanie isn’t misconstruing your intent so far.

“Thank you, Mike. You wore us all out last night.” she gently chides.

“Sorry.” You state simply, not mentioning your doe’s culpability in it all.

“I’m just glad you’re okay, the both of you. It was cold out there.” She says, and you’re surprised she hasn’t mentioned anything yet about rabbits, mating or lifetimes.

“You ain’t kidding.” You state quietly.

“Congratulations to you two, by the way. You’re a good fit.” she adds, and now you’re both taken aback, if the soft, startled flinch on your left side is any indication.

“I didn’t know we’d become such a hot gossip topic.” Beanie grumbles, still getting used to this whole situation. You reassure her by reaching across her shoulders, pulling her gently to you and planting a smooch on her velvety cheek. April merely smiles softly at your outward display of affection.

“Just remember what I told you, Mike.” she reminds you.

“Was wondering when that’d come up.” You reply with a chuckle.

“What’s that?” Beanie asks, curiosity piqued.

“Tell you later, love.” You deflect, not wanting to open that particular can of worms just yet. Glancing about a moment, you consider launching April in Peanut’s direction with a casual comment regarding his recent activities, but decide against it. The poor bear would probably burst into flame under any sort of harsh scrutiny, and you don’t know that there’s anything behind that kiss besides mistletoe and a mischievous fox anyway.

“Mike, I need to go talk to Bonbon for a minute, do you mind?”

“No, just don’t hurt her?”

“She’s my best friend, Mike.”

“She’s *also* always had a crush on me.”

“I’ll *try*.” She finally concedes. You accept her counterproposal, leaning in to steal another brief kiss before she stalks off after the electric blue bunny.

“How’s the restaurant doing?” you ask April, steering the conversation into less personal waters.

“Growing pains, certainly, but we’ve avoided a lot of the mistakes we made last time.” she says, hindsight being a wonderful teacher and all that.

“Well, the food is certainly spot on.” You offer as a compliment, the opening night still fresh in your mind.

“Thank you.” April says warmly, offering a patchwork smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get some food before the bears demolish the buffet.”

Before you can reply, you’re cut off by Fred Fazbear’s booming voice cutting through the party chatter. “Okay, listen up everybody. I just got off the phone with the gas company. They’ve got the line shut off but won’t be able to get service restored until tomorrow morning at the earliest. I’ve spoken to Chica and Mango, and we’ve got a plan for everybody to have a place to lay their head for the night. Bonnie, you’re bunking with Bonbon. Bonworth’s got the couch in 87A. Foxy, you’ve got Peanut’s spare bunk downstairs. Chica, you’ll be in with Mango. Faz and Redd, you’ve got Chica’s bed in 87B. Cheeky, you’re in with Goose.”

“Where the hell is Chica supposed to sleep?” you grouse under your breath as the various involved parties start hashing out the finer details with each other.

“We’re headed to my parents’ place out on the lake for a couple days, brah. Nice, cozy fireplace. *Very* romantic.” Chad pipes up next to you.

“Romantic, huh? They going to be there?”

“Not until tomorrow night.” he says with a smile in his voice.

“I hope so, for their sake.” you reply darkly.

“For the last time, brah, I swear to GOD I didn’t know she’s a screamer.” he says, only slightly more embarrassed than the occupants of 87B over *that* little episode.

“Well, I do have to thank you for that, at least.”

“Oh?” He replies suspiciously.

“Now I know *exactly* how thin the walls of my apartment are.” you snark softly, getting a chuckle from the burly rooster.

“You’re welcome, I guess?”

“Yeah.” You reply succinctly, spotting Beanie talking with Mangle of all people. You can only hope she isn’t offering details on just how well she’s gotten to know your body. Granted, if Beanie picks up *half* of the cryptic fox’s skill at massage… *score*. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to get some food, Chad.” You state diplomatically, still not quite friendly with the gregarious rooster.

“Sure, brah. You guys sure know how to cook. That turkey is ridonkulous.”

“Damn well should be. If I know Freddy, he nursed that thing in the oven for at least four hours.”

“Wow.” He replies. Really flexing your vocabulary there, *brah*. You still don’t quite understand what Chica sees in this clown, your defense of him to Beanie notwithstanding. Granted, you’re still not quite sure what Beanie sees in *you*, so you mentally shrug and let it pass.

You wend your way through the small crowd to the buffet, making sure to get a nice portion of the aforementioned bird, along with the standard accoutrements, all scratch made, naturally. The cranberry sauce, redolent with the scent of orange zest, is a special treat, not to mention your lone contribution to the menu. Simple recipe for a simple cook, and all that. Looking over the selection further, you decide that the desserts will have to wait for a follow up trip. Casting about, you find the sole available seat to be a small beanbag chair in the corner of Mango’s classroom. Beggars can’t be choosers and all that, so you make a beeline for it, flopping down into the comfortably amorphous piece of furniture and digging in.

The food is the typically stellar fare you've grown to love, if your continued pudge is any indication, and a welcome respite from conversation and questions you don't know the answers to yet. As you eat, you get to people watch, the atmosphere warm, but not quite lively. Chica and Goose are laughing it up over by the desserts, Bonnibel blushing furiously at whatever ribald exploit the two birds have been discussing. Chichi and Freddy are over at the whiteboard, diagramming… something food-related, looks like. You don't know what it is, but eagerly anticipate finding out. Bonson is back to hovering next to his mother, as is his wont in these kinds of situations. What *is* out if the ordinary is that she's talking to your new friend, Bonnie, the both of them smiling softly and laughing, probably over something to do with their kids, if your experience with Fran is any indication. Cheeky and Rackham are conversing, awkwardly by their postures, the both of them feeling guilty it looks like. The russet fox is stealing the occasional sidelong glance at Chichi, who is naturally oblivious to the attention, and in that moment you lock eyes with the bawdy bird.

You offer her a soft smile, waving her off to resume her conversation with the rail-thin vulpine. She hesitates a moment, conflicted in regards to you still, it seems, before she returns your smile with a friendly wink thrown in for good measure. You can't preoccupy yourself with what was, and what could have been, as you've got a tough enough task dealing with what *is* right now. Returning to your meal, you manage to scarf down most of what's left of your first trip to the table before you feel a paw on your shoulder.

“Mind if I sit here, monkey boy?”

“Of course not, let me see if I can...arrange...” you stutter as she quickly plants her butt in your lap, her slender arms wrapping around you possessively. “Oh.”

“I can sit somewhere else if you'd like.” She says, feigning offense.

“Never said that.”

“Never said otherwise.” She retorts, not letting you off the hook.

“Nope. But if you wanna sit somewhere else, I'm not stopping you.” You counter, raising your arms innocently away from her. She narrows her eyes at you, refusing to admit defeat (starting to see a trend here) and instead giving you another squeeze.

“I'm good here. Nice and fluffy.” She adds, squirming a bit in your lap and producing a potentially uncomfortable situation in your pants, should she keep it up.

“Sounds like a complaint.” You fire back.

“Oh hush, you.” She tuts, leaning forward and briefly smooching your forehead. Your only reply is to drape your arms about her waist, pulling her gently to you. Beanie seizes up for a moment, before relaxing in your grasp and giving a soft sigh that ruffles your hair. “I could get used to this.” She admits quietly.

“I hope so.” You reply, nuzzling into her until you realize you've got your face mashed into her right breast. Still, it's a soft, warm feeling, despite the relative lack of size compared to pretty much every other girl you know, so you simply give a soft, humming sigh. If Beanie notices exactly where you are, or indeed cares, she gives no indication, instead choosing to nibble at a dinner roll she's plucked from your plate.

What does break the spell, however, is your next question. “Who the hell is that?” You ask your doe, eyes riveted on the figure hugging, and lifting, Bonnie off the ground. A massive tiger, judging by the ears and deep gold pelt with blue stripes on their head, is wearing a grey hoodie over blue track pants, and towering over the not-insubstantial policerabbit.

“Oh my God, she made it!” Beanie whispers excitedly before waving frantically in the tiger’s direction.

“She?” You whisper back, stunned. That woman is bigger than Freddy for crying out loud.

“Amber. Bonnie’s daughter.” Beanie explains, finally getting the girl’s attention and a bright, toothy smile to go with the massive paw she's waving back. You can see your girlfriend (still loving that word, by the way) grinning like an idiot before she points across the room.

You follow the purple finger to see Mango, Fran, Bonson (nose still buried in his video game, naturally) and Bonworth talking over in the corner. In an instant, you see Amber's grin go from happy to mischievous, if not outright *feral*. “What have you done?” You ask the doe in your lap, who's fidgeting excitedly.

“Okay, so I told you we grew up together, right? Well, Amber’s always had a thing for my brother. Like, *bad*.” She says.

“Sounds like this is about to get amusing.”

“Yeah, thing is, Amber's a very no nonsense, tell people how you feel kinda gal.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Imagine a bigger, athletic Cheeky, without the subtlety.”

“Oh, hell.” You intone softly, leaning forward to get a better view of what's about to transpire. Catlike, with her tail lashing in anticipation, you see the tigress stalk her prey, quietly positioning herself behind Bonworth before clamping down on his narrow shoulders with two massive paws. He flinches slightly before you can see her lean in, her whiskers tickling at his narrow ears as she says something that makes Bon blush through his fur. Fran clamps her paws down over Bonson’s oblivious ears, and Mango looks like she's about to kill someone, a strange look for the normally ebullient fox. Bonworth turns about in her grasp, trying to put a good face on the moment and mostly succeeding, it seems.

The massive cat wraps him in a burly hug, lifting the lanky rabbit up and spinning him about for two full revolutions before both their eyes go wide in shocked embarrassment. You're stuck wondering what happened for a split second before you hear the awful clatter of one of the goofball’s legs tumbling to the ground. For once, Bonworth isn't the most embarrassed person in the room, though he's a close second to Amber, who looks absolutely mortified. The muscular tigress looks to be stammering through profuse apologies, before your attention is grabbed by Beanie shifting her weight up and out of your lap. This has the unfortunate side effect of nearly crushing your balls, and you grunt softly in pain. Your girlfriend doesn't pay it any heed, if she even noticed at all, instead opting to make a beeline for her brother.

She's playing the role of peacemaker, oddly enough, trying to reassure Amber as well as help Bonworth keep his footing. Mango retrieves the prosthetic, staring daggers into the cowed tigress before handing it to Beanie. She helps her brother off to the bathroom, to compose himself, leaving the others behind in an awkward silence. Recognizing the look of an impending argument, you decide to intervene, closing the distance quickly before the pink fox’s temper, which you never realized she had, gets the better of her.

“Hi! You're Amber, right? Mike Schmidt.” You open, hand extended and voice warm even as you're watching Mango out of the corner of your eye.

“Huh? Oh! Yeah, that's me.” She says, smiling awkwardly. Her grip as she takes your hand leaves you wondering if she has a job making diamonds out of coal. “Wait, Schmidt?”

“Yeah, *that* Mike Schmidt.” You concede, for not the first time today. Before you can continue, the breath is crushed out of your lungs, your spine cracking as Amber lifts you off the ground in a punishing embrace.

“Thank you so much.” She says softly. “Beanie means a lot to me, Mike.”

“I can tell.” You barely manage to gasp.

“Sorry!” She replies, her grip relenting and allowing you to wobbily regain your footing. “Little hard to rein it in sometimes. Especially with all the jocks I hang around with.”

“Don't sweat it. Your dad mentioned something about the Olympics?” You add, adroitly shifting the subject.

“Yes! Hoping I can at least grab an alternate spot. Lot of athletes qualify in more than one discipline, but drop their weaker events to concentrate their efforts.”

“What's your event?”

“Shotput. I'm also pretty good with a hammer and discus. I don't care what dad says, there's no way in hell I can even hope to compete in the heptathlon. Too much running. Cardio kills gains.” She adds, flexing one of her massive biceps to illustrate the point. The strain on the fabric of her sweatshirt is *audible* for crying out loud. “That was always Bonnie’s thing.” She adds, giving a soft sigh. “Was.” She repeats, looking dejected as the realization seems to sink in fully. “How long?”

“A while. Anything more than that is his story to tell, frankly.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. You and I both know he’s not one to hold a grudge.”

“Yeah.” She replies, her heart not really in it.

“Well, since you’ve not been introduced, allow me? April Bonaventure, these are Bonworth’s friends, and mine; Mango, Fran and her son, Bonson.” You add as warmly as you can manage, gesturing to each in turn.

The curvy fox fixes you with a slightly peevish look before pivoting her gaze to Amber, looking her up and down for a moment before she sighs softly through her nose, opting reluctantly for civility and offering a white paw to the tigress. “Always nice to meet a friend of Bonnie’s.” she says coolly, and you’re again left wondering what’s gotten into her.

“Likewise.” Amber replies obliviously.

“So you’re Bonnie’s daughter?” Fran asks warmly. “He speaks highly of you.”

“Yeah, he’s always been like that.” She says, slightly abashed.

“Like what?” The rabbit in question pipes up from behind you.

“Overly flattering to the point of suffocation.” She replies dryly.

“Only where it’s warranted, kitten.”

“Daaaaad.”

“Sorry, *Amber*.” He corrects himself. You don’t think the tigress has *ever* been a kitten, and she seems to agree. “Anyhoo, we’ve gotta get going. Mike, thank you so much for the invite. You weren’t lying about the food. The company ain’t half bad either.” He adds, certainly a curious comment.

“It was wonderful having you, Bonnie.” Fran pipes up, a warm smile splitting her muzzle as she solves your mystery for you.

Maybe there’s something in the water?

Father and daughter make their way to the door, giving your group a wave before they exit the scene just prior to Bonworth and Beanie’s return.

“Hey, where’d Amber go?” Bonworth asks. “I don’t want her thinking there are any hard feelings.”

“They left a second ago. You might still be able to catch them in the parking lot.” You chime in helpfully.

“They sounded like they were in a hurry, Bon.” Mango offers as a counterpoint, placing a paw over his forearm.

“Oh.” Bonworth says, crestfallen.

“I have Bonnie’s phone number, if you want it.” You add.

“Why, aren’t you just Mr. Happy Helperton today, Mike?” Mango asks rhetorically, a definite edge in her voice.

“Aren’t I always?” you retort, still shocked at the schoolmarm’s demeanor.

“Hmmm, I suppose you are.” She concedes reluctantly. “Say, Bonworth, you want to go get some pie? It smelled delicious when I was carrying it over here.”

“Sure thing, pretty lady.” The cornball rabbit replies, perking up a bit at the prospect of delicious dessert. The fox and rabbit trundle off, leaving you and your girlfriend standing with Fran and Bonson.

“What the hell was *that* all about?” she mutters in your ear.

“No idea.”

“When are we gonna open presents?” Bonson grumbles, clearly not a social butterfly any more today than he normally is.

“Good question. Beanie already got hers.” You state, wondering a bit yourself who drew your name and what’s in store for you. “I’ll go ask Fred if he wants to kick things off.” You reassure your little buddy, offering an arm to your purple-furred girlfriend, which she takes eagerly. You’re well aware of just how little she enjoys the young rabbit’s company, and give her the out to exit gracefully.

When you find him, Fred is conversing with Foxglove, whose posture shows is being her typical self; that is, inscrutable, yet somehow charming and intriguing.

“All I’m saying, Freddy, is that all work and no play makes you a very tired bear. As Bonnie here can attest to, I *do* have healing paws.” She says, smoothly pivoting to you. “You feeling all right? Carroll told me you had a concussion.”

“I’ll live. Little bit of a headache, but I’ll be all right.”

“Don’t be stubborn, Mike.” Fred adds, his typical, overbearing demeanor back on display.

You and Beanie both raise an eyebrow in sarcastic disbelief at Fred Fazbear, of all people, giving that admonition.

“Well, that’s kind of why I came over here, actually. Bonson was asking about the present exchange, and I don’t want to miss that before I go have a lie down, so…”

“Well, let me get my Santa hat then.”

“I’m not sure I see it.” You quip.

“I *was* the face of family fun, I’ll have you know.” He replies only slightly testily, lumbering over to the tree and plucking a small, longish, flat package from beneath it. “All right, everyone, let’s get comfortable, we’re going to open presents.” He announces, voice booming but still somehow warm. “Since you already jumped the gun, here you go, Michael. You give, you get, like we always do. Fazbear family tradition.” He says in a lower voice, handing you the present. Your curiosity is piqued; also present is a small amount of dread in the pit of your stomach, if Fred’s casserole is anything to go by. You pause, waiting for everyone to take a seat or at least find somewhere convenient to stand before you begin.

Turning it over in your hands, you find it’s quite light, the navy blue foil paper dotted with silver snowflakes, the folds and ribbon tied around it both looking precise and clean, as if done professionally. Flipping the tag open, you’re at once intrigued and a little scared to find it’s from Fred Fazbear himself. Cutting your gaze over to him, you’re surprised to find him looking slightly nervous, perhaps one of the few times you’ve ever seen him out of sorts. Shrugging, you tear into what is doubtlessly the department store’s handiwork, given the branded box within. The lid comes off easily, and you’re now the proud owner of a glossy silk necktie, in a suitably rich burgundy. You shift it around, watching the fabric catch the light, and hear a rattle in the bottom corner of the box. A moment’s investigation reveals a small, gold-plated tie tack, engraved with an ‘M’ in an ornate cursive script.

“Thank you, Fred.” You offer simply, showing it to Beanie first.

“Figured you might need something to wear to a job interview someday. Dress for the job you want.” He adds, ever the father figure. Unable (or unwilling, take your pick) to refute that logic, you opt instead to show the tie off for the rest of the room, getting several nods of approval.

“Here you go, Fred.” Says Bonworth, stepping right back into his role as the gruff bear’s assistant, passing him a small gift bag with some weight to it. Plucking the tissue paper out, Fred unearths a large coffee mug in a bright yellow, several plastic tubes of what is doubtlessly gourmet coffee planted in it like a makeshift bouquet. The taciturn bear nods appreciatively, dropping the mug back into the bag and searching for the tag.

“Thank you, Caroline. I look forward to enjoying it.” He calls across the room, fluffy wave of an apricot-colored wing the only reply you can hear from where you’re sitting.

A large box is passed through the crowd to Goose, whose normally placid smile is a little broader today, perhaps from anticipation. Once in wing, the blind hen unceremoniously, but gently, shakes the box, cocking her head slightly upon hearing something rattle within. She tears into the gift with feathery fingers, extricating a mass of scarlet fabric. She shakes it a bit, unfurling it into a light shawl with large beads dangling from the fringe. She shakes it again, listening to them click against each other, bouncing excitedly in her chair. Goose drapes the fabric over her shoulders, the red setting off her plumage very nicely, and you’re already suspecting who it came from. The happy hen leans to her left, talking to Mango briefly. The pink-furred fox rifles through what’s left of the gift wrapping before whispering back to her roommate.

“Thank you, Foxglove! I love it!” she shouts to the wrong side of the room, pivoting quickly when the well-heeled fox replies.

“Of course you do. Unlike *some* people we know, you have excellent taste, Michael.” She says smoothly, staring down a glowering Mango the whole time.

If she has a retort, it’s preempted when Foxglove’s present is deposited in her paws. She looks at the tag first before arching a brow in puzzlement. Oddly enough, your erstwhile roommate then *sniffs* the thing, eyes instantly going wide before she tears into the wrapping. A gold-foiled box topped by a clear plastic lid is revealed, the cryptic masseuse tossing this aside before plucking the biggest strawberry you’ve ever seen, dipped in chocolate of course, from within, taking a tentative, ladylike bite. Her posture immediately melts, eyelids slamming shut in ecstatic delight. Mangle regains her composure after a moment, turning to the pale blue rabbit next to her responsible for the tray of delight. “Thank you, Bonnie, so nice of you to remember!” she says brightly, giving Bonnibel a deft kiss on the cheek that sets the girl blushing fiercely; from the attention if nothing else.

April steps over to the bunny girl, putting a very small item in her paw. “From me.” She says simply, no room for a tag, apparently. Bonnibel fusses at the paper for a moment before extricating a small jewelry box covered in black velvet. From your vantage point, you can’t see anything more than a black cord, likely velvet, with a small silver pendant dangling from it. Bonnie’s smile, however, is a thing to behold, shining like the summer sun in the dead of winter. This is mirrored by April’s own, the matronly rabbit happier than you’ve ever seen her as Bonnie’s frail arms wrap around her. Bonnie breaks the embrace with a start, realizing how much she’d lost herself in the moment perhaps, and relinquishes her grasp on the scarred rabbit.

A gentle paff on the shoulder turns April around to find Chichi holding a flat present the size of a thin book out for the rabbit. April pauses a moment; something in the golden yellow bird’s posture seems off to you as well, as if she’s nervous. The matronly doe tears through the wrapping paper with a stubby claw, peeling it back before gasping audibly. “I was going through some old files in Fred’s office and found it.” Chichi says softly. April clutches whatever it is to her chest, lips clamped shut, but smiling and clearly fighting back tears. She mouths a thank you and pulls the cheerful baker in for a long, fierce hug.

“What is it?” Peanut shouts from across the room, ruining the moment.

April sniffles audibly, looking up to regard him with a hint of exasperation, before turning her present around and showing a framed photo to the room briefly enough that you can’t make out details. “It’s… from the grand opening. Years ago.” She clarifies. “Thank you, Chichi.” She says, looking down at her picture again.

“Wouldn’t have thought I’d ever see her like that.” You mutter.

“Me either.” Beanie whispers back.

Fred passes a much larger item to the sunny hen, clearly artwork of some sort by the dimensions. She peels open the wrapping paper carefully before taking a moment to examine it, turning it back to show off to everyone. “Oh, this is going to look so good in the kitchen!” She bubbles gleefully about a bakery-themed still life done in watercolors. “Who did this?” she asks, getting a little wave from your de facto personal chef. “Thank you so much, Frederick!”

“Je suis heureux de te voir comme ça me manque, mademoiselle Chiquita.” He replies with that slight smile of his. With a start, the massive bear looks down to find Peanut standing almost beside him, holding a small box. He passes this to the gourmet bear, looking his typically bashful self.

“I’ve been so busy lately I didn't have much time to shop. Sorry.” He says, and you kindly don't remind the room exactly what he's been doing all winter. Mango's look upon hearing the statement is equal parts peeved, disappointed and yet accepting of the young bear's faults.

“Qu'est-ce que c'est?” Freddy asks, opening the box and extricating what looks like a credit card.

“Oh, it’s a gift card to Tio’s Taco Shack!” Peanut gushes, now that he's talking about a subject that is in a tight race with sleep and cartoons for his favorite. “They've got the *best* chimichangas! And two for two on taco Tuesdays! Sometimes I just get a hankering for something different after smelling pizza all day.” He explains.

Frederick regards him placidly for a moment, clearly at a loss for words, even as you're suppressing laughter. Before the silence can become awkward, however, he claps an enormous paw over Peanut’s shoulder, favoring him with a smile. “Merci mon ami. Je serai sûr de faire bon usage de cela à la première occasion.” he says, your grasp of Freddlish strong enough that you're wondering exactly what he *is* going to use it for. Peanut, for his part, is obliviously smiling at the gibberish he’s received.

The round bear nearly jumps out of his pelt when he’s tapped on the shoulder by the ever-stealthy Faz, receiving a smallish box once he’s calmed down. Pudgy fingers fiddle at the wrapping before tossing it and the box aside to hold aloft a bowtie. Peanut looks up to meet Faz’s gaze, and the old scarred bear’s eyebrows cut to his side, your own eyes following the gesture to find Haddock, seated on a bean bag chair, grinning giddily. “A fair piece o’ kit, to keep you lookin’ sharp for the wenches, sailor!” the piratical fox calls over, swinging his hook in exhortation and giving an exaggerated wink.

Peanut gets a little abashed, if his carriage is any indication, before he looks again at his gift. “Ohhhhh, it’s got little skulls and crossbones. Neat!” The childlike bear declares. “Thanks!”

“Yeeeeeeee’re wuh. Welcome.” Haddock manages with some effort. “Why helllllllo there, lass. What booty’ve ye brought this old salt?” He asks as Bonbon gently places an electric blue paw on his shoulder. She places a gift the size of a lunch box in his lap, and his paw slides gently over the paper, tangling briefly in the frilly mop of a bow before he brings his hook to bear, shredding the wrapping easily. A wooden box with brass fittings is revealed, in a style that you know will go with the various furnishings of the eccentric fox’s bedroom. He manages to pop the latch open, a soft creak audible as the lid swings open. Haddock’s face becomes a mask of disbelief mixed with joy, and you can already tell Bonbon has hit a home run with her shopping. “This be the genuine article, lass?” he asks quietly.

“Found it in an antique store downtown. Not in the best condition, but it works.” She reassures him.

Reverently, the russet fox removes a leather-wrapped cylinder with polished brass fittings, maybe three inches wide and eight long. With a little effort, he uses his hook to wedge one end against his leg, pulling at the other end with his paw, extending the old spyglass to its full length. He balances the heavy end on his hook, his paw holding the eyepiece in place as he swivels his gaze around the room, giggling several times as he gets extreme close-ups of random people and objects. “'Tis a fine lookin’ glass, lassie. Be able to keep watch in the crows’ nest fer mmmmiles.” He adds with just a hint of difficulty. BonBon merely smiles, giving her part-time ward another gentle shoulder pat. Placing his new treasure in his lap, Haddock cranes his neck to look up at her, covering her paw with his and giving her an eager grin.

The electric blue bunny isn’t allowed to soak it in too much, as Faz’s paw closes over her shoulder, passing her a red and green gift bag. Having had a hand in this selection, you perk up and pay attention, garnering notice from your girlfriend. “What?”

“I helped him pick it out. Just hope she hasn’t found yet another all-time favorite cartoon in the meantime.”

“Ughhh, I know, right?” Beanie mumbles beside you.

Bonbon jams her paw through the tissue paper, yanking out an insulated steel water bottle, complete with a Bob Legendmann, C.P.A. vinyl skin applied to nearly the entire exposed surface. “Oh my GOD! This is perfect!” she shouts, nearly tackling the careworn bear in a hug. You and Faz both breathe a sigh of relief, and you feel Beanie’s arm across your lower back as she gently squeezes your side, pulling you to her.

“Hmm?” you ask softly.

“She’s my best friend, Mike. You did good.” She says with a slight, soft smile.

“Oh. Thanks.” You reply, a little surprised, but pleasantly so, and you take the moment to nuzzle into her velvety cheekfur. Beanie leans into it for a moment, redoubling her grip on your waist, humming contentedly. “Uh oh.” You say abruptly.

“What?” She asks apprehensively, which you answer with a nod of your head towards the newest exchange.

“This could be…interesting.” You add, watching as Cheeky passes a box to Faz.

Your coworker regards the shoebox-sized present briefly before slowly tearing it open, revealing an actual shoebox. The lid comes off, and Faz pulls out a pair of brown fuzzy slippers, complete with button eyes and bear-shaped ears. Faz chuckles, his scarred muzzle smiling wider than you’ve ever seen.

“Glad you like ‘em, big guy.” The plump hen says warmly.

“Thank you, Chica.” He replies, placing them back into their box for now.

“I believe this belongs to you, miss.” Bonworth intones, handing his roommate a medium-sized gift bag from the bath and body store in the mall.

“Oh look, someone went to ‘Last Minute Thoughtless Gift Warehouse’.” Beanie snarks quietly beside you.

“She does actually like perfume and stuff like that.” You respond, getting a raised eyebrow in return. “I lived with your brother for a bit, remember?” You add, hoping she doesn’t realize that you used your knowledge of Cheeky’s bathing preferences to help pick this gift out as well. Your answer seems to mollify her, and your attention returns to the plus-sized bird, who is taking inventory of the various lotions and potions, coming upon a large jar of bath salts.

“Ooooh, nice! Always good to have something for the aches and pains. How did you know, Rackham?” She chirps, almost giddy.

“Well, umm, I *did* have…” he begins, clearly embarrassed, and you’re trying to shake your head as surreptitiously as possible to cut him off, before Beanie does it for you.

“Damn, Foxy, I didn’t think you were so picky that you had to have your chicken *marinated* first.” She fires across the room, Rackham’s eyes as big as dinner plates in shock.

“I, umm, well, I just…”

“Thank you, Rackham!” She says, relaxing the spindly fox considerably.

“You’re welcome, Cheeky. Glad you like it.” Rackham replies, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“Oh, this is gonna be good.” Beanie whispers next to you as Fred lumbers over with a box for the surly fox.

“Why am I afraid to ask?” You ponder aloud.

Rackham, oblivious to his potential doom, scratches a bit of paper off the box with his prosthetic before his eyebrows arch up in pleasant surprise.

“What is it?” Beanie asks loudly, and now you’re wondering why she’s asking when she damn well knows the answer to her own question.

“It’s a poker set.” He answers, turning the package around to show off those very words peeking through the tear in the wrapping. “High quality chips by the weight of it.” He opines, hefting the box before looking at the tag on the back. “Thank you, Bonnie.” He adds, missing the small mystery you’re currently mired in.

“You’re welcome, Foxy. I knew you’d *really* like that set.” She tacks on, overselling the crap out of that word.

You’re even more curious now, as Rackham finishes unwrapping his present, prompting a roar of laughter from most of the room. The russet fox is clueless, gaze darting nervously about, before he spins the box back around to see the full box cover of the Spring Chickens commemorative poker set, Clucksy Caboodle in near undress featuring prominently. The slender fox tries to move his mouth for several moments, not getting a single sound out in retort.

“Someone help Foxy get his tongue off the floor?” Beanie asks of the room, prompting Rackham’s jaw to snap shut as he fixes her with a peeved look.