Brilliant Start and that was Sarcasm, Foxy
“So when exactly are we doing this?”
Foxy glanced towards Goldie, frowning. The hallway around them was crowded and they were somewhat struggling to get to their math class. Normally they would have waited for it to clear up somewhat, but they wanted to beat Salvage and his friends there.
“Not at lunch,” Bonnie immediately told them. “Putting them on the spot in front of half the student body would not be a good idea.”
“Yeah, it’d probably send Salvage into a panic attack,” Goldie sighed in agreement. “Which would instantly earn the others’ hatred forever, I’m sure.”
“Probably, yeah,” Freddy agreed. “But we can’t try in math class, either, since Jeggs, Creol, and Walker are in there, too.”
“We could just wait until tomorrow,” Foxy pointed out, pushing someone out of his way. “Y’know, when we have to talk to ‘em one-on-one anyway.”
“Or if ya want we could just wait until Monday,” Chica added, and Foxy struggled to determine if she was joking or actually serious. Sometimes it was hard to tell. “You guys could try in gym.”
Foxy resisted the urge to snort at his friend’s suggestion, knowing just how well that would fly with the others. Surprisingly enough, though, it appeared that Goldie was actually considering the option.
“I don’t think approachin’ ‘em as a group- our group or their group or both- is a good idea, actually,” Goldie sighed, glancing at the ceiling. Foxy frowned.
“Why not?”
“Well,” Goldie started, looking at the amber-eyed fox, “they would probably react to us as a collective but we want ‘em to react as individuals, like they did in Dr. Schmidt’s class that very first day, right?”
“Right...” Foxy agreed hesitantly. He could see where Goldie was going; don’t approach them when they’re all together or else they’ll react according to how their friends react.
That’s a big factor for Freddy, he realized suddenly, glancing towards the brown bear. Fischbach acts neutral when he’s separate from his friends, but the moment ya put ‘em all together Fischbach’s as suspicious of us as the rest are... if the others react negatively to us, so will Fischbach.
He understood.
“So basically,” Chica started, sounding almost uneasy. “we approach them one-on-one, not as groups.”
“Right,” Goldie confirmed needlessly.
“Seems a little... predatorial, doesn’t it? I mean, separate them from the pack...”
Foxy couldn’t help but agree, but he knew there wasn’t much of any other choice. It sounded wrong, very wrong, the way Chica put it, but it was an apt description.
Disheartening though it was.
“It’s either that or let them influence each others’ reactions,” Freddy told her with a small frown, glancing into the classroom. The others paused, waiting for his verdict. “They’re already suspicious of us, they’ll be on alert even alone- if we approach them as a group or all at the same time it might be seen as some kind of attack and put them on even higher alert.”
“I feel like we’re making war plans,” Chica sighed, shaking her head. She was clearly unhappy with this plan. Foxy didn’t blame her one bit. “This is ridiculous, they’re classmates the same age as us, we should be able to just approach them.”
They slipped into the classroom. It was empty but for Mr. Fueller, who was sitting behind his desk assumedly grading papers. Foxy sorely hoped there was no pop quiz; he had barely gotten his homework done the night before and had mostly relied on Bonnie’s help.
I hate math, he thought miserably, heading towards his seat three rows back and two rows over. Notably, none of them responded to Chica’s statement as they all sat down around his desk; only Goldie and Freddy sat in their assigned seats; Goldie in front of him and Freddy diagonally-right, with Chica sitting to Foxy’s left and Bonnie sitting diagonally-left from him.
They all leaned in, dropping into whispers; now they no longer had the protection of the hallway noise around them, they had to take precaution.
“So not here and not lunch, but you’re determined to try today?” Foxy questioned quietly, ears barely twitching as the warning bell rang. “With the way they were actin’ yesterday they might not even come today.”
“They’re here,” Freddy assured him. “I saw them this morning in the hall. They seem much more, ah... alive today.”
“We could try in art,” Chica suggested. “There’s not that many people in there.”
“Ashley Creol is,” Goldie dismissed immediately. “We approach them within her sight and the rumour mill will go wild. Plus, they stick together in that corner- and we definitely don’t want to approach them when they have their backs to a corner.”
Bonnie snorted and Foxy rolled his eyes; it wasn’t really funny. At all. In fact it was kind of sad.
“Yeah, we don’t want that,” he agreed, just imagining how it would feel to be literally and metaphorically backed into a corner. “Really, I think we should wait for Monday, there’re less conflictin’ factors-”
“Excuse me."
Blinking, they all turned to look towards the voice- and who should be standing there but Salvage and his friends? They had all stopped, just watching them with furrowed brows. “Huh?” Foxy asked stupidly, worried that they were standing there long enough to hear the entire conversation. That would not be good; they were definitely close enough that whispering would not have prevented them from hearing.
Fischbach cleared his throat, his gaze landing on Bonnie. “You’re in my seat.”
It took a few moments for the rabbit to register the words. “Oh- right.” Quickly he slipped out of the desk, giving Foxy and the others a look. Conversation; delayed. “Sorry,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
Chica stood up without a word, knowing very well she was in Kain’s seat. Bonnie went to his seat, which was just one over anyway, as Chica went to her seat two desks back from Bonnie’s.
The group of “odd” students gave them all wary looks as they slowly split up to go to their own seats; Blanc sat in their seat in front of Goldie, Fischbach and Kain slipped into their own seats, and Rodriguez and Salvage went to their assigned spots in the second-to-last row- Rodriguez right behind Foxy and Salvage on Rodriguez’s left.
Weird that they stayed together until all of their seats were vacated.
Pushing the strange thought aside, Foxy watched lazily as people filed into class. He watched Marion Marshal walk by, silent as ever and eyes straight ahead, followed shortly by... he forgot their names- the three human girls who also happened to be in their science class. Then the loud, popular students filed in, laughing and talking about whatever it was that had their interest that day.
When the bell rang, Mr. Fueller stood up from his desk, removed his glasses, and looked around at them all with a small grin. “Good morning, everyone!” he greeted cheerily, walking to the center of the front of the room. “How’s everyone today?”
There was a general muttering of “fine” among the students, none of which actually wanted to answer.
“Good, good,” Mr. Fueller chuckled. “Well then, it’s time to take up homework, now isn’t it? Take it out and pass it to the front.”
Obediently, the students reached into their bags and pulled out the desired packet, and Foxy mindlessly took the two offered packets from Rodriguez (looking at the page on top showed that it was someone named Tom Walker’s, a name Foxy was, unfortunately, very familiar and unfriendly with). Foxy barely glanced at the equations that still made no damn sense to him- really, who assigns this much homework after the first class? At least Dr. Schmidt’s homework was review!- as he handed it forwards to Goldie, who in turned passed it up to Blanc.
Fueller moved to take the packets from the students sitting in the front row, and as he did a burst of shrill laughter sounded to Foxy’s left- beyond Bonnie and Chica. Wincing, Foxy glared in the direction of the blonde cheerleader- Ashley goddamned Creol, shuddup please- who was laughing at something one of the soccer stars said.
“Ms. Creol, would you like to share with the class what is so funny?” Mr. Fueller asked, raising a brow at the girl.
“No, Mr. Fueller,” she immediately responded, giving him a wide, angelic smile. At least, Foxy assumed it was angelic; he couldn’t see her face, as she was in the front row.
“Then keep your laughter to yourself, please.”
Foxy smirked slightly as the girl nodded and the teacher continued picking the homework up. He dropped the stack of packets on his desk and turned back around, surveying the class.
“Alright then, let’s get started! We’ll start with the easy stuff but I assure you, you will hate this class by the third week.”
I already do, Mr. Fueller. I already do.
The bell ringing was like a blessing to the poor suffering math students (okay, suffering as far as Foxy was concerned), and almost everyone sprang out of their seats and raced for the door.
Foxy wished he was among them right up until the inevitable collision between a soccer and football player, and the ensuing fight afterwards. Mr. Fueller raced out into the hallway to deal with it, leaving the remaining students to creep out of the room undetected by the jeering crowd.
“First week of school and there’s already a fight,” Foxy caught a mutter behind him, and he barely glanced over his shoulder as he approached the door. Blanc was leaning on Fischbach’s desk as their other friends joined them. “It’s like this place is full of brutes.”
“Give them a break, Mangle, they’re just letting off steam,” Salvage excused before Foxy proceeded to run into the doorframe nose-first.
“Ow!” he hissed, stumbling backwards and reaching up to cover his nose. Promptly, Bonnie began laughing, and next to the fox Goldie just grinned. He glared towards the rabbit. “Stop laughin’!”
“Never!” Yeah, Bonnie didn’t stop laughing- not until he stumbled over the leg of a desk and fell down, flailing to try and catch himself and thus dislodging one of the desks when his arm slammed onto it. Foxy almost felt bad for him. “Ow...”
“Karma,” Goldie hummed, grinning at their downed friend. Freddy, the more mature of them all, approached the rabbit with his brow furrowed in concern.
“Oh yeah, like you weren’t laughing too,” Bonnie accused, glaring towards Goldie and accepting Freddy’s offered hand of help back up. When he was standing again, he used his foot to slide the desk back into its proper place and huffed, heading towards the door again.
“How the hell did you hit the doorframe, Foxy?” Chica asked, raising a brow at him as they walked out of the door.
“I was distracted,” Foxy huffed, gingerly poking his nose. He turned to Freddy, pouting mockingly in his best imitation of a pitiful child. “Is it broken?”
“Ya didn’t hit the wall that hard,” Freddy chuckled, setting his hand on Foxy’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, your nose is still on straight.”
“And I thought you were on my side,” Foxy mock-whined to Freddy, pouting even more. “Oh how you wound me!”
“You deserved it,” Bonnie dismissed with a smirk, absently rubbing his right arm. Foxy raised a brow but chose not to ask.
“Oh please,” he scoffed instead, looking ahead in time to dodge around a stationary student. “I deserve to go home.”
“Nah,” his friends all immediately dismissed in unison.
“You don’t get out of your embarrassment that easily,” Chica added with a snort, glancing towards the fox.
“On the bright side, only Salvage and his friends saw you stupidly walk into a wall,” Goldie added much too chipperly, grinning as Foxy’s glare fell on him. “So it’s not like it’ll get all around school.”
They stepped into the English classroom and immediately claimed the seats near the door, not for the first time glad that they didn’t have arranged seats. “Who all’s in this class?” Freddy wondered aloud, glancing around at the twenty or so desks. “I didn’t really pay much attention Tuesday.”
“All I know is Rodriguez and the rest of them are in here,” Bonnie told them with a shrug, and Foxy simply shrugged as well, indicating that he had no idea. He hadn’t been paying attention at all. “They came in late, remember?”
“Yeah, we knew they were in here,” Chica snorted, nudging the rabbit. “Even if we hadn’t been watching them we would have.”
Students began filing in and Foxy glanced towards them, Marion Marshal again- every class we have with Blanc we have with him. And there are those girls again... geez, it’s like someone set the fourteen of us up or something. More people trailed in- no Ashley Creol, that’s good- before Salvage and his friends arrived. Blanc’s eyes were oddly enough towards the ceiling and Fischbach had a loose grip on their arm, leading them towards the back of the room to the only remaining empty seats.
Foxy shared a look with Freddy and shrugged; he had no idea why that was. However, he chose not to question it- really, it was none of his business.
Yet, anyway.
There was no way they could possibly talk to their classmates, not like this.
Sighing, Foxy leaned on his hand and stared at the front of the room, not bothering to tune in to his friends’ conversation. This isn’t gonna work. Really, we can’t talk to ‘em like this, we’re gonna need to wait until tomorrow, and that’s at the earliest.
One minute passed. Two. The warning bell rang and a few more students wandered in. Bonnie walked out- wait, what?
Sitting up, Foxy turned around to find Bonnie’s desk empty. His belongings were still sitting beside it but-
“He went to the nurse,” Freddy informed Foxy almost boredly, and Foxy glanced over towards the bear. “If you had been paying attention to us you’d know that.”
“Why?” he asked dumbly, glancing around at his friends. “What’d I miss?”
“Turns out when he hit the desk earlier he got cut by some metal,” Chica answered him with a shrug. “Didn’t notice.”
Foxy remembered when Bonnie rubbed his arm and frowned. “He should’a noticed,” he muttered, turning back around and leaning on his hand. He must’ve been really distracted.
“Sometimes things just escape our notice,” Goldie stated, and Foxy had a feeling that was referencing more than their lack of noticing Bonnie’s injury. “It’s natural.”
Frowning, Foxy watched as their English teacher stood up from her desk and approached the front of the room. Yeah, but shouldn’t we notice these things about our own best friends?
Foxy had never been the most artistic person in the world, but he honestly didn’t think the still-life sitting in the middle of the room would be too hard. So, with that in mind, he went over to the supply closet off the side of the studio and picked out a few pencils, then he grabbed a plastic cup and poured the required ink in.
I’ll come back for the paintbrush, he decided, picking his cup of ink and his pencils up. Then he was heading back to his easel to begin sketching out the scene.
However, as he passed Chica, he discovered that he was walking much closer to the easels than he had expected to; his foot caught on the heavy wood, jerking the easel around as he stumbled and fell (he totally didn’t yelp in surprise, no way), and he felt himself hit the ground, knocking the wind out of him. All he could do was watch, a moment before Chica’s backerboard landed on his back (and he so did not yelp then, either), as the pencils scattered on the floor and the plastic cup full of ink literally shattered, sending its contents flying up and over.
His eyes landed on Salvage across the room, whose startled eyes fell on the ink flying towards him and his friends, and Foxy felt like his stomach just fell. Quick as a flash, however, Rodriguez and Blanc both darted out of the line of fire and Kain dove behind Salvage, who seemed to be frozen in place.
The ink, so slow yet so quick in the fox’s horror, splattered right across Salvage and Fischbach’s clothes and even their faces. Salvage was surprised, it seemed, while Fischbach instantly went to wipe the ink off of his arm in a futile effort to avoid staining his fur.
Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit...
So much for trying to befriend them, he thought, ears flicking at the shrill laughter of Ashley Creol. Fuck.
Freddy grabbed Foxy’s hand and started pulling him to his feet, and Foxy couldn’t help but let out an, “Oh shit.” He would be in so much trouble.
“Hey, Al,” Foxy heard, and he just watched as Salvage grinned over at the bear, “you got a little somethin’ on your shirt.” The bear simply responded by tapping his own cheek, a smirk forming, and Foxy realized with a start that they were amused.
Wait. What? Why are they amused? Shouldn’t they be pissed?
Foxy felt himself relax as Salvage and Fischbach’s other friends began grinning as well, and he glanced around as well to see Mr. Smith slipping out of the room for one reason or another. Around him, he could practically feel the relief settling over his friends; their chances were’s completely destroyed.
“Well, Springtrap,” a voice suddenly cut through, and Foxy’s gaze snapped over to the cheerleader leaning against her easel. She was smirking, her eyes on the golden rabbit. “Now you’ve got something to match that ugly scar, huh?”
Glancing over towards Salvage, Foxy noted the rabbit frown and glance around at his friends as they all rejoined him. Each of his friends were now scowling, their amusement having flown out the window.
Foxy couldn’t blame them.
There’s nothing wrong with scars, he thought while mindlessly rubbing at his right wrist, feeling the fastener and the scars riddling his skin there just under the fur. Sure, Foxy knew, his own scars were much less noticeable- being on his chest, stomach, and his legs- than Salvage’s scars- the ones that riddled his arms, the one that crossed over his eye, the one that spidered down his ear from where it had been cut off... but they were there, anyway.
“Yeah,” Rodriguez started, sneering over towards Creol, “but it would match so much better with your dead black heart.”
Holy. Shit. They’re responding.
Creol’s smirk slipped off of her face as Blanc added, “If she even has one.”
“True,” Rodriguez snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. Somehow Foxy thought he looked simultaneously sassy and pissed. “Someone like her is nothing but an empty husk, anyway, feeding off of everyone else’s misery.”
“Damn,” Foxy heard Bonnie mutter, but he wasn’t sure how to react himself. “He’s never said anything like that about us.”
Should I be mad that she just did what we’ve been tryin’ to do for years, or should I just enjoy watchin’ Ms. Queen Bee get torn down by a rabbit barely tall enough to ride a roller coaster? Should I be worried? They are mad...
“What did you just say you Mexican fuck?!”
Foxy’s eyes widened and his gaze snapped straight to Creol. She was snarling, glaring towards Rodriguez who looked relatively unfazed.
Did she just-?!
“For the record,” Rodriguez started flatly, “I’m Spanish, not Mexican! Learn geography!”
Despite the fact that she had used the wrong ethnicity or whatever, Foxy noticed, Rodriguez and all of his friends looked offended and angry anyway. Maybe it’s on principle. She was tryin’ to use his race against him.
“Whatever,” Creol scoffed carelessly, lifting her head into the air and glancing at her nails as if bored. Foxy couldn’t help but scowl. “You still speak a stupid language anyway.”
Without much warning, Rodriguez snarled and started forwards threateningly, but then Salvage caught his shoulder to stop him. Unable to get closer to the bigot, the rabbit instead chose to say, “Oh please, at least Spanish makes sense, English is so weird- it’s an amalgamation of different languages.” Without missing a beat, Rodriguez gasped and lifted a hand to his lips, looking so apologetically at Creol. “Oops, sorry,” he started, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “I forgot- bimbos don’t know big words like amalgamation!”
It wasn’t really the best comeback in Foxy’s mind, but it was much better than anything Creol had thrown at him. Personally I’d’ve used the word bitch.
Creol straightened up, an angry flush on her cheeks. “I will-” she started, but the sudden arrival of Mr. Smith, whose face was red with ill-concealed rage, cut her off.
“That’s enough, you two!” the teacher barked, and Foxy flinched, so not wanting the blame for all of what just happened to be put on him. “Act your age, all of you!”
Who?
“Sorry, Mr. Smith,” Salvage immediately apologized, pulling Rodriguez back into the group. “Won’t happen again.” Rodriguez muttered something but Foxy couldn’t catch it. Mr. Smith didn’t respond to him, however, so Foxy figured it must not have been important.
“Get back to work, all of you,” Mr. Smith commanded, looking around at all of them. “Mr. Salvage, Mr. Fischbach, if you need to go home and change clothes, you’re excused.” Notably, neither student made to move. Then Mr. Smith’s gaze fell on Foxy and the fox winced. “No more accidents, Mr. Jones.”
“R-right, got it,” he stuttered, instinctively rubbing at his neck. Does he think I did it on purpose or something?
“Ms. Sanchez, secure your backerboard properly, and Ms. Creol, easels are not for leaning! You break it, you pay the damages fee, got it? Mr. Fazbear, get that smirk off your face, and Ms. Sanchez, whatever you’re about to say; don’t.”
Foxy glanced over at his friends just as Freddy’s smirk- why were ya smirkin’, mate?- fell, and Chica’s beak snapped shut. The chicken looked irritated, to put it lightly.
Without another word, Mr Smith swept back across the room to the front. Slowly, everyone returned to their easels, but Foxy, noting the mess on the floor, scurried back to the supply closet to grab paper towels. He headed back out and dropped down to begin wiping up the ink, making a face as the fingertips of his prosthetic touched it.
I hope this comes out of faux fur, he thought, displeased as he glanced at the hand. Deciding that there was nothing he could do about it right then, he continued mopping the ink up.
“For the record, Creol, Spanish is my first language. And I was born in Mexico.”
Oh boy did Chica sound mad. Livid, even. Foxy couldn’t really blame her; even he felt a twisting tendril of anger over everything she’d said.
Not just her racist comment, either.
The ink left dark splotches on the tile that Foxy knew would have to be “properly” cleaned, but once all of the liquid was up- thankfully Salvage and Fischbach had moved back so he wasn’t having to practically touch their shoes to get every last drop of ink- he stood up to his feet.
After a split second, he said, “Sorry,” quietly to the group before hurrying back to his dropped supplies, dropping the ink-stained paper towels into the trashcan on his way. He wasn’t sure if Salvage or Blanc or any of them heard or believed him.
He glared towards Creol, who he decided was to blame for the entire fiasco.
Hopefully they won’t completely reject our attempts at friendship, he thought bitterly as he picked his supplies up. Admittedly he was still unsure about their plan- but the Fazcrew were a group undivided. If his friends wanted to befriend Blanc and Blanc’s friends, then Foxy would too.
He just couldn’t help but wonder if he had destroyed their chances.
Getting to Freddy and Goldie’s house was like a godsend, and Foxy popped the prosthetic off of his wrist almost as soon as they reached the twins’ bedroom. He sighed and set it on the desk, dropping down into Goldie’s chair. He didn’t bother glancing at the yearbooks sitting on his desk.
Goldie just dropped down on his bed. “Today was exhausting,” the golden bear complained as Bonnie sat down next to him. “I almost dread tomorrow.”
“I do dread tomorrow,” Bonnie sighed, leaning back. Foxy glanced down at his arm which had been bandaged by the nurse and frowned. “I think during science is really the only chance we’ll have to talk to them one-on-one. And,” the rabbit added, glancing around at all of them, “might be the only chance we’ll have to, uh... make an opening.”
“What do ya mean by that?” Chica asked, settling down in Freddy’s desk chair next to Foxy. “I mean, we have all year, don’t we?”
“At some point they’re bound to close themselves off further,” Freddy sighed, settling down on his bed. “There’ll come a point where it’s simply “too late,” if we haven’t long since passed that.”
We probably have, it's been, what, twelve years?
“We haven’t been sayin’ anything about ‘em this year,” Goldie started, shrugging. “And they seem to respond to that by not sayin’ anything about us. Maybe that’ll help in our favour.”
“Yeah, but “this year” hasn’t even been a full week,” Foxy pointed out, frowning. “Though yeah, it does seem like they more reciprocate rather than respond...”
“Reciprocate?” Goldie repeated, raising a brow. “I didn’t know you knew such a big word.” Foxy rolled his eyes.
“They respond equally to what they’re given,” Freddy mused aloud, pulling a notebook out of his bookbag. “You gave them passing comments that were never said to them, they gave you passing comments that were never said to you. Creol directly confronts Salvage, and they directly responded back, bark to bite.”
“And revealed that Ashley Creol’s just a racist little bitch,” Chica bit out, her eyes narrowing. “I am so done with that stereotypical barbiedoll.”
“We cut Creol out and it gives us more credibility with Salvage and them, too,” Goldie put in, frowning. “‘Cause frankly, I want nothin’ to do with her at this point.”
“But causes questions with the rest of school,” Freddy countered, shaking his head. “It would seem strange and suspicious if we just suddenly dumped Creol off for no “real” reason- offhand comments like that...”
“Everyone knows Creol is a tattle,” Foxy snorted, leaning back and picking up one of the yearbooks in his left hand. He laid it down on his lap and flipped it open, quickly locating their fifth grade class. “Amanda Benson, fifth grade- she was Creol’s best friend back then.” Foxy didn’t like thinking about Benson; she had been so sweet and considerate, one of the few popular people who didn’t follow the “talk about the weird kids” trend. What happened just ain’t fair. “Last I heard of her, Benson dropped outt’a school after Creol went ‘round tellin’ everyone that she got herself pregnant and didn’t know who the father was.”
He glanced up and noticed Goldie watching him, a strange look in his eyes, but whatever the bear was thinking he didn’t voice it. Oddly enough, though, Goldie didn’t look away.
“Basically,” Chica continued Foxy’s thought, “her words earlier today paired with her actions over the last few years are reason enough to cut ties between us and her, and have a valid reason when people ask.”
“Exactly,” Foxy agreed, nodding and looking back down at the page. “If anyone asks, just say she revealed herself to be a racist, and remind ‘em about Benson.”
“And Matthew Smith,” Bonnie added.
“Alyssa Cinch,” Freddy supplied.
“Anita Jackson.”
“Thomas Andrews.”
Foxy boredly observed the page as his friends just continued listing off names. Something wasn’t quite right about the page he was on, he realized. He scanned over the pictures, frowning. There’s Blanc, lookin’ dazed as usual... and there’s Fischbach- smiling, but somehow remainin’ neutral. Leave it to that bear to find a way to make a smile neutral. Something about the way they were looking out bothered Foxy.
“Deana Greene.”
“Marcus Browne.”
There’s Salvage, actually... up... Why is Salvage up there? He glanced down at Salvage’s name.
Spring Evans.
He just stared at that name for several seconds, just trying to figure out what he was seeing. When he looked up again, Goldie was staring straight at him, watching him expectantly.
The yearbooks are on his desk instead of the shelf, Foxy suddenly realized, glancing back down at the pictures on the page. He’s... seen this already.
“Some things just escape our notice.”
“Darrius Mark.”
“I think that’s all of them?”
“No, there’s also Abriana Shay and Tatiana Freefield.”
The smiles were flat, he noticed, the eyes dazed- on all of them, not just Blanc. That’s what looks so wrong. It’s so... hidden but so obvious, how did we miss that?
Vivien Blanc, the name read just as he had expected to see. Vivien Blanc. Really looking at the picture, however, he noticed something... different. In the picture, though Blanc’s distant smile and dazed eyes were so... well... Blanc, the fox was wearing a dark blue hoodie.
Blanc didn’t wear hoodies. Ever.
It’s been nearly seven years since this picture was taken, Foxy reasoned, slowly closing the yearbook and looking back towards Goldie. The bear had by then turned his attention to their other friends.
Foxy set the yearbook down on Goldie’s desk and put his right hand back on, frowning slightly to himself as he flexed the fingers. It was so obvious, now.
No, it was obvious all along. Ya just didn’t really look until now.
He hated the feeling of guilt coiling in his stomach. He hated that little whisper in his mind, telling him how obvious it was, how he should have noticed years ago. Should have noticed everything.
How could we’ve been so blind?