2020 is the year of Wilson's Wildlife Solutions. Thank you to the following critters:
Looks like these two are my star critters, they've been on I think every single tale thus far! Thank you both! Also, today this author post is greeted by a deleted scene! That's right, there were over 1,000 words cut from this tale, here if you want to read them! It was decided that the ending as is is good enough, but this was a scene that ended the tale originally. Here goes:
Tim opened the drawer with his right hand and pulled out a small container. After struggling to open the container with his shaky, unsure hands, he retrieved a half-finished cigar. Placing it in his mouth, he raised a lighter, and began to preemptively feel the strangely calming effect of nicotine. Tim sighed, and closed his eyes. His legs were becoming heavy, as if weighed down by wet pants just pulled out of a river. He listened to the low, anxious hum from outside the door and took in a few deep breaths. In, out. In, out. In, and then out. He continued like this until he heard heavy footsteps coming down the hall.
"Dad," Robin's voice met his ears, "they're ready."
Tim opened his eyes on the small improvised green room. "Alright," he replied. "I'll be out in a moment."
"A-are you smoking?"
Tim gave a weak smile. "Just a birthday present I got two years ago. Felt like the occasion."
Robin gave him a squinted gaze. "You could have used this time to practice your speech."
"Don't have a speech to practice, son. It's gonna come from the heart."
"That's dumb. But alright. They love you, so it'll probably work."
"That's the hope."
Robin nodded. "I've got to go take a seat. See you."
"See you too, Robin."
Tim drew in another few deep breaths of the sweet, stinging smoke, and then put the now quarter of a cigar back into its case. He forced a hiss out of his nose a couple times, trying to find the energy to go out. Feeling himself nervous, he sidled to the mirror, and tried one of his anti-stage right tricks. He stared at himself, up and down, and then said: "I am a big ape." He then extended his lips, trying to look as primate as possible. "I'm the big ape that's going to give a speech." He beat his chest like a gorilla, and laughed at himself. He then questioned whether the laugh was forced or genuine. He didn't let himself dwell on it.
"Alright," he whispered. "Enough monkeying around." The pun washed off of him like water off of a duck's back, so he resolved to actually stop just then. He procrastinated with a stretch or two, another set of deep breaths, and then, before he could doubt himself, he pushed through the door and walked onto the outdoor stage behind the Shelter's main building.
A crowd of colleagues, coworkers, friends, family, and volunteers were seated in row-on-row of fold-out chairs and picnic blankets. He walked up to the mic, and tapped it. Those that hadn't already, shut their mouths and turned their eyes to him. The pressure came upon him like a mudslide, but he attempted to ignore it.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to a special event that I could not think up a name for, and so have taken to calling the Unnamed Special Event, ahaha!" He cleared his throat. "Ahm, we have, all of us, come out of probably the scariest time in the Shelter's history, and… I know that most if not all of you are scared for the future. We don't know exactly where we are going or what is happening. Ah, well, you don't. And I am here… to tell you! The night of the, err, Incident, ah, myself, Laura Irvin, and my sons Anders and Robin, were all taken — er, went, to a meeting with some big and powerful people that had taken interest in us after we, ah, brought so much attention to our little town, let's say. I know many here who have been, mm, apprehensive about the idea of bringing attention to ourselves, and thought that on that night, everything was going to come, well… crashing down."
Tim put a hand on the back of his head and scratched at some feigned itch.
"But notice that we're all still here. That we still have our critters in their enclosures, that we still published our report on the acidity and sediments of the local watershed on time. That we have still been receiving calls and that instead of leaving our building, we fixed that giant hole in it. Oh, and, and, ah, let me take this moment to send Sarah Gardner, who is still in the hospital, my thoughts and prayers, and I will hope you join me."
Tim closed his eyes and held a moment of silence. He hoped others had bowed their heads to join him, but he couldn't be sure. He held at bay a twitch within his arm.
"I have heard that she is just as dedicated as ever, and we can expect her back among us in a month or two. That uh doesn't make it any less scary. Send her a letter or visit her if you have time, please. Um, anyways, in the strangest series of events, we are not only not taking this as a setback, but, but, I am here to tell you of a new wave of ahh, improvements! That is right, I told you this was a celebration and I intend to… deliver on that! May I welcome our new support!" Tim motioned to the door on his right, and out came a blonde woman in a red dress, a towering militant man, and a boy in blue uniform.
"This whole time, I am sure you have been wondering what happened when myself, my sons, and Laura w-uh, went away. Well, I'll tell you. We came face to face with our extraordinary anonymous donor! That is right; since the beginning, a, ah, good portion of our funds has been from… them! And who are they, you may ask? Well, from now on, they would like to be called the Supervisors. And that name is accurate! They have gifted us with a team of highly trained animal catchers, and will be increasing the volume of their donations! Here is the captain of that team, John Schut! Give him a hand!"
The crowd clapped uneasily as the sharp, angular face leaned down and said into the mic: "Hello."
Tim held the mic up for him a little bit longer, but sensed that he wasn't going to take it, nor intended to make any longer speech, and so pulled it back towards himself. "That is right. And farther out is our representative of the US government, FBI Agent Uffe! Oh, and representing the Supervisors at large is Mrs. Turner… oh, and, the difference between her and Schut is, ah, Schut represents the Castaways, our… team! That will help us catch, and, uh, contain our animals." Tim paused. The crowd remained motionless.
"W-we will also be getting new facilities, as provided by the Supervisors. And, everyone here will be available to answer questions as they come." Tim looked to the three stationed on the stage, lightly motioning to them with the mic, hoping one might pick it up and take over for him. But none did. "Ah, we have come to an Agreement, c-uh, capital A, called the Boring Agreement, which has a very fitting title and, um, is long and legal, so… It will be available to everyone to read, but I don't feel like inflicting that upon you, so instead we will be having a, sort of, Q&A here today. Starting, well… now." No one moved. "Um, anyone with any questions about our new setup, please to… raise your hand."
Only birdsong remained. The trees lightly swayed, leaves brushed against one another. The crack of a branch being stepped on, or the crunch of pine needles underfoot sometimes came to their ears. But it was otherwise silent and still, as if the bear had never left, and everyone was frozen to their place.
But then, one hand slowly came up.
Then another, and another, and one after the other, arms raised like a colony of deep-sea fronds. Suddenly, Tim could make out more hands than faces. And just then, he wished for that last quarter of a cigar.
"Alright, we'll go in a snaking pattern, then." Tim pointed to the front-right of the audience. "On the very end there."
And the Unnamed Special Event concluded once people were too exhausted to ask more.
