The Fire Triangle, A Zootopia Fan-Fiction -- Prologue, Escape From Zoo York

The Fire Triangle, A Zootopia Fanfiction -- Prologue, Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Zootopia stories, characters, settings, and properties belong to the Walt Disney Co. This story is written under Fair Use Copyright laws.

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The Fire Triangle - A Zootopia Fanfiction

Prologue - Escape From Zoo York

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Chapter 3

In fact, Dylan Yeats wasn't all that much older than Nick Wilde had been the night he tried to join the Junior Ranger Scouts-two, maybe three years older at most. It made the guitar lying across his lap looks almost comically large; hard to believe that he was the animal playing so well only a few seconds ago.

Dylan was also a silver fox, not a species in its own right, but a color phase of the red fox. Like his red-furred cousins, he had deep-black legs and forearms, but at the point any similarity between Dylan Yeats and a red fox was purely coincidental; his underside, tail, ears and muzzle were all the same obsidian hue as his points; the rest of his fur was a bright gloss gray with black undercurrents, (giving his coat the appearance of dark silver, hence the name of his color scheme.)

But the young fox's most striking feature was his eyes. Silver foxes usually have dark brown eyes but his were yellow-amber in color, (actually the most common eye-color for a red fox.) Set against the blackness of his face however, they appeared to glow like twin furnace vents. It was a distinguishing characteristic to say the least-and it explained the pair of mirrored, wraparound sunglasses, nestled in the envelope beneath Kieran McCrodon's arm.

He had been outfitted for the occasion with a fresh, green-on-blue plaid shirt, a collarless, dark-blue undershirt, a denim jacket, and a clean, but well-worn pair of dungarees. No chains or rings adorned his furson...only a nondescript wristwatch.

In short, Dylan was dressed not to impress, but to blend in...no small feat since he was anything but your standard, run-of-the-mill adolescent fox.

Take the room where he lived for example; it looked nothing like the typical dwelling of a boy his age. One wall consisted entirely of bookshelves...half of which were stacked, not with young adult fiction as one might expect, but with much more esoteric material, Alexander Dumouse, Robert Louis Stevenison, and H. Rider Hoggard to name just three. The works of J.K. Growling were nowhere to be seen, but those of J.R.R. Molekein were all prominently on display.

And these were only the fictional volumes; the books occupying the other shelves were even more out of step with their owner's age; four rows of TEXTBOOKS, books on math, science, engineering, and several works of history. All of them were dog-eared and two were out or date, but they were schoolbooks nonetheless

On the other paw, the shelves lining the opposite wall were stacked with items much more consistent with a grade school kid, computer-gaming DVDs, a few action figures, an RC drone and assorted other knickknacks. The far end of the room was occupied by an impressive looking desktop computer, (courtesy of Kieran, and upon which the young fox was still only halfway proficient.) Next to this was a pair of small amplifiers, a pedalboard, and two guitar stands, one of them empty the other occupied by an acoustic six. The wall above was pasted with an assortment of posters showing several different rock guitarists, not thrashers or headbangers but 'real players' as the young fox always referred to them, David Gilmare, Jeff Buck, George Hareson, and most prominently on display, an obscure but amazing folk-rock guitarist named Richard Tomcat.