CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The house is nice, with all of the trappings of old money. Marble furnishings, alabaster stone walls with brass details. The book Sylvia is reading is bound with a leather cover, a thought that makes Poppy squirm. Leather was outlawed hundreds of years ago for obviousreasons, and Foxx was handling it like a normal book. Does she even realize what she has?

She's wearing a dress, ruby red with a deep neckline. It goes down to her shins, and sparkles in the night. She's gorgeous, but it's all to make her look more intimidating. Poppy barely has time to notice the painting on the wall, human sportsmen hunting for foxes.

"You know, in the days of my ancestors foxes ate rabbits like you."

"What's stopping you?"

Foxx raises her eyebrow at this, she isn't used to any of her talent standing up to her.

"Let me make things clear, about how the world of entertainment works. My family has been in this line of work for six generations, going back to the beginning of canid rule. We've held our fortunes close to us, bought out countless families and their names. We own this business, and we're very used to getting our way by any means necessary. Imagine how I must feel that I can't get a hold of my top talent for a whole week because some stuck up deer refuses to put you on the phone.

"You signed a contract, and so long as I have you under that contract you're going to do as I say. Every appearance, every talkshow, every t-shirt. It can be revised further in my favor if you stray too far, I've done conservatorships before, I know how they work in and out. I have sway."

Poppy realizes that it's only her and Foxx in the house, nobody around to hear her screaming. If she's not careful this could all go very poorly.

"I'm a private citizen, I have my rights."

Foxx laughs, a sharp dangerous chuckle. "You're as public as they come now, rabbit. Sit down."

She takes her coat and lays it down on the couch cushion where she sits, so that she doesn't get it messy. It looks too dainty for a steam cleaning. "You know what, you're right. You're used to getting your way and I'm not used to getting mine. You are the predator and I amprey. This is known between us." Every stutter and pause is another nail in the coffin, but she has to press on. "But I hold more power than you'd think. You can't make another me, not easily. You can lock me up, own me, do whatever you want but you can't reproduce me. I'm one of a kind!" She leans back as much as she can without making contact, it's too scratchy. Is it natural fibers?

Foxx looks like she's about to speak but Poppy interrupts her. "Let's say a contract can be renegotiated, a sort of protection of investment. I'm no good to you all burned out and depressed, so let's change the conditions. I want to go back to WWAK, I want smalltime. If people listen, so be it, but I don't want to be the center of the world anymore like I am on WSUN. The GM there was trying to another time slot out of me, it won't happen. I won't do any more shows, any more interviews, any more fan club meetings than I personally want to."

"And how does any of this benefit me?"

"I stay with you, in your network, on your payroll. The podcast alone will still make all the money in the world, we'll both live comfortably. I can always leave altogether, go to another station who will treat me better, or I could even go back to Maine and stay there. You really would need a warrant to get me out."

Poppy manages to look away from Foxx and sees a sword on the mantle. It's a saber, beautiful hilt. It doesn't look decorative, though, it looks used. She catches a glance at another hilt in the umbrella basket, and suddenly it clicks. That's where she recognized her name!

"Sylvia Wainscott, the fencer! I thought I knew you from somewhere! I fenced all through school, you were my idol."

Foxx looks genuinely shocked at this, almost emotional. She stands up slowly, walks towards Poppy, and pulls her up by the collar. Poppy rises to her feet on her own accord, but the tugging doesn't help. She's helpless in the predators grasp, her life could be over for all she knew.

She throws the rabbit to the ground, and poppy almost slides across the polished hardwood. It hurts, bad, but she has to get up. She was really looking forward a Kayes sandwich for lunch, is it too late to go back north and get one?

"I loved fencing. It was my life for the better part of ten years, I was the fucking best. If you recognize my name I'm sure you know my story already, Winning silver at the international tournament. You might not know that before I could try for gold my family found me and pulled me back. I had to carry on the Foxx name. I couldn't have children, that was for my brothers. I was just meant to run the tv and radio stations across 12 major markets and live in this wonderful house, alone of course."

Foxx straightened her dress, ran her hand under her nose, and took the saber down from the mantle. She walked to Poppy slowly, slipping out of her heels and stepping as quietly as possible on the hardwood. "I can sympathize with you on some level, having your passions stomped in by reality. But I know well enough that your passion will be underutilized at that third-rate shoebox station. Just like mine is wasted behind a desk, my svelte frame left to waste without proper training."

"Get up, prey. Fight me. Help me feel alive again."

Foxx put her paw down on the small of poppy's back, holding it in place. She has the Poppy right where she wants her, and vice versa. Poppy speaks the best she can, her windpipe being restricted. "If I win, the contract goes my way, deal?"

"Deal. Now fight, bitch."

She does her best to pop up, throwing Foxx off her balance. She faces her for an instant before running to the other saber. She barely has the time to grab something from the umbrella basket and parry the predators attack. The umbrella was too light in her hands, she swung too hard and it went flying out of her grip, taking Foxx's saber with it. Foxx dove for her blade, with an agility that drove something primal within the rabbit. She made a noise unfamiliar, something from deep in the throat. She grabbed the actual saber out of the basket and again perfectly parried an oncoming attack.



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