Stewie’s Sinister Styles is a clash of dark colors and noise, racks packed with graphic tees, studded belts, jeans of many sizes and styles (including artificially ripped), and cheap trinkets and jewelry. Posters of punk bands and edgy cartoon characters plaster the walls, and rock music blasts from the speakers resting on shelves near the ceiling.
The real Lexanne (in her teenage years) darts between the racks like a dragonfly, her dark dress swishing around her knees, the white spiderweb pattern stark against the black fabric. Her brown eyes are alight with excitement as she pulls out item after item, holding them up to her body and twirling to show Jayson, also a teenager.
"Ooh, look at this one, Jay! It's perfect!" gushes Lexanne, brandishing a crimson blouse top with black lace trim. "And it would go so well with these pants!"
She grabs a pair of black skinny jeans, and Jayson leans against a display of folded clothes and cheap jewelry, trying his best to look interested. He's never been one for clothes shopping, preferring the simplicity of his standard outfit - blue shirt, dark coat and pants.
"Yeah, looks great, Lex," says Jayson, mustering a smile. "You'd look amazing in anything, though.”
Lexanne beams at Jayson's compliment, a blush heating her cheeks underneath her white fur. She leans in close, her breath warm against Jayson's ear.
"Maybe I'll model them for you later," purrs Lexanne, her voice low and sultry. "A private fashion show, just for you."
Jayson swallows hard, his heart rate spiking. Before he can formulate a response, Lexanne spins away with a hearty giggle, her dark hair fanning out behind her. She continues her whirlwind shopping spree, piling her arms high with goth inspired garments, which includes the blouse and jeans.
As they venture deeper into the store, the riot of gothic fashion gradually gives way to a softer, more whimsical section with brighter lights. Baskets overflowing with skeins of yarn in every imaginable color line the shelves, nestled between displays of knitting needles, crochet hooks, and pattern books.
Lexanne's ears perk up, and she veers towards the yarn with an excited squeal. "Oh my gosh, look at all this! I had no idea Stewie's shop had a crafting section!"
Jayson follows, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Yeah, me neither. I thought this place was all about the edgy stuff."
A hand-painted wooden sign hangs above the yarn display, reading "Cameron's Crochet" in elegant, looping script. Beneath it sits an elderly female badger in a cozy floral armchair, her deft paws working a crochet hook through a half-finished afghan in variegated shades of blue and green. She looks up as Lexanne and Jayson approach, a warm smile crinkling the corners of her eyes.
"Well, hello there, dears!" she says, her voice warm and crackly with age. "Welcome to Cameron's Crochet.”
“Aww~” coos Lexanne. She plops the large amount of clothes on Jayson's arms, catching off guard. “When did you set this up?”
“Just last week. I couldn't afford to open a shop, so Stewie opened the back part of the store for me,” says Cameron.
“That's sweet of him,” says Lexanne. She grabs a skein of blue yarn and holds it to Jayson's face, smirking. “Ha! First try. This color matches your eyes perfectly.”
Jayson arches a brow. “What?”
“All this yarn has given me a burst of inspiration. With winter coming, you're going to need a scarf. And I'm going to make you one.”
Jayson rolls eyes but smiles anyway. “You don't know how to sew.”
“Silly boy. It's crochet,” says Cameron. “And I'll be more than happy to teach your lovely wife how to make a scarf.”
“Oh, we're not married,” says Lexanne.
“Not yet,” says Cameron, her old eyes twinkling. “But I will teach you for free. How does that sound?”
Lexanne grins and clamps her hands together. “That sounds lovely.”
*****
Jayson rubs his dirty blue scarf between his fingers while looking at the building lot that used to belong to Stewie and Cameron. The once vibrant, edgy clothing store has been gutted and repurposed into Chopper's Car Shop, its grungy exterior a stark contrast to the clash of gothic and whimsical yarn that formerly populated the structure.
The front of the shop has been by a large garage door, its corrugated metal surface splattered with grease stains and flecks of rust. A flickering neon sign above the entrance reads "Chopper's Car Shop" in sputtering red lettering. The brick facade is soot-stained and crumbling in places, a testament to years of neglect.
To the side of the main building stretches a vast lot filled with scrapped cars in various states of disrepair. The abandoned vehicles lie in haphazard rows, their rusted bodies picked clean of any valuable parts. Shattered windshields and gaping hoods reveal the gutted interiors, a graveyard of automotive skeletons.
A towering chain-link fence surrounds the lot, topped with spirals of razor wire that trap tattered plastic bags and wind-blown debris.
The large garage door is open, revealing the shop's interior. Harsh fluorescent lights hang from the high ceiling, illuminating the concrete floor stained with years of oil and grease. Lining the walls are shelves crammed with spare parts - engines, transmissions, axles, and more. Tools of every imaginable size and shape hang from racks, organized in a haphazard fashion that only the workers seem to understand.
In the center of the shop, a hydraulic lift holds up an SUV. Squirrels and rabbits work around each other, tools whirring, buzzing and grinding as they operate on the vehicle.
On his way across the street to the auto shop, Jayson weaves through a small group of rabbits standing in a circle. Their eyes are dilated, and they are swaying and twitching while muttering gibberish to each other. After Jayson passes through them, his walk turns into a full-on run, and one of the workers at the shop sees him and shouts at his teammates.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“It’s the Hobo Warrior Bunny!”
The rest stop working and snap their heads to Jayson, and they all growl and brandish their tools like weapons.
Jayson sprints towards them, his cosmic wooden weapon gripped tightly in his hand. The mechanics at Chopper's Car Shop fan out, forming a semicircle as their lips curl to snarls, revealing their ugly teeth. When Jayson gets past the garage doorway, a burly rabbit with oil-stained overalls swings a heavy wrench at him.
The aura from Jayson's weapon pulses outward, engulfing the group and slowing them down. The swing comes closer, and Jayson slides past the burly rabbit and whacks him in the side. The rabbit flies off his feet, and a wiry squirrel brings a rusted crowbar against Jayson's head.
Jayson blocks the attack, disarms the squirrel and kicks away. Another squirrel leaps towards him, spinning a chain, and Jayson whacks the squirrel’s leg, putting him a tumble that leads to him face planting the concrete floor.
The others rush in, a sluggish flurry of swinging tools and furious shouts. Jayson weaves between them with ease, his movements fluid and precise. He parries a blow from a tire iron, the clang of wood on metal ringing out, then spins to deliver a devastating kick to a rabbit's chest, sending him flying back into a shelf of spare parts.
The shelf breaks, covering the rabbit in scrap, and Jayson becomes a whirlwind of motion, his cosmic wooden weapon a blur as he blocks, counters, and strikes with blinding speed in the time dilation aura.
He ducks under a wild haymaker from a squirrel, the breeze from the punch ruffling his tousled brown hair. In the same fluid motion, Jayson slams the hilt of his weapon into the squirrel's gut, doubling him over. He follows up with a vicious uppercut, the crack of wood on bone echoing through the shop.
Spinning on his heel, Jayson faces the burly rabbit mechanic head-on again. The rabbit roars, charging forward with his wrench raised high. Jayson blocks the attack, when the burly rabbit goes for another swing, Jayson disarms him and whacks him across garage, leading to him crashing into garbage cans.
The remaining mechanics circle warily, their eyes darting between Jayson and their fallen comrades. Jayson's heart races, hard and heavy, with the aura slowly weakening, but he musters a smile and beckons the thugs forward with a taunting flick of his weapon.
"Come on, then! Who's next? Don't be shy,” says Jayson.
Two squirrels rush him from opposite sides and Jayson becomes a whirlwind of motion, his cosmic wooden weapon a blur as he parries, strikes, and counters with superhuman speed and precision.
A squirrel lunges at him with a razor-sharp screwdriver, aiming for Jayson's throat. But Jayson deflect the blow and in the same fluid motion, he pivots and whacks the squirrel's temple, dropping him like a sack of bolts.
As this happens, two rabbits rush him with heavy hammers. He leaps and rolls away from their swings and sweeps his leg out in a wide arc, knocking one’s footing out, causing them to hit the ground hard, the wind driven from their lungs. He blocks the second one's hammer, disarms him and flips him to the ground, finishing with a stomp to his gut. The rabbit yelps and curls, and more thugs charge Jayson.
Jayson spins his weapon and runs towards them, yelling out a battle cry.
Outside the shop, in the car graveyard, the sounds of struggle and angry shouts are muffled. A few quick seconds later, a screaming thug flies through one of the dirty windows and rolls across the asphalt, coming to a stop at the base of a tower of wrecked cars.
The door breaks open and another thug bounces across the asphalt. Jayson matches through the broken door and skillfully strikes down more thugs and evades their attacks or counters with hard strikes of his own.
When Jayson gets to the last thug, he whacks out their hammer and then hits them on the side, sending them bouncing and rolling until they hit the fence, shaking it hard.
After that, Jayson takes a deep breath and rubs his aching heart while he looks around at the scattered thugs, all beaten to a pulp and shifting on the ground, cursing through their bloodied teeth.
“What’s your deal, man?” groans one of the thugs.
“Ramsey Prosper. I want him. I was told he was here.” says Jayson.
“What? There ain’t any Ramsey here.”
“Are you sure you were told the right place? I mean, there’s our shop, and then there’s Chipper’s Car Shop,” says another thug.
The beat-up thugs groan, and some swear under their strained breaths.
“Dude, shut up!” says one of the battered thugs.
Jayson’s eye twitches, and his hand clenches his weapon painfully tight. “Chipper’s… Shop…”
“Yeah, Chipper’s Shop in the next town over,” says the snitch.
The thugs groan again, and Jayson’s brain snaps.
****
Chipper’s Car Shop is a stark contrast to the grungy, dilapidated state of Chopper's Car Shop. Gleaming white tiles reflect the warm glow of the overhead lights, not a single oil stain or scuff mark marring their pristine surface. The air smells faintly of lemon-scented cleaner and freshly brewed coffee, which is no surprise due to the complimentary coffee station and air freshener trees.
Ramsey Prosper sits in a comfortable chair in the waiting area, foot tapping the floor and his hands holding a magazine that he’s halfheartedly reading. Near him are a pair of coyote guards.
The door to the garage opens, and a middle-aged rabbit with neatly groomed salt and pepper fur emerges, wearing a white padded bodysuit, and a patch on his chest reads “Chipper” in cursive.
“Mr. Prosper, your car is ready to see you,” says Chipper with a warm smile spread.
“Is my car okay, doctor?” asks Ramsey, standing up and wringing his hands nervously.
“Your car is fine,” assures Chipper. “We changed the oil, rotated the tires, and gave it new spark plugs. Running good as new.”
Ramsey sighs with relief. “That’s good.”
Chipper gives Ramsey a small goodie bag. “Here you go. A bottle of fuel injector cleaner, cleaning wipes, and pine scented air freshener tree for your car. Compliments of the shop.”
Ramsey takes the bag, beaming. “Thanks, Chipper. You’re the best.”
“That’s because at Chipper’s, we treat you and your car like family.”
Chipper finishes with a grin and thumbs up, eyes and teeth sparkling.
****
Jayson stares off into space, eyes dim and ears limp. “Chipper’s…”
“Having a bad day, Hobo Warrior Bunny?” says Mortimer suddenly, his booming voice echoing over the lot.
Jayson turns around and sees Mortimer standing on top of a pile of skeletal cars. He hops down the pile until he lands not too far from Jayson. He stands up, grinning from ear to ear, wearing his special equipment, and adjusting his gloves.
“That’s a shame. But I gotta admit, it’s funny seeing you look all sad and mad at once because of mess up,” says Mortimer.
Jayson’s muscles hurt as he strains a smile, and he points at Mortimer's gear with his weapon.
“Hey, you got your thingy fixed,” says Jayson.
“Yeah. I guess I had a warranty,” says Mortimer.
“Good for you. Hey, can you be a pal and tell me where I can find Ramsey Prosper?”
“No.”
“Alright, I guess I’m going home.”
Jayson turns to leave but stops when a sharp piece of metal zips past his head and is impaled in the wall. Jayson turns around, and his eye twitches when he sees Mortimer levitating a lot of sharp and blunt metal junk from the ruined vehicles.
The injured thugs hobble away, dragging their partners with them and getting clear of Jayson and Mortimer.
“Oh no. You're not going anywhere. I'm going to kill you, Hobo. I'm going to kill you so hard that people are going to forget that you exist, and then I will get my money from Mama Bear, and I can go home with my money and buy stuff!”
“How are you going to get paid if you kill me so hard that Mama Bear forgets I exist?”
There is a moment of silence between the two, ending when Mortimer sneers.
“I’m going to kill you, now,” says Mortimer.
Mortimer launches the metal rubble at Jayson, and he leaps through the broken window, bounces and rolls past unconscious thugs, and hops to his feet. He skids back and braces himself while Mortimer stomps through the doorway and rolls his neck.
“Alright, you're mad,” says Jayson as he adjusts his grip on his weapon.
Mortimer shakes his head and wags his finger. “Oh no, trust me, I’m not mad. I’m just really annoyed at you.”
Jayson grins. “Alright... Well, let's fight it out. If I win, you tell me where Ramsey is. If I lose-”
“Then I kill you.”
“No, we already established that’s off limits like a day or two ago.”
Mortimer growls and spreads his hands out. The gloves crackle and spark, and the tools, shelves, and junk parts levitate off the walls, taking bits of debris with them, and Jayson cringes and steps back.
“Oh shit,” says Jayson.