Chapter Text
“Ehehehe… EHHEHEHEHE!” Redd cackled as he stuck his paw into one of the three bell pouches perched on his lap, letting the little golden coins slip between his fingers as he watched them glint in the hot afternoon sun, his lips peeling back in a foxy grin. He’d sat for the entire afternoon slouched on his olive-coloured lounge chair, sipping lazily on his no-longer-soda-filled glass, a smug look of satisfaction in his squinted, sunglasses-shaded eyes as he revelled in the way slurping his empty drink irritated the other shopkeepers.
Eventually, their disgruntled groans and scornful looks stopped entertaining him and he began chewing on the sodden end of his stripy paper straw with needle-like teeth, immediately discarding the glass and letting it roll off the side of his chair with no more acknowledgement of it than a flick of his tail as it fell into the long, lush summer grass. He was quickly interrupted though, as a skunk shaped figure stepped in front of his sun, shrouding him entirely in a horrible, cold, shadow.
“Eh? What’s the big idea, buddy? If ya want some art there are less irritating ways to ask!” Said Redd, lifting his shades from his eyes as he heaved himself up to talk face-to-face with the shoe seller.
“I ain’t here to buy any of your forgeries, Redd.” Kicks replied unsympathetically, hand on hip as he watched Redd stretch his aching back, a disapproving look in his big red eyes.
“Look, either you come to me to buy or you don’t come to me at all! Get outta my sun!” Redd spat, shaking the frayed end of the straw at him.
“There’s going to be a newcomer to the market today.” Kicks continued, completely ignoring his words as he snatched the straw from him between his two fingers, flicking it onto the grass with a grimace. “So I came ‘ere to suggest you clean up and at least try to make a good impression.”
“The hell do you care?” Redd growled, baring his teeth at Kicks.
“I’m not doing it for you, I'm doing it for the new guy!’ He snapped back at him. “Anyway, it’s your choice whether you want to. All we ask is that you have a little sympathy.” He concluded, walking off with crossed arms and finally giving Redd back his sunlight.
He flopped back down into his chair and resumed soaking up the heat, flicking his shades back onto his eyes with a swift movement of his paw.
“We?” He muttered under his breath. What, is everyone else conspiring against me? He crossed his arms, pulling in his legs and tail toward his chest and grumbled to himself like an angry kid. And like I didn’t already know anyway! He thought. The unpainted trailer had been sitting in the back of the open field for weeks now. It didn’t take the detective skills of Sherlock Holmes to realise that the empty plot had been sold off to someone and that they’d been prepping it for their arrival.
Suddenly, Redd’s ears pricked at the familiar sound of the seaplane’s motor, and he turned his muzzle to the sky to see its white underbelly fast approaching the shore of the little island. Immediately the other shopkeepers started flocking to the dock like zoo animals about to be fed, all except Redd who stubbornly stayed put, his ginger fur blowing in the breeze created by the small stampede.
He listened to the sound of the plane door opening, then all the chatter and cooing from the islanders as the newcomer stepped out. Ugh. Gross. Where was his personal welcome parade when he arrived on Harv’s island, anyway? Whatever. He didn’t need one. Bells were miles better than parades. The thought brought the smile back to his face and he chuckled to himself, swinging his legs off the chair and walked up to his door. He stepped inside, closing it with a metallic bang.
The interior of his trailer was his usual olive and leaf green colour, dim and just a little musty with the smell of wet paint, the only light seeping through the small windows filtered yellow by the old curtains. It was cluttered with paintings stacked high on the little floorspace, a couple propped up on the counters with paintbrushes and jam jars filled with brown paint water completely claiming the sink, the cupboards with their thin green doors falling off their hinges stuffed full with bags of bells. Redd looked around proudly at his little den with his paws rested on his hips. Just how he liked it.
He squeezed through the narrow pathway he’d made between the junk and flopped onto the futon at the end of the trailer, the end of it pushed right up against the cooler he kept some of the raffle prizes in, the pillow directly underneath the easel currently holding his latest forged artwork, draped in a paint-stained sheet. He crawled under the blanket and stared up at the bottom of the easel, feeling his little ego boost wear off and the jealousy start to trickle back. He pulled the blanket over his shoulder and turned to the wall of the trailer, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to sleep off his bitter feelings.
---
Redd’s eyes shot open as a rap on his door unpleasantly woke him, even the lightest knocks causing the door to shake violently. The sound reverberated through the metallic walls and rang in his ears, vibrating in the floor beneath him. He shot upright and hit his head on the wooden easel.
“Y-- Yeah! I’ll be right there!” He yelled out as he rubbed the growing bruise on his head, trying not to sound too annoyed. He scrambled out of bed, fighting with the blanket and trash along the way to the door, trying to free his legs from the mass of paintings.
“What’cha doin’ here anyway?!” He began, pushing the last painting off him as he reached for the door handle. “Can’t you see I’m clo--” He trailed off as he finally made it to the entrance and swung the door open. “Oh. It’s.. You.”
There, at his doorstep, stood a little sloth. He had brown, coarse fur like the unbrushed hair of a well-loved stuffed animal, with a white, heart-shaped face and dark black eyes rimmed with chocolate-coloured circles that ran down his rose-blushed cheeks, a sweet, W-shaped smile with cherry coloured lips spread across his brown muzzle, at its tip a small nose like a little chocolate button. His entire face was practically drowning in his bouquet, filled to the brim with yellow and white flowers, his long, furry arms wrapped tightly around the clear, rosy pink, crinkly plastic that held the ensemble of flowers together.
“My sincerest apologies! I didn’t mean to disturb you. Were you… Sleeping?” Said the sloth, with a voice sweet as honey.
Redd shaded his eyes, the sun was shining right into them. It lay lower to the horizon now and the sky radiated a deep golden colour, he must’ve slept for a couple hours. Suddenly he realised how obviously he’d just woken up. His eyes were weighed down with bags and he leaned lazily against the doorframe with half his entire body pressed against it, his fur all frazzled from tossing and turning in his sleep and from fighting with all his trash.
“Oh-- Oh! No, I wasn’t sleeping.” He said confidently as he jolted upright, wiping the spit from the corner of his mouth and attempted to brush his fur back down to normal. “I was just…” He looked over his shoulder, eyeing the mess he’d made as he looked for an excuse. “Cleaning.”
“Oh, good! I was worried I’d woken you.” The sloth sighed in relief. He unwrapped one arm from the bouquet and held it out for Redd to shake. “I’m Leif.”
He accepted the handshake. “Redd.”
“I’m so happy to meet you, Redd! This is for you.” He smiled sheepishly, slowly holding out the bouquet for him to take.
“F-for… Me?” Redd stuttered as he reached for his gift and took it into his own arms. Well, that was unexpected. He turned to the inside of his trailer to find a place to put it, but only saw paintings strewn across the floor. “Er, I’ll just… Put it here.” He muttered to himself as he balanced the bouquet on top of a couple canvases propped up against the wall. “...There.”
“Redd?” Leif called out to him.
He swivelled around at the sound of his name, clumsily bumping into the doorframe. “Yes?”
“I know you’re closed but… Do you mind if you could show me what you sell?”
Normally Redd would just tell someone to buzz off after closing, closed means closed, after all. But the little sloth’s eyes were so cute… He might as well, right? “Alright. Let me show ya what I got.”
Leif let out a little cheer and Redd grabbed a couple random paintings from the pile. Jumping onto the grass with a thud, he walked over to the metal painting stands and hung them up: the two being a genuine copy of “Sunflowers”, and a forged copy of “Lady with a white ermine”.
“Welcome to Crazy Redd’s! The place everyone goes to when they’re looking for only the finest art! Go ahead, take your pick. And hey, get close so I can whisper in your ear…” Redd beckoned Leif with his paw, and he stood with his ear to Redd’s mouth. “You seem like a real stand-up guy.. So don’t tell anyone else… I might just give ya an exclusive cousin’s discount! Just for you! But we just have to wait and see, don't we?”
Leif stepped away with a smile and began admiring the paintings as Redd looked on intently, waiting for him to make a decision. Selling art? Now he was in his element! No more stumbling over what to do when someone brings you a gift. Now this was something he knew how to do.
Leif seemed to take a liking to the “Lady with a white ermine”, and Redd watched as he held up a single ivory-coloured claw to the painting, long and sharp, looking as if it could do some damage. About to call out to him, Redd stopped himself as he saw him make such gentle contact with the paint, feeling the individual strokes Redd had once carefully placed with such a ginger touch. Well, it was probably to be supposed that a gardener would know how to be gentle for his plants, and Redd felt a little silly for not assuming sooner.
“How much does this one cost?” Leif asked softly, slowly turning his head to face him.
Redd didn’t answer, staring into the painting with a glassy gaze, arms crossed behind his back as he walked around Leif to stand face-to-face with it. He knew full well that painting was just as fake as he was.
Truth was, he didn’t want to sell a forged painting to the little sloth.
“‘Lady with a white ermine’, huh?” He mumbled, fighting with himself in his head on what he was about to do. He took the painting from the stand and turned to Leif to show him, running his finger along the grey-striped ermine. “This isn’t a white ermine at all!” He forced himself to say with fake surprise.
“My! What does that mean?” Leif gasped, holding his three-toed paws over his mouth.
“It’s fake!” Redd exclaimed, the words like razors in his mouth.
“What now, Redd?”
“I’ll have to dispose of it immediately. In the meantime, you can have this one. 2,000 bells.” He said, handing him the genuine painting. “You know… I just… Don't.. Know.. how. This. Happened.” It felt as if Redd had to reach into the back of his throat to drag out the dishonest words, as they tried so desperately to stay inside.
“Oh, thank you!” Leif said, handing Redd the bells.
“Ya won’t regret it…” He squeaked, taking the bells absent-mindedly as he watched as Leif happily bounded away, his back slouched and his jaw completely on the floor. Well, that was the first time he ever gave an actual discount.
He watched as Leif ran up to Reese and Cyrus to proudly show them his new painting, but the two didn’t return his happy little smile. Their concerned expressions brought Redd back to his senses, and he lifted his head again warily, his teeth exposed and eyebrows turned downward. As Reese leant down to whisper something in Leif’s ear, his smile melted away. Redd kept looking on at the scene, a sense of dread creeping up on him that pinned his ears to the side of his head. Do they really hate me that much?
He stopped gawking as Cyrus shot him a sideways glance, confirming his suspicions. He scurried away, slinking into the dimness of his trailer and fell onto his knees as soon as the safe embrace of the darkness engulfed him, door slamming behind him. But why do I care so much? He thought. The little sloth was bound to find out how much of a fraud he was eventually, and it’s not like he ever bothered to hide it so much anyway. Why did he now? What was different? What was different… About him?
Redd got back onto his feet and stepped up to the window at the front of his trailer. He stood on his toes and brushed the stained curtain to the side, peering out of the foggy glass to see Leif walking back up to his own silver trailer, painting in hand. Redd couldn’t see his expression through the blur, and he lowered himself onto the balls of his feet once more with a dejected sigh, running his paw down the metal wall.
He spat to himself. He didn’t care. Besides, he had bells.
What more could a fox need?
