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Gazelle's Audience (A Zootopia Fanfic)


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“Zootopia is a unique place. It’s a crazy, beautiful, diverse city, where we celebrate our differences. This is not the Zootopia I know. The Zootopia I know is better than this. We don’t just blindly assign blame… We don’t know why these attacks keep happening, but it was irresponsible to label all predators as savages… we cannot let fear divide us. Please, give me back the Zootopia I love…”

 

At least, that was what Gazelle SAID. She was a singer, an entertainer, someone who appeared almost every night in front of millions of other animals be it in front of the stage or over a broadcast. And when it wasn’t a live performance, it was a recording listened to on an iPaw’d or some other music gadget. Her face and voice were well known, so she used them for the best of intentions when she could. Some times that meant a little bit of lying, but who cared as long as she could steer a few minds toward a better mindset? Sure, the rate of predator attacks was rising like crazy, nearly two dozen more in the past week than there had ever been in Zootopia’s history, but that didn’t mean prey like her had to go into a mob frenzy and eject the predators from the city. Zootopia is and always has been about harmony between predator and prey, right?

 

Right?

 

Well the truth was that Gazelle was just as nervous as everybody else. Having predators randomly turning feral was a clear and obvious threat that spoke in grave warning to her baser instincts, making her more alert and jumpy than she’d like to be. Not knowing the cause of it was dangerous, and she wanted the predators out at least until a fix could be found, who could blame that mindset? Once the cameras were out of her face, the reporters that had until now respected her televised interview and stayed silent began bombarding her with questions. Most of them were of course along the lines of “what do you think about blah blah blah,” she couldn’t really keep up. Still, she had to pick out something or other to respond to for another half an hour until her manager came to get her. Most days were like that, it really wasn’t anything new, though she disliked having to show up at unscheduled events, even when she was supposed to be the one organizing them. Even more so when it cut into show prep time, as it forced her makeup and dress artists to work faster to get her ready for the evening show. That made them sloppy.

 

Oh well, breaking news was breaking news. If she had to “take a stand” and let her entourage set up a peace rally- even if she didn’t get informed until the last minute- she’d do it if only because she was the best animal in the entire city for the job of getting everybody to calm down a bit. Still, she wished that somebody could have told her about all of this sooner than just ten minutes before she had to set out for the rally and let her use the bathroom.  The ungulate had to focus slightly on keeping herself from shifting around suspiciously, who knows what particular bits of footage they might use later on? It was always best to avoid giving the dark side of the media the ammo they always threw themselves on the pyre to get, as they could always find some way to edit, quote-mine or outright lie their way to more readers or viewers for themselves and more grief for the subject.

 

After half an hour and a short limo ride back to the stadium, Gazelle was back in her dressing room being prepared for tonight’s performance. This always took much longer than she would have liked, almost an hour dedicated to getting her as prettied up as possible for an audience getting in on overpriced tickets, every night of every week. Holidays were pretty much her only break from the routine, and if she happened to be sick then they’d just put a recording on the mic and let her dance anyway. Oh well, that was the cost of fame and it helped give her voice more weight when it mattered, such as at that rally. As her makeup artists did their thing, Gazelle had to very carefully manage the signals coming from her bladder. After having to skip her usual bathroom break for the peace rally, she figured that it was about six hours since her last pee. This was going to be a big problem if she had to go on stage without relieving herself first, and given the fact that her show prep was started later than usual it looked like she was going to be pushed out the second they were done painting her face.

 

Occasionally, Gazelle would have to discreetly squeeze her thighs together while everybody’s focus was on her face. After a few minutes, one of the artists brought a tiny bottle that was a mere one-to-one with her entire gerbil body up to the much larger singer’s eyes, which quickly grabbed her attention. Nearly knocking the entire fashion application platform over just by tilting her horned head forward, Gazelle interrupted the scurrying experts with a question and the near collapse of the structure, a trolley type cart that would be pulled into place by her own hoof as she sat down, covered in tiny catwalks and makeup racks that extended to jut out over her face.

 

“Hold on, what is that bottle? I don’t think I’ve ever seen it before.”

 

The makeup artists all looked at her, not able to work as long as her face was moving. The one that brought the bottle forward, a gerbil with golden-brown fur, sporting curled hair that stood even more gold as well as an over-applied face, put the bottle down at the end of the highest catwalk and looked down at the subject of her work.

 

“Orders from the manager, Ma’am. He, like, wants you to look like you’ve been crying, cause of that peace rally, y’know? So he ordered, like, an eyedropper thing meant to redden your eyes a bit.”

 

Another addition from the manager that she wasn’t informed about. Oh well, at least this one made sense. Gazelle nodded as softly as she could to keep from shaking the catwalks apart with her own head, then put her head back down into her chair, letting the various rodents get back to work. A hamster continued touching up the color of her cheeks, a mouse kept applying lipstick and making sure it blended perfectly with the fur around her lips and the gerbil picked the eyedropper back up, holding the nozzle directly over Gazelles’ eyes.

 

“Now, like, hold on, this might sting just a teensy bit. Hold your eyes open please!”

 

Gazelle obliged the request, holding her face as still as she could keep it while opening her eyes as much as possible. She could barely see when the liquid left the bottle, so it was a surprise when her eyes suddenly filled with a searing burn that made her close them and kick her legs into the air as a reaction of pain and surprise. Her hands gripped the arms of the chair, legs kicked into the air, but despite the pain she kept her head down. Within a second, the irritation passed just as quickly as it came, but it left its mark- she felt a burst of warmth against her crotch that prompted her flailing thighs to crash back together, and her eyes were reddened and slowly filling with tears when she opened them again.

 

“P-please… do not do that again…”

 

“Right… s-sorry, Ma’am.”

 

The squeaky voice of the gerbil wasn’t comforting at that moment, but at least there probably wouldn’t be anything like that happening again any time soon. The manager only tried to have her pull off silly gimmicks like this once every couple of months. Still, at least the eye drops did their job and they only hurt for a second. No residual soreness, surprisingly enough, though Gazelle imagined her eyes must have been a bit red and puffy. Once the makeup was done, she heard the sound that heralded the more embarrassing part of every prep, the soft bang of a tiny, backfiring engine. The catwalks of the fashion application platform rolled back upon their rails and allowed her head to move around again, letting her look down at the floor where a trio of flatbed trucks the size of toys were pulling up to the base of her chair, using their combined surfaces to safely carry a sparkling ruby-red skirt and bra set. When she looked back up to the rodents that were handling everything, they had already removed the catwalks from the extendable rails and replaced them with small cranes.

 

Gazelle notably disliked this part, she was grown and could handle dressing herself well enough, but she also understood the necessity for letting the makeup artists do it for her as all six of her fingers were tipped with hard and abrasive hooves that could crush the expensive crystals and gem dust that was used to make the articles of clothing being brought to her. She quickly removed her civvie blouse that she wore during the peace rally and the bra she was wearing underneath as the cranes aligned with the longer skirt that she had worn along with them.

 

“Sorry Ma’am, time to lift!” Gazelle quickly obliged the gerbil, lifting her rump above the chair so that her weight wouldn’t keep the cranes from being able to pull the skirt off. Two of her artists rode the hooks down to her hips, using their momentum to swing the hooks and using their feet to guide them into the waistband, they skillfully did their job before the cranes slid back on their rails to guide the skirt off of Gazelle’s frame. Needless to say, the pop star’s team of artists was entirely composed of either females or, in the case of the truck drivers below, gay guys. They were also thoroughly checked for cameras before coming in on every prep as well as sworn to secrecy on what goes on in this room, but having to go naturalist was always an embarrassing hassle.

 

Gazelle put her butt back down into the chair and lifted up her legs so that the cranes would be able to get her skirt all the way off, after which they lowered it down to the trucks. The rodents riding the hooks stepped onto the flatbeds so that they could unhook her civvie skirt and attach the red one for her show. The hooks went back up again, reversing the process until the shiny skirt was snugly raised above her waist. She didn’t wear underwear, as bold and risky as it was not to, as it saved the makeup artists extra work and her skirts were always made to hug tightly to her legs and keep people from having a chance to look up anyway. Plus, if the paparazzi managed to get a photo of her crotch, underwear or no, they would edit a black bar into it and vault the unedited picture regardless. The same steps were followed from beginning to end to get the ruby bra onto her chest, and with that she was almost ready for the show. Her crew all began scurrying off of the fashion application platform once they decided that they had done their jobs satisfactorily, the trucks getting into position behind the trolley and hooking onto it before pulling it away from the chair and toward the opposite wall of the dressing room. Gazelle stood up and walked over to the door, slipping her feet into a pair of long, matching boots. And with that, she just needed to do one more thing before she was truly ready.

 

As Gazelle moved toward the door, one of the truck drivers below was aligned between her path and one of the parking spaces below her wardrobe, getting ready to park the miniature vehicle until it was time to remove her delicate garments again. The driver checked his mirrors as he was about to back up, made sure there was nothing in the way between the truck and the parking zone, switched on the warning lights atop the cab and held half of his body out the driver side window facing backwards to get the best possible view of his path before hitting the accelerator. The truck immediately lurched forward, the little rodent forgetting to switch into Reverse gear before moving. In the same frame that it took him to realize the mistake, the vehicle collided with something, the impact causing him to fall back into his seat. Before he could even register that he’d hit something, he heard a loud and panicked gasp coming from somewhere above him. When his addled brain caught up to the situation, he looked out the windshield to see a towering wall of sparkling red, and it was all he saw for a split second before a torrential rain of tinted water came down and blocked his sight. The entire incident took less than two full seconds from impact to the inexplicable indoor rainfall, after which the red wall had vanished and left the truck driver with a deep sense of confusion and a completely random whyboner.

 

Gazelle, who had just run out of her dressing room in shame after a truck slammed into her foot and caused her to lose her balance and bladder control for just a moment causing her to accidentally pee on it, breathed a sigh of worry. If the driver she’d just urinated on didn’t realize what had happened, the other rodent workers would probably tell him if they saw. They weren’t allowed to talk about it outside of the dressing room of course, but future show preps were probably going to be extremely awkward from now on. She needed to head to the bathroom immediately and take care of this problem before it got any worse, but just as she’d feared, she walked right into her entourage and backup dancers, fully expecting to bring her up to the stage as soon as she left the dressing room.

 

“Ready, miss Gazelle? Good, the crowd has been kept waiting long enough, yes?” One of her entourage, some loveable dog thing, quickly took his place with the others behind her while the two tiger dancers took the lead, intending to lead her out toward where they thought she needed to be rather than where she actually needed to go. It wasn’t entirely their own fault to be overbearing about it, this entrapping method was simply how it happened as they set out for every show and she’d never had a reason to dislike it before tonight.

 

“Er-… A-actually, I-” Her stutters and half-attempts at making a complaint went unheeded, drowned out by the scurrying and stomping of the various crew workers making their final preparations while the stars of the show rushed right past the bathrooms reserved for that same crew. Gazelle looked longingly at the women’s room door, wishing that she could break away from the pack. As they were about to turn the corner and head out to the stadium stage, they all turned their heads towards the source of the sound of someone calling out her name.

 

“Gazelle! Miss Gazelle!” It was some random zebra that none of them had ever seen before, running toward them with a pen and notepad in his outstretched hooves. Great, another autograph seeker had snuck backstage.

 

“Hold it, guy!” The backup dancers both stepped forward to block the intruder while the entire entourage stood behind them, leaving Gazelle with nobody looking at her. She didn’t question the opportunity even as the adoring fan tried to juke the two tigers that were literally filling the hallway with their imposing girth to keep the zebra held back. She ran back toward the bathrooms and entered before anybody had a chance to notice her disappearance and hurry to collect her.

 

Finally inside the bathroom, Gazelle leaned against the door in relief, enjoying her minor victory before standing back up and heading to the stalls. She stopped in her tracks however when she heard something disturbing- a grumble, or growl, coming from the last stall in the row of three. Looking under the dividers, she saw a pair of golden-brown paws tipped with razor-sharp claws. She recognized them immediately as belonging to a member of her species’ natural predator, the lion. Well… that was nothing to worry about, right? As she advanced, she heard another growl, sharper this time. It caused her to stop dead and freeze, her senses instinctively tuning up to catch every detail of the moment.

 

She heard panting, groaning, some kind of noisy gurgle that reverberated around the enclosed room, even an agitated wail that came right before a nasty-sounding scraping of claws came grinding from the door. Gazelle didn’t know it, but that was what pushed her instincts to their limit. Immediately, her brain became saturated in adrenaline, triggering her fight or flight response. Her body rerouted all of her nerve signals into her legs and told her to run like a her. In her conscious mind, she realized that she simply didn’t need to pee as badly as she’d thought. The lioness was simply having a bad time, and certainly NOT feral, at all, of course, obviously. She’d just go ahead and give her some space and privacy. She wasn’t a bigot, she just imagined having a light accident upon a mouse-size truck earlier.

 

She was outside of the bathrooms again before she even knew she was running, finding the backup dancers and her entourage handing the autograph seeker over to Security. It only took a few seconds for the nape of the zebra’s shirt to switch hands, after which Gazelle knew that she was expected to lead the tigers up to the stage. Still affected by adrenaline, she felt no urge to relieve herself at all, even the dull weight of gravity tugging down on her overloaded bladder had gone missing, making her momentarily wonder why she had wanted the bathroom in the first place, though her memory wasn’t THAT bad. Her chance to pee in private had passed anyway, so it hardly mattered, she would just have to hope that her urinary system remained tame. For two hours.

 

From the rear of the stadium, Gazelle and her backup dancers stepped out onto a fenced-in walkway that led up to the lit, glowing raised platforms where the other two dancers had been doing all they could to keep the full-house crowd entertained until she was ready to start. As she watched them do their thing on the approach, she momentarily wondered why they were made to wear the ribbed and fur-tight short-short-shorts that they were sporting right now. Most of her audience was male, and one would figure that they’d be put off by the extremely generous bulges that were much more visible than anything she was displaying most of the time. As she realized that this was the first time she’d honestly considered the paradoxical nature of her performances, she also noticed that her heart, racing as it was from the earlier incident in the bathroom, was quickly settling down.

 

It was right when Gazelle stepped onto the stage and the announcement system loudly blared her presence and the crowd exploded with cheering at the sight of her arrival that she felt the twitch just behind her crotch as the adrenaline started to wear off. Not good. Still, she knew that she’d be allowed to get away with wriggling, crossing her legs, even grabbing herself as much as she needed to so long as she made it look like part of a dance and as long as she kept the coming desperation out of her voice. Speaking of which, she realized that the viewers were likely expecting a speech or something to go with her tear-drop treatment from earlier. She held out a hoof towards one of her dancer tigers, who quickly tossed a microphone toward her.

 

“Thank you, everybody, for coming tonight. I want you all, predator and prey regardless, to hear these songs as songs of peace and reason, and find this stadium tonight to be a place that represents Zootopia as it once was.” As the words spilled out of Gazelle’s mouth, she felt the dull pressure starting to build back up just below her stomach. She shifted her weight slightly, her natural grace managing to pass it off as a motion displaying body language of sincerity. “Tonight will be a night of peace and fun among all of us again. Please, if you are a prey standing next to a predator, or vice versa, look to them now, and tell yourself that they are not what you imagine them to be. Not a threat. Not a bigot. Just… another animal. As I am, and as you are.” She opened her eyes as widely as she could, to sell the image of her slightly damp and puffy eyes, helping to sell her message even though she still wasn’t sure that she bought it herself.

 

Once she was finished with her short speech, the lights on the stage dimmed sharply, drenching her and the dancers in near-total darkness before the loudspeakers started playing the first tones to the first song of the show. Gazelle recognized what it was from the first few notes, quickly taking up the dance pose needed for it and recalling the lyrics from memory. A sharp tone played and the spotlights- which were programmed to dim, brighten and change color according to the music- lit up for a moment. It was a slow-starting but energetic song that kept the stage dim and suspenseful for the first half-minute. Gazelle took every moment of darkness to hide her escalating desperation, but once that was over, it was time to dance and sing.

 

It was nearly an hour later before her bladder started to give in. Gazelle was no longer able to discreetly grab herself during a spin or some other dance move, she had made it to the point where her voice was starting to crack on the few high-notes that she had to make, keep moving whether the song called for it or not, continually squeeze herself with a paw going straight up her skirt- since her hooves prevented her from pressing against the front of it- to fight off the contractions of her body as it tried against her will to void the sloshing mass of liquid. The animals below the stage largely seemed to either not notice her or not care, but their noticing was irrelevant as all of her shows were televised anyway. Assuming that this show wasn’t pulled off the air for possible “lewd conduct,” though that seemed unlikely due to the ever-present tigers who were all eyeing her suspiciously as they danced.

 

Gazelle was losing the battle, and she knew it. The air between her long and shapely thighs was noticeably colder and more clammy than around the rest of her body, her movements were amazingly exaggerated and showed her desperation for all to see, causing a wave of confused muttering and accompanying staring to slowly encroach the crowd as those closest to the stage stopped dancing along while those further back followed suit with those in front. It was right at the last few seconds of a playing of her smash hit “Try Everything” that she felt a contraction in her bladder that threatened to rip straight through a thousand steel sphincters and she actually froze in place and closed her mouth entirely, that she caught something in the corner of her eye. One of the tigers had stopped dancing altogether and turned toward the back of the stadium with his paw raised to his neck, making a cutting motion with it. He was calling the show off, something that he wasn’t supposed to do. At all.

 

As the last notes of the song passed, the music over the loudspeaker was replaced with the same voice that had announced Gazelle’s earlier arrival.

 

“Sorry folks, but we’re going into an unexpected intermission, Gazelle will be back soon!” Gazelle looked up at one of the loudspeakers above the stage, questioning what had just happened for only a second before her brain caught up to the fact that it didn’t matter. She turned to run backstage, but her legs couldn’t spare the strength to run or even walk, leaving her to desperately hobble while another non-vocal song started playing. Three of the dancers, no longer distracted by the poor lead of their pop star, took up their moves once again while the fourth escorted Gazelle down the stage stairs. She didn’t make it even half way.

 

Once she was at the base of the steps, the weakness in her legs finally overwhelmed her, and she had to make a choice right then and there- keep holding and fall to her knees, or relax just to remain standing. She knew that no matter which she chose to do, she would end up being seen by at least half the stadium and three different cameras, and falling to the ground would cause her skirt to either ride up her waistline or get caught in the puddle. Neither of those outcomes were acceptable considering the live show and the cost of this skirt, so she stood as steadily as she could as she felt her fingers exponentially grow in warmth.

 

For all that she held back, the end of it all didn’t start with a trickle or anything initially weak. The moment her control failed, her urine absolutely exploded out of its containment. Drops burst in all directions as a torrential, pressurized spray squeezed through her fingers and hooves, saturating them and her thighs instantaneously. The tiger turned around in a heartbeat, the hiss and splashing audible even over the music and cheering in the background. Once Gazelle realized that her accident was happening, she pulled her fingers away and widened her stance to make sure that nothing stained her heavily-gemmed skirt and looked around to see how bad the damage to her career was going to be. The stadium was set up so that the patrons all stood around the circular stage, with a single walkway connecting the stage to the backstage area separated from the crowd by barriers. Right now, every single animal standing by the barriers were either staring blatantly at her or recording her with their phones, while those three cameras had their entire focus on her. The only creatures in Zootopia not watching her as she pissed herself were the ones that were seated at the other side of the stadium or not watching TV.

 

And beyond just them, there was the tiger in front of her that had just gone above and beyond the other dancers to try and help her. Somehow that made it even more humiliating than simply peeing in front of half of the city’s entire population. She liked this guy, even though she was close friends with all of the dancers- they had to be friendly with each other to get their moves as synced and complimentary to each other as they were- she always felt that this one in particular was her closest friend of all. She loved his sense of humor, introducing the “Dance with Gazelle” app to her by putting his face on his own body. The irony and his self-mocking fanboyism had made her laugh harder than she had in quite some time.

 

Her and him having a slightly closer relationship than what she shared with the other three dancers was probably what prompted him to risk backlash from her manager just so that Gazelle could go and pee, but it ended up being too little too late regardless. No doubt the cameras, both stadium-mounted and hand-held were getting her thick and forceful stream from every angle as it impacted the concrete floor below. Possibly some of those phones were making some streams of their own, turning it into a live event as hyperlinks flew out and about. Gazelle looked down, trying to keep the distress off of her face, but she couldn’t help but look up at the tiger who had tried to get her off the stage in time. He was staring, blatantly, openly at her puddle as it rapidly expanded around her boots- Thankfully, the soles were not nearly as expensive as the legs- which actually surprised her. She’d figured him as the kind of guy that would look away out of respect, yet here he was, absorbing every detail that his eyes could take.

 

Her mind raced, even as the seemingly deafening hiss and splash tried in vain to interrupt her thoughts. She wondered what had gone wrong enough to cause her to involuntarily relieve herself in front of an entire stadium of people. The rally, the makeup, the lioness that had frightened her into skipping her only chance to avoid it… And just like that, she felt a spark of ingenuity that could help her salvage this incident. Just in time for it too, as she felt her stretched bladder finally starting to empty. After nearly an entire minute, her torrential stream was finally starting to dwindle.

 

Gazelle felt far too intimate with herself when the slight numbness of muscular exhaustion passed, enabling her to feel her own womanhood again, extremely sensitive and echoing each drip that rolled off her lips with a resounding shockwave up her spine. She wasn’t sure whether to be glad or annoyed that she refused to wear underwear underneath her show skirt, as if she had then she’d have to deal with the fabric clinging to her crotch and keeping it wet and clammy rather than allowing herself to drip dry. It hardly mattered now, though. With a slow crane of the neck, Gazelle looked up once more toward the tiger, only to see that he had fled backstage, leaving her to simply deal with it on her own. Oh, he would be getting a talking to later. But that doesn’t really matter now, she had to head back up and fix her image before it got any worse.

 

She turned, went back up the steps and held a hand out to receive the microphone again. Catching it with just the use of her peripheral vision, she let out a rough sigh before bringing it up to her mouth. The music that was playing for the dancers, who had long since stopped bothering to dance thanks to the show that Gazelle was already giving everybody. She took only a second or two to force the correct expression onto her face, she needed to look confident and deliberate.

 

“I’m sorry for the disruption everybody,” Gazelle spoke in the same steady, calming tones that she always did when addressing an audience, “But I’m sure most if not all of you are already aware of what just happened. And no, this was not a mistake. This was a point.” Noises of confusion quickly spread throughout the crowd, but nobody dared to speak a question. “I know that there are some out there, among us now or watching from home, that would ignore the message that I and others are trying to give. There is always someone like that, unwilling to listen or change, no matter the proof. But there are also those who need just the right kind of proof. And I can think of nothing better than a prey, me, exposing their most vulnerable and candid moment to a predator. So, will you listen now, or are you more the former?”

 

She didn’t wait for anything to happen, she simply tossed the microphone toward another dancer, who fumbled the catch slightly. The other two simply tried to look like they had been in on the plan the whole time as Gazelle walked back down the steps and refused to stop for anything as she headed backstage. She wanted to get straight back to her dressing room and deal with the outfit crew getting these expensive clothes off of her so that she could go straight to sleep. She didn’t want anyone to pull her into a discussion of what had just happened, or anything to get between her and that bed. But of course, it seemed that tonight was the night that she wouldn’t get anything she wanted.

 

As Gazelle was about to pass up the crew bathrooms again, the female side door swung open forcefully, revealing the lioness that had been growling and scratching at the stall door earlier, causing the whole incident on the stage. Gazelle visibly jumped at the sudden sight, her baser instincts still reacting harshly to a perceived risk. Her mind immediately related the lioness to an active, feral predator, but this time she was actually able to SEE the threat rather than only hear her. Seeing that the lioness was dressed in a t-shirt and overalls rather than going naturalist as the reports implied, Gazelle was able to convince herself not to run away this time.

 

“Ooohh, jee-… M-miss Gazelle! Er, h-hi! I, I don’t-“ Of course, she was fangirling, just what Gazelle didn’t need right now. It was interrupted though by a slightly squelchy grumble coming from the predator’s midsection, to which she quickly applied a paw and moaned gently in apparent pain.

 

“Errgh… sorry, miss Gazelle, just… Ugh, please, no more…” The last part was more of a pleading whisper to herself than anything, and after muttering such, her head snapped back up. “W-wait, if you’re here… Oh hell, how long w-was I in there? Is the show over already? I-I’m supposed to-”

 

A remixed version of Gazelle’s “Try Everything” suddenly filled the hall, prompting the lioness to reach into a pocket and pull out her Anthroid phone. Looked like she had gotten a message. For whatever reason, Gazelle couldn’t bring herself to take the opportunity to break away and escape to the dressing room; she felt like she was going to have to make an apology very soon. Fingers swiped across the screen a few times until both heard the start of a video clip. Oh no, somebody must have sent her a recording of Gazelle’s accident. Sure enough, her expression went from neutral to surprised to horrified as the video progressed, and her eyes switched rapidly between the screen and Gazelle’s face. When the sound from the phone abruptly ended, the lioness carelessly dropped the phone to the ground and held her paws to her face with what seemed to be sincere despair.

 

“Oh my god… Miss Gazelle, I… I am so, SO very sorry! I heard the bathroom door open earlier but whoever came in left right away, that must have been you. I know, the smell must have been horrible, so you couldn’t use it and then that happened out on stage! Oh- …” Gazelle’s ears drooped slightly as she realized that the lioness was blaming herself for it. “N-no, it’s-” “Yeah, it was really bad, but I swear it wasn’t my fault. The other members of the crew, the Prey ones, they threw all the meat and bean rations in the trash. The boss pays for catering so that we don’t have to bring out own lunches, you know? And with all the edible stuff thrown out, all that left the predators was… berries and nuts and salad. All plants and no protein, it doesn’t go down well with us…”

 

Gazelle’s moment of self-kicking was replaced with anger as she heard this. The stadium crew had been forcing a Predator to effectively poison herself? And the other Predators?

 

“I’m so sorry that it caused you to have THAT happen to you, right in front of everybody no less. I would have stood up to the abuse, but I figured they were just doing some sort of hazing thing, like how the police put their newbies on parking duty. Maybe I shouldn’t be that naïve.”

 

Gazelle gave a heavy sigh. Trying to be polite, she gave a simple thank you and “nice to meet you” before trotting off back to her dressing room. She instructed the awaiting crew that she didn’t want to talk and pulled out her own phone as she waited out the process of letting them get her naked again. She sorted through all the news sites. Each one that she came across were all doing exactly as expected: cannibalizing each other for views, trying in vain to be the first to announce Gazelle’s public urination, each and every single one claiming to possess the exclusive story. But one headline made her stop and actually pay attention. “Erection on Live TV!” Okay, that was surprising enough to actually take the clickbait.

 

It featured an image of the incident from a different angle, one of the cameras that had caught and broadcast her accident. But instead of focusing on her, it had instead zoomed in on the dancer that had tried to escort her offstage. He was staring blatantly at Gazelle as she released all over the ground, and right in the center of his showy super-shorts was the expanded bulb of a chub that he could only have gotten from watching something very taboo. Did that mean her friend was turned on by watching her piss? She figured that she will have to look into that later. But for now, she had to worry about what to say on her next public appearance. Whatever she was going to say, this time she knew that she will mean it. No more lies.

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