Another non Gargoyles fanfic I had in mind for a while since Honest John from Pinocchio is another favorite animated character on my list alongside Gantu and Brooklyn. There just aren't so many fanfics about Honest John these days and I wanted to get one out. Based on the 1940s movie.

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Honest John, the sly fox, strutted into the dimly lit tavern, a faint smile playing on his lips. His paws nervously adjusted his old, tattered hat as he scanned the room. The air was thick with the stench of smoke and stale beer, the murmurs of rough men and shady figures who frequented the tavern like clockwork. At the far corner of the room, seated in the shadow of a tall, creaking beam, was the Coachman—the cruel, sinister man who ran Pleasure Island.

John's smile faltered for a moment. He had spent years tricking others, manipulating them for his own gain, but today something felt... different. He could feel it in his bones, the unease gnawing at him as he made his way over to the Coachman. The memory of Pinocchio's hopeful, trusting eyes haunted him, and for the first time, he wasn't sure if he had done the right thing after having tricked him into going to Pleasure Island earlier.

The Coachman looked up from his glass, his lips curling into a chilling grin, wide enough to show his white teeth. "Ah, Honest John," he said, his voice slick and laced with malice, "Thank you for helping me, Fox." His gaze held something dark, something predatory that sent a cold shiver down John's spine. "You've done very well."

John hesitated, trying to maintain his usual air of confidence. He forced a smile, though it was strained, and waved a paw dismissively. "Oh, no trouble at all, my dear Coachman. It's always a pleasure doing business with you." His voice was smooth, too smooth. He was trying—trying to ignore that gnawing feeling that told him this wasn't a business transaction anymore. This felt... wrong.

The Coachman's grin never faltered, but there was a certain coldness in his eyes now, as if he were seeing right through John. "You know," he said, lowering his voice to a whisper that only John could hear, "it's a shame. A real shame, what happened to that little puppet. But he'll learn, just like the rest of them."

John's fur bristled slightly at the mention of Pinocchio. "I told him to go, I did. Pleasure Island's a place for boys to be free, to have fun!" he said, trying to convince himself more than the Coachman. "It's not my fault if they don't follow the rules, right?" He gave a weak chuckle, but it sounded hollow in his own ears, swallowing a small lump in his throat.

The Coachman leaned in closer, his face now inches from John's, the smell of rot and tobacco mingling in the air, causing John to flinch just a bit. "You're a clever fox, Honest John," he said, his voice thick with threat, "But you'd best remember your place. I'm the one who took you in when no one else would, when you and that mangy cat, Gideon, were nothing but lost strays on the streets. I gave you purpose." The Coachman's hand gripped John's arm, his fingers digging in just hard enough to send a jolt of fear through the fox. "You owe me, Fox. And I'll make sure you don't forget it."

John's heart raced in his chest. He had heard the stories about the Coachman, about how he could twist a man's soul just as easily as he could twist his mind. It was a bargain John had made out of desperation, a deal he hadn't fully understood at the time, and now it seemed like he was trapped.

"You're going to help me finish what we started," the Coachman said, his voice rising slightly with venom. "I have plans, John. Big plans. And if you think you can back out now, you'll be sorry." The grin widened, a terrifying, predatory smile that made John's skin crawl, recalling their first time planning out the Pleasure Island scheme where he used that horrible demonized grin.

John swallowed hard. The weight of the Coachman's words hung in the air like a guillotine, and the fox found himself struggling to hold onto his composure. For all his cunning and charm, he had never felt more like a fool than he did right now. He had been played, just like the puppet he had pushed to Pleasure Island. The realization stung, and for a fleeting moment, he wondered if he could turn back.

But the grip on his arm tightened, and the Coachman's voice brought him back to the present. "Now," the Coachman said, his tone cold and final, "Come with me. We have work to do."

John's mind raced. He thought of Gideon—his old partner, the cat who had once followed him loyally, even when he didn't deserve it. Had Gideon ever really understood? Had he ever truly been on the same path? And now, here he was, standing before a man who had made him feel more like a puppet than Pinocchio ever had. Gideon at the moment was having one of his carefree smiles while drinking his beer, sometimes hiccuping.

But in that moment, a part of Honest John wanted to break free, to do something right, to stop enabling the madness that was Pleasure Island but he quenched it for now, not wanting to show any weakness to the one that was paying him money.

Yet, the threat in the Coachman's voice was undeniable. John's heart sank, his ears flattening slightly but trying not to make it too noticeable. "Alright," he muttered, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. "I'm coming. But remember, Coachman... I don't forget easily."

The Coachman's grin softened, just a fraction, as he led Honest John out of the tavern, deeper into the night. But in the fox's heart, a spark of rebellion began to form—small and fleeting, but it was there. Honest John wasn't sure yet what it would lead to, but for the first time, he wasn't sure if he was willing to be the pawn anymore.