Shifti - User contributions [en]

Category talk:Passing Fad

2011-06-26T19:10:32Z

Jonas:

I have a story idea for this setting. Basically the entire premise is that a 747 turns into a dragon when the change hits. I'm curious what YOU think would happen to the minds of the pilots and the passengers IF that happened. --[[User:Alex Warlorn|Alex Warlorn]] 19:02, 25 June 2011 (UTC)

:Not much actually would happen. The basic premise for Passing Fad is that every vehicle spontaneously turns into a horse. Anyone who happens to be inside a vehicle is riding along in their car/motorcycle/etc. one second and sitting on top of a horse the next. I'm pretty sure there's a story where this comes up somewhere. Dragons don't come into the setting either. It's always horses, as far as I know. [[User:Jonas|Jonas]]

Winged humans, centaurs, and cow-tuars, have already been introduced. --[[User:Alex Warlorn|Alex Warlorn]] 23:29, 25 June 2011 (UTC)

:I see. In either case, if you want to go by precidence, you'd either end up with a massive human/dragon hydra or just a bunch of people who suddenly find themselves sitting on a dragon. [[User:Jonas|Jonas]]

Category talk:Passing Fad

2011-06-25T22:54:32Z

Jonas:

Not Quite Furry

2011-01-14T14:44:50Z

Jonas: added the Batsignal; part of the reason Traxer let me post his stories here was to recieve feedback/critique

{{Critique requested}}Jacob walked into the bathroom breathing hard.

He brought costumed paws to over-sized plastic eyes and leaned back against the sink. The paws sank, lingering on the sides of his muzzle, before they came down to his coat. He straightened out the baggy cloth, riddled with pockets and brass buttons, briefly took out a large novelty pocketwatch to check the time, and then patted down the chest fur that stuck out his unbuttoned front. Only then did he peak a look at the mirror behind him. He didn't have to flash a smile, it was already displayed in muzzle and foam teeth on the mask. The goggles, just big enough to cover the costume's eyes, were still there.

David thought he might have lost them busting some moves in the lobby. What could he say, he was a sucker for an audience. Especially an audience of geek females. Must have been the glasses. And perhaps the offer of a cookie (which had been nicely placed through the mouth of his costume, complete with nomming sounds).

His breathing slowed. He rubbed at the fur at his neck, trying to relieve the itchiness of wayward velcro.

The sound of a stall opening interrupted him. Followed by a question. "So, what are you supposed to be?"

Jacob rolled his eyes under the facade. His friends had suggested he'd go as the Tenth Doctor, there wouldn't be as many questions, they said. He turned and saluted to the figure, only noticing in mid-motion that it was another fellow in full animal costume, russet furred fox and with the many tails, kitsune, outfitted in leather vest and bowler cap. A dash more realistic design than his own, yet still processing a dynamic flair. Jacob hadn't seen any other fellows of the fuzzy sort during this con, but it being just a small general sci-fi / fantasy con, he hadn't expected to.

"Are you one of those that doesn't speak?" the kitsune form asked.

"Ah, no, sorry. Didn't know anyone was in here. Just taking a breather. I usually reserve speaking for outside this room of porcelain thrones."

"I can jive with that," the kitsune said, turning on the faucet, "Not exactly the most enlightening of spots in human society, especially those frequented in public locations. Not many places make my nose wrinkle more, but they serve their purpose."

Only when the sink had turned off did it occur to Jacob he wasn't certain if the kitsune had removed his paw gloves before washing. By then, the kitsune was already heading to the door. Jacob took one final look in the mirror, to be certain his head was straight, and followed.

"So, what are you?" the kitsune repeated, as they headed across the tiled lobby, beyond through a pair of double doors, into the madness known as a science fiction / fantasy convention. A world filled with foam swords, fake pointy ears, horns, leather, and enough high-level Red-Bull-fueled geekness that would knock a Dementor a into a coma.

It was a dynamic quite unlike any other.

"Steampunk ferret, Regi Tesla, created in an alternate timeline where the development of genetics took a more mad science route the same time steam became the primary power source. Not completely ferret, a few other weasel species thrown in, have an otter tail, golden chest fur and ears of a marten, and fringed with bright blue markings on the edges, as you can see. And, a blue tongue, just for fun."

"Wow. What prompted all that?"

"Boredom. Mostly. That, and when you be dealing with fantasy and sci-fi, much more fun to dance on the outskirts than sit on the mainstream. What better way than to mix together fringe science and anthropomorphic creatures? What is your backstory?"

The kitsune shrugged. "Kitsune trickster wandering time and space messing with whatever unwitting victims he happens to meet."

"I believe you've come to the epicenter of 'unwitting victims' my friend."

"Perhaps."

"I like it. Straight to the point. Simple to explain. And nice bowler cap, by the way."

"Nice goggles."

"Thank ye."

"So, what exactly takes place here?"

"First con?"

The kitsune looked like he was chewing his lip. Jacob brushed this off as a trick of a nearby stobelight. "Yes, you could say that."

"Mine too. The basics are thus: geeks gather together to discuss, buy, and play about geeky things. There's discussion panels, gaming rooms, a theater (mostly filled with bad anime), and, of course, the dealer's den, where merchandise calls its siren's song to con-goers. Just a matter of poking thing and seeing what you like best."

"Not many ferrets around."

"Alas, not enough people are as cool as me. Only I dare to be fuzzy among this geekiness. I don't have the guts to go to a con with primarily fuzzy creatures. Ah, the furries."

"Come again."

"Furry. I use the term 'anthropomorphic creatures' myself. Seems to give it a more literary edge. Still, can't go about wearing a ferret costume for long without the word popping up. Heck, I put a few months of trying to get this costume just right. Who else but a crazy person would go through the trouble, and the needle stabbing, involved in sewing just to sweat it out in a furry costume, hot and uncomfortable, barely able to see through these blasted eyeholes and...? I'm babbling. Point is, perhaps I'm a little insane."

"No, of course you're not."

"Posh. Everyone has levels of insanity. Mine is the fact I dress like a ferret hybrid because it feels like no one can see me, I can be someone else because everyone expects someone else, they do not see me, they see Regi."

"I disagree."

"Mmm?"

"Isn't it more along the lines of when you wear that suit, you are free to act as yourself?"

Jacob screwed his face into an odd expression, which he was glad the kitsune couldn't see. Now that seemed a little too odd to him. It was one thing to wear the costume, it was another to suppose the costume was him. He decided this fellow was one of those spiritual furries and suddenly he felt as he'd been pulled somewhere where he didn't want to go. All there was to do now was to figure out an excuse to get out of this potentially awkward situation.

"I just do this for the fun of it."

The kitsune nodded, looking down at the floor with a reflective look. How did his mask do that? Jacob decided this was the time to make his escape. "So, a panel I wanted to go to is coming up so...I best be going."

The kitsune's ears perked. Literally perked. Jacob was becoming more and more wary. Why had he been saying all that stuff to this stranger. He didn't even know his name. He needed to go. But... He put up a paw. "Paw bump?"

The kitsune stared.

"You know. Like a fist bump. Except with paws. Just use your paw and bump mine. The least I can do." Weird or not, Jacob couldn't resist doing this action to anyone he met. The kitsune carefully clenched his digits and tapped Jacob's paw with his own. An odd surge, like a string of static electricity, spread through the fabric through Jacob's hand. He kept from letting loose a startled squeak and saluted with his other hand. "Nice to meet you, dude. Enjoy the con!"

He backed away a few steps before turning tail, slithering through the crowd. Very strange chap, Jacob thought. All people here danced on a very thin line, between normal fans and crazed fanboys. Jacob liked to think of him on the sensible side, despite the ferret suit. His hand still tingled.

The rest of the Friday evening went without fanfare. The Dragon Slaying panel turned out to be less on-fire than Jacob would have hoped, and the Werewolf panel lacked bite, but the Totally Non-Sparkly Vampires panel didn't suck as much as expected either (the Vampire-in-the-Box had been a nice touch), so it all evened out. Soon, Jacob forgot about the kitsune, his focus being drawn to Doctor Who replicas in the dealer den and marathon of bad movies complete with humorous commentary.

He parried questions about his suit with what he hoped was an infectious flair, throwing some in-character comments from time to time (usually doing brief interludes on whatever devices or 'shinies' con-goers had on their person). Soon he started growing the character on the fly, making him a mechanic or engineer, always prone to seeing out stuff worked, obsessed with gears. He would need to write some of this down when he got back to the room.

Throughout the evening, the numbness remained in his arm, starting to spread outwards, radiating over him, inch by inch. He pressed this to the back of his mind.

Late, in the motel bar, Jacob found it impressive how much free drinks he could get just because people wanted to see him swig through the mouth of his costume.

O O O

"Regi?"

Through the haze, he felt himself being pulled up.

"Regi? I never caught your real name earlier."

Bright lights and shadows surrounded him and blurred as he tried to focus. He stumbled. Something gripped him, keeping him upright. He felt obliged to slump on this something. He noted russet tails waving behind his something. An arm wrapped around his middle and led him forward, onward. Still in the bar. Voices, laughs, how much had he drank? The voice trickled into his mind again.

"You appear to have drank a lot. That can't be good for your changing metabolism."

Jacob didn't trust himself to speak, so he gave a muzzy smile at the kitsune.

"Can you feel this?"

Something poked his nose. Strange feel. Odd. Just didn't, then there was a rub at the back of his neck, a pinch and suddenly his entire body went slack.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, forgot about that ferret reflex. Up we go."

Somehow, Jacob kept upright. He noticed vague details. The hall. The elevator. His tail twitching. Odd. He nuzzled the kitsune. Though he didn't normally do that in suit, just sorta happened. The kitsune pushed him back, chuckling.

"No, you just need rest. Glad I took a swing back to see how you were doing. Now, ah, judging from your key card, this is your room. This is where I'll drop you off." He pressed the door open and the key into one of Jacob's jacket pockets. They got into the room. Jacob felt himself fall onto the bed. He clutched at the comforter and sheets, pulling them to his body. He made a little dooking noise.

"Now, when you wake up, you're gonna feel much better, Regi."

The world faded away.

O O O

Jacob opened one eye, the sunlight blinding it immediately. He turned over and slumped off the bed with a soft thump. His head burned. He licked his muzzle. The sticky taste of alcohol tinged the fur. His breath stank. His vision swam when he tried to push himself up.

The full definition of the word "hangover" wandered crookedly through his mind.

He saw paws blurrily. Still in costume? Figures. Still, it appeared he was in his room at the least. Small blessings. The premise of coffee wandered by. His whiskers twitched and he started moving towards this idea.

He stumbled on all four paws out of the bed sheets before snuffling about for his clothes. He found his jacket behind a chair, his bandana under the bed, his leather tote bag in the shower. While there, he took the time to splash water on his face. He smoothed the fur about his eyes, blue tongue licking a stain of something on his nose. Jacob got to his hind paws, cracking the vertebrate of his back, stretching it this way and that, getting himself limber, finding the right balance point by getting his thick tail into position. He shook himself, patted his left jacket pocket for the hotel keycard, and headed into the hall.

Jacob played off the people along the journey from room to breakfast room. Giving sleepy waves, high fours, and goofy faces to the younger ones. He felt much better by the time sat down to lap at his coffee. There was a little trouble to be had with the chair though. He couldn't quite get his tail to cooperate, so he had to settle with sitting on the chair sideways, so the tail could be unfettered.

He nodded politely to the variation of "great costume" that were tossed his way. He hoped they couldn't smell the beer on his fur.

Halfway through his cup of coffee the gleam of a shiny object in the breakfast nook caught his eye. Before he could stop himself, he had scampered to the shiny, and was examining it, turning it all ways in his paws. Feeling the smooth edges, claws picking at the coils within. He pulled a screwdriver out of his tote. He unplugged the device, for safety. Soon, coils and wires spilled out the bottom. A few persons came by, bread in hand, opened their mouths, then ended up just watching the progress. Jacob smiled. He loved an audience.

Then someone cleared their throat in a displeased way. Regi didn't like that sound. Made his tail twitch. Jacob looked up, to see a mustached man with hotel employee tag on his jacket.

"Excuse me, sir. What are you doing with that toaster?"

"Fixing it."

"Sir. That is property of the hotel. If it was broken, you should have told us and..."

"Oh, of course it /worked/. Just wasn't working to its full potential."

The hotel employee's brows furrowed. The other hotel patrons quirked theirs.

Jacob carefully closed up the toaster and plugged it in. "Let me show you. You see, this device was not using the energy it was using to its full potential to heat the coils and toast the bread." Jacob took a piece of bread from one of the audience and placed it in the toaster. He pushed the lever down with one claw. The toaster blazed with light for no more than a second, before the toast popped back up. The audience gasped. The bread had been toasted to the most perfect shade of brown.

"See, reduces the time and completely streamlines the process. You'd think that a society with an advanced paw on manipulating energy would be more adept at taking advantage of these sorts of things. Now about your waffle maker, I think..." Jacob caught sight of something in the toaster. He picked it up again. He looked closer. He saw a reflection. He saw a face. A face of a ferret, a dark mask around its eyes fringed with a line of bright blue fur, maw gapping, showing a blue tongue, this surrounded by muzzle, complete with twitching whiskers.

And suddenly the string of events, from first opening his eye to looking into this toaster lost their alcoholic haze. From nose to tail, he felt everything. He did not have a limited view through two eye holes for those eye holes were where his eyes were, now looking cross-eyed at his own muzzle, at his paws holding the toaster, down at his golden furred chest.

Jacob placed the toaster down. "I'll get to the waffle maker later."

The hotel employee, still staring at shock at the toaster, did not react. He gave a few more high fours and salutes as he snuck out of the group of people.

In a blur, he got back to the elevator, up to his floor, back into his room, back into the bed, and promptly gave a series of panicked chitters into a pillow.

In a corner, hugging a pillow, Jacob tried to rationalize his situation.

With little success.

He slowly brought up his right paw up again. He looked at the pink paw pads against sable fur, the claw on the end of each digit. He followed the sable fur down the arm, interrupted by a ring of bright blue fur, before turning to the milk chocolate shade of his hide. Jacob gripped the arm with his left paw, feeling his pulse under the fur, running at an alarming rate.

"I'm perfectly fine. Nothing to worry about. Absolutely fine. There is nothing to worry about. Just need to take a few more deep breaths and then everything will be normal. I will take off this mask and just spend the rest of the con splurging in the dealer's den. Perhaps get a few shiny items..."

His voice tapered off, realizing his vocalized assurances were not helping much. He breathed deeply. Once. Twice. Three times. He brought his paws, no, hands up to his neck, feeling for the Velcro strap. He felt deeper. He started scrabbling at his neck, as if being strangled, gasping for air, feeling desperately through the fur, trying to capture the zipper. It had to be there, it had to...

"Ow!" he squeaked. He felt his chin and brought back the paw. A slight dash of red had sprinkled the pad. He had nicked himself with a claw.

"What? You have got to be kidding me! WHAT IN THE-" His jaws took hold of the pillow and ripped, sending feathers into the air, flashing in Jacob's mind, fueling the rage, he leapt at the feathers, diving, crashing against a chair, twisting his body, diving again, hitting the drawers, the tv rocked, he stabilized it with his tail. He carried on half conscious as he pounced onto the bed, claws and jaws ripping into the bed sheets, mind flashing, words lost to squeaks and dooking noises. This blurred motion of pouncing, bouncy, feral actions continued, until he became tangled in the comforter, which brought his swooping rampage to a halt. Still tangled, he rolled off the bed onto the carpet, huffing breaths, whiskers still twitching. He sniffed to note the odd smell in the air. He sent a baleful glance down at his lower half, tail still wagging, and wondered briefly if he had glandes that had went off.

He was a weasel after all.

No, ferret hybrid thing. Even if that might have been a weasel war dance...

No, he wouldn't accept that. There was something he had done. Something that someone else had done. As he realized himself from the comforter's comforting confinement, he wracked his memories. Last night. The haze. The hangover still nibbing at the edges. The bar. The drinks. The burning throat. The stickiness of the floor. The kitsune. He squinted at that. The kitsune? That spiritual furry? He'd seen him again. Hadn't he? Assuring words. He'd brought him to his room. What had he said? Suddenly, all those tail and ear twitches, the expression managed by the vulpine muzzle, the odd knowing gold tinge in the eyes, clarified.

You'll feel much better in the morning.

He dooked at the realization.

He found the half-emptied pillow amidst the feathers and clutched it again, giving the surroundings a wary look.

"OK. I get it. Nice trick. Very funny. You can come out now."

No response.

"Yeah, I had some life lesson. Come on. You can turn me back now. I'll not...do, whatever I was supposed to be not doing now. That's it, right? Needed to learn a lesson? Yeah?"

Nothing.

Jacob's ears drooped. What was he doing? Just speaking to the air. Not like anyone would respond from the ether.

His ears perked, hoping perhaps this expectation of nothing to happen would cause something to happen.

Nothing did.

Everything about him drooped now. He nibbled at the pillow, noting a flavor to the feathers. Goose down. Fancy. Dang How had he gotten into this? He had turned into his costume. Not turned into his costume to the point he had fabric hide and plastic eyes, but to the point he had become what his costume had only attempted to represent. He was flesh and blood, right down to biological levels and he didn't even want to consider what that fully entailed.

He dooked, a sad tone to the sound. Still a little cute sounding too, he had to admit.

O O O

"Hellooooo, Beeeeecca."

"Jake?"

"Yes. How are you doing?"

"Find. How's fursuitting?"

Jacob placed a paw over his eyes. "Don't use that word."

"Oh. How does the convention go...in that fursuit?"

"Must you torture me so."

"I'm your friend, its in the job description."

"We need to negotiate that contract. Dare I go into the argument that its a costume that happens to be an animal?"

"Heard it before. Argument needs work."

Jacob noticed he was a wrapping the cord of the hotel phone around a claw, bringing him back to quote-unquote reality.

"That's why I called you."

"To come up with a better argument? How about not wearing that odd thing. Looks cute and all but do you really need to deal with the context?"

"Context. Yeah. Heh. You see. Funny thing..."

"You didn't have a fling, did you?"

"No. No. Nononono. Just...heh. Hahahaha. HEH. You see..." He caught sight of himself in a mirror. He stuck out his blue tongue at the image. He regressed to laughing.

"Are you strangling a squeak-toy there?"

He came back to his senses. "Oh. No. Laughing."

"Only you, Jacob." Jacob could almost hear the eye roll over the phone. "So what's this call about?"

Jacob wanted to say something along the lines of "I've turned into the ferret hybrid I was costumed as" or "I seem to be a large weasel" or "my tongue is blue" or "I seem to be lacking in pants without any morality issues." None of these seemed to be good candidates in getting Becca to take him seriously. It was unfortunate that any of these things might be something he would say in the string a late-night conversation. Instead, he said:

"Still on for dinner tonight?"

"Of course."

"Still don't know why you wouldn't come to the con."

"And deal with being seen with a six foot tall ferret? That, and my geek quota stops at watching Battlestar Galactica."

"Fair enough."

"...you're not gonna be wearing the costume to dinner, are you?"

Jacob clenched and unclenched a paw, noting muscles under fur that provided to the action. "I hope not."

The said good-byes and Jacob replaced the phone on the cradle.

He sat on the bed clenching and unclenching his paw. He searched his chest for a hidden zipper again. He experimentally twitched his tail. He hopped about on his digitigrade legs. He examined the places where the bright blue fur and brown fur met. He placed the goggles on, turning the world green and shiny.

He took in his options and decided he had gone insane. Sure, most insane people didn't know they had gone insane but he decided it was the only way this made sense. People did not become what they were costumed as.

Jacob ignored that this was the same logic most creatures used his an absurd unexplainable situation in most narratives.

He let himself settle back on the bed, limbs splayed out, twisting and turing, liking the feel of his long body on the linens. Ah, insanity didn't feel that bad. No wonder insane people smiled so much. Or why ferrets did this in bedsheets in countless YouTube videos.

A sensation hit him.

O O O

One disconcerting trip to the bathroom later, he decided he had not gone insane.

O O O

"So, you got like straps and stuff in that thing?"

"Excuse me?"

"To make your tail move like that."

Jacob made a sideways glance at the guy sitting next to him. He wore a t-shirt with skulls for some rock band, his hair looked lived in. "Yeah. Sure."

"I'm not usually a fan of these costumes, but its pretty sweet," the guy said, poking at the tail.

"Don't touch the tail..." he checked the badge, "...Raven."

As if to emphasize the point, the tail rose, and the tip of it poked Raven on the nose. Raven gaped. Jacob turned his attention back to the panel. He briefly considered staying in the hotel room. Then the forty five dollar con fee haunted his hide. He'd considered since nothing had happened horribly this morning in his strange daze (he still wasn't quite sure what had happened there) he probably could attend the con with little notice.

He was half right. He did gain notice, but mostly because his costume was so notably brilliant. He didn't know what to make of this. He would thinks someone would notice how oddly real his outfit was. He decided after a while that people just looked at the world through a tint, that something strange was brushed under the carpet as something sensible. Even for fans of the fantastical, it made more sense to see Jacob as a person in a realistic costume than a large ferret, or perhaps it was the other way around. As with yesterday, people still saw him as a larger weasel-type creature, and treated him as thus, just taking it in stride the same as before.

It was a sci-fi / fantasy convention after all. One could pick out a dozen or so strange creatures in any landscape view in any room of the hotel.

The other thing that had drawn him out, was this panel. Biology and Ecology of Anthromorphic Races

If there was anywhere he was going to get some answers, this was going to be the place.

He listened as the panelists discussed foreign biology and traditions of fantasy species, and soon focused in upon the man to the right, Dr. Ralph Higgins, PhD of Biology, Zoology and Cryptozoology from the Northwest University. He seemed to have the best handle on the topic, bringing up issues, talking of genetics, and generally being amusing in his analogies. If there was anyone Jacob needed, it was someone with a sense of humor.

After the panel came to a close, it took all of Jacob's power to keep from going to all four paws and sneaking up the front as fast as he could. The tendencies kept sneaking up from the back of his mind. Odd thoughts. Some came from what he supposed came from being in the body of a ferretish creature. Some came from places a little odder (or would it be otter?), memories, faces, scenes of a steam filed landscape, dreams, details, things that were scrabbling for attention, coming to the surface when he became distracted. He found himself introducing himself as Reginald Tesla to whoever asked, without even a twitch of hesitation.

Which is why he needed answers.

He got to the table. "Dr. Higgins."

"Please, Dr. Ralph," the man said, taking a drink of water. "What can I do for you?"

"I have a bit of a problem I was wondering you could help me with."

"And what would that be."

"You see, I'm sorta a ferret."

Dr. Ralph sighed, pushing thick rimmed glasses up his nose, and gave a forced smile. "I'm sorry, I don't think I can help you. Humans are humans. And as much as you wish..."

"You misunderstand me."

"I know what you think. That you are a ferret trapped in a..."

"No. Just stop. Look at my face."

Dr. Ralph sighed again, but he did look at Jacob's face. The room was almost empty, the other panelist were gone, a few people were stumbling in for the next panel, Jacob took a deep breath.

Jacob licked his muzzle.

"Wha...wha...wha..."

"Dr. Ralph."

"Did. What? Now. Just..."

He whipped out a penlight from his shirt pocket and shined it in Jacob's eyes. His other hand danced its way across his marten-like ears. "You have...who are you...?"

"Dr. Ralph. I just needed to confirm I hadn't gone completely insane. I was a pretty sure but...well...good to have a doctor's opinion."

"You're actually a ferret. Well, not a ferret completely. The details are a little hazy. These are not ferret ears to be certain...and the tail looks like something off an otter...I can't believe I'm saying any of this. Is your tongue blue?"

"Just for fun."

"Do you have time?"

"Well, I was interested in that panel on gremlins...and the Artist of Honor is doing a display of...of course I have time. I'm a bloody ferret."

"Darn it. I have a panel coming up. Perhaps I've went insane. Perhaps..."

Jacob tweaked Dr. Ralph's nose with his claws.

"Ow. Thank you."

"Will you be able to help me?"

"I don't know. Can we meet for lunch? Please."

"You're looking at me like I'm a massive fuzzy tenure ticket."

"...yes?"

"Of course I'll meet with you for lunch. I've not made a stir yet. I can just wander about here." He held out a paw, he shook it, he hurried on his way, looking back multiple times, still in shock. He took out his pocket watch, now, mysteriously, authentic gold.

The costume contest was in a half-hour. He was signed up for it. When he had signed up it, he had not suspected this. Then again, there was no one in their right mind who would have suspected this. And there was the prize. An authentic replica of the 11th Doctor's sonic screwdriver /and/ signed poster.

Even if he weren't primarily a ferret the word "shiny" would have come unbidden to his mind.

O O O

"...and if you fix the wiring like so, you should be able to get a proper charge." Jacob looked down the glass barrel of the weapon. "You didn't even have the right to be calling this a lightning gun before I came along."

"What exactly did you do?" the lady dressed in the leather apron asked, taking the lightning gun back, "It took me ages to get it to spark up when the trigger is pulled."

"When Regi sees a device of untapped potential, something just opens up within me. As my Uncle Nikola used to say, 'It all starts with a spark...' And with your weapon there, I took that line quite literally. Now, considering bystanders, I thought it best not to extend its potential too much, but enough that it gives a little of a show. See that mysterious potted plant over there, just aim and fire."

"Ah, it can't hurt." The lady raised the weapon and pulled the trigger. The end of the gun sparked, then kept sparking, outward, strings of static electricity rotating through the air until they hit the plant, rotating about it in a shiny orb, that seemed to touch all parts without effecting the leaves. Meanwhile, the lights of the large meeting area flickered and sputtered with the charged air. She released the trigger. "How...?"

"Untapped potential, as I said," Jacob inserted, giving a deep bow to the miss, "And the only tip I require is a rub between the ears."

Uncertain how else to react, she rubbed him between the ears, letting a smile spread across her face. "That was brilliant, Regi. This is supposed to be just a model but... how did you do that? You only had it a few minutes."

"Never underestimate these fuzzy paws," Jacob countered, waggling his digits, "Speaking of which, the footpaw ones are dragging me to meet more chaps. See you about, miss." He saluted and moved on into the crowd, many of which were staring at him after the electric display. Jacob played along with their questions as they came...

"I'm a ferret, mostly, a dash of otter on my mum's side, a bit of marten on my pa's. But considering I grew up in a pod, didn't know either. Sad facts of genetic engineering, chap. Still didn't affect my roguish good looks."

"Need to say the best time I have was fending off that steam-powered dragon in the Loch of Great Britain. Dastardly foe. Had a loose gasket and started eating all the fish. So, with only a wrench and bottle of castor oil, totally got that metal maw out of commission, saving the fish...after sampling a few myself. Testing for mercury content, you see."

"Wormholes are impeccable means of travel. How I came to this fair time to study the rhyme and reason of this impeccably ran alternate universe. Not the smoothest running place but I do adore those vending machines."

"Ah, Tesla? I miss Uncle Nikola. He had the most fun facial hair. I tried to grow one like it but I just ended up grizzled."

Jacob would have been more unsettled on how easily the in-character conversations came to him if he wasn't having so much fun, exchanging brags with the brawniest of the airship pirates, flirting with the most spiced of the Female Gear Corps, trading ideas for the next phase in steam powered transportation (he believed pneumonic tubes were the next big thing). It was only half-way snorfing down a bowl of popcorn (paws optional) when his ears perked at the name of "Regi Tesla." He scampered up to the stage, waving at the audience, placing the popcorn in a pocket for later.

The moderator spoke: "I don't think we need to look very far to see who the Audience Favorite Award goes to. With his unconventional portrayal of a steampunk ferret hybrid, Regi Tesla has wooed at least a few ladies in the room." A series of female whistles met this remark. "He totally fits the theme of our convention, fuzziness and all. Now, it appears his name has been smudged on our sheet, so who are we giving this award to, Regi?"

Jacob smiled and cleared his throat. "Regi Tesla."

"Excuse me."

Jacob frowned. "Regi. Tesla. Sometimes Reginald Tesla." Something about that didn't sound right. The moderator was giving him a strange look. He rubbed the back of his head. What was he forgetting? He was Regi, wasn't he? Regi Tesla. Something didn't sound right still. "Just a moment, I have ID."

"What about that folks, keeping in character to the end," the moderator quipped. "Are you ok? You seem to be...panting."

Regi tried to get a hold of himself, shuffling through his pockets. He found his wallet, that seemed to look different. Than what, he couldn't remember. He opened it, he found his ID. Relieved, he handed it to the moderator. The moderator looked from the card to Regi a few times. "This is a card for the New York City Library from 1919. It says Reginald Jacob Tesla."

"Ah, Jacob. That's what I was forgetting," Regi stated, chittering nervously.

"What a character," the moderator said, shaking his head and rubbing Regi's snout, "No matter. You still deserve the prize. Bring it out here. Regi's eyes lit up when he saw the leather pouch held towards him. Authentic steampunk instruments and tools, made for any sort of task involving gears and bolts. Regi could already imagine using these for all matter adventures, slithering through crevices and corners of expansive machines across the globe.

"Thank you!" He almost tackled the moderator in a hug, nuzzling him on the neck, causing the moderator to giggle.

"Down, boy. Anyone have a ball of tin foil to distract him?" he called to the audience, winking. "Dang your costume is impressive," he whispered when Regi relented, "Heck, your nose is even a little wet."

Regi saluted. "Thanks. Must head to an appointment, sir."

O O O

"Your name is really Regi Tesla?" Dr. Ralph asked.

"You keep asking that. You think the waitress will bring more crackers if I ask? I really like the crackers here. Every time I eat them, there are crumbs left over. Then I can lick them off the table, and my paws, and my chest fur and then..."

"Focus. When did...this, happen?"

Regi twitched his whiskers, giving a Dr. Ralph a long stare, before he brightened. "I am a genetic experiment. Mostly ferret. They grew me in a pod. Like peas. But I'm not green. I've been told I'm very bright for a ferret, though I've found ferrets are very bright, humans just don't know how to listen. Have you ever spoke to a ferret?"

Dr. Ralph stirred his coffee. "I'm a little confused."

"You see. I was going to come to a human event to see how they acted in real life. At first I said my name was Jacob and I was dressed like a ferret, but then I found out that people saw me as a steam punk ferret already, so why not just be myself. It's much easier to be myself. I'm having a lot of fun here. Ooo, and there's dancing tonight. I love dancing. I get to be swoopy."

"Regi. You're not going to believe me. But I don't think you're a genetically grown ferret. If you are a flesh and blood ferret, that doesn't even make sense. It is not possible. You shouldn't exist."

"Don't you like me?"

"What? I don't..."

"You think I'm strange, don't you..."

"No. That's not what I mean. You're fine. I like you. But..."

"Oh good. I like you too. Think I can have more crackers?"

Dr. Ralph rubbed his temples. "Alright. I think you are heading towards some trouble. I'll call a few friends and we'll take care of you. In fact, I'll call my lawyer. Just to be safe. While you're here, I wouldn't worry. That's the funny thing about these conventions, something like this can happen and no one will notice. Outside of this place, if whatever this is doesn't go away, it might be tricky."

"Tricks. I know tricks. Do you have a deck of cards?"

"Dr. Ralph shook his head. "A tenure might take me taking this on. Trust me. I'll make sure nothing happens to you. I have connections. You just stay around the convention and I'll find you. Understand?"

"Yes. I'll call you on this." He pulled out a dial phone out of his pack, wires and gears sticking out of the sides, it appeared to be smoking. "I put a little combustion engine in that phone in my room and look, its portable now. I see other people with little ones but this is much more nice looking. Don't you think?"

Dr. Ralph straightened his glasses. "Yes, it is."

O O O

Regi walked around the dealer's den with a vigor only a ferret could accomplish, scampering from table to table, getting his paws on everything, making comments upon the impressive workmanship and artistry. He loved seeing that humans could accomplish when left to their creative devices. They had an imagination he was quite envious of, so much potential, so many shiny stuff they could create.
Many artists found them in the position of being hugged by an over-enthusiastic ferret thing, who could think of no better way to portray his appreciation. Licking was not approved by many human societies.

As he took time to got down notes in the artist section, in a nice homemade leather-bound journal he had bought (the artist had been nice enough to stamp a ferret likeness on the cover), a figure brushed next to him. Regi paused, and looked over at the many tailed vulpine.

"Hey. You. Haven't seen you for a while. Have you been enjoying this grand display of humans acting and reacting within a organized meeting in which they celebrate the collective works of their imaginations?"

The kitsune cocked an ear. "Come again?"

"It's bloody fantastic. I really can't wait to get back to my typewriter at home and write out a report."

"You're loosing me."

"I just can't get over how wonderful the place is. I've been told I can't stay after its over, but I just want to explore more of this world. I want to get my paws dirty. To wander into other strange new places that..."

The kitsune punched Regi across the maw, then took the ferret by the shoulders.

"Look me in the eyes, Jacob."

The ferret blinked. Shook himself. Blinked again. "Jacob..."

"Jacob. What's going on?"

"I'm not Jacob. That's my middle name. I like that name though. I guess you could..."

"Come with me."

The kitsune dragged the ferret with him, tipping his hat to any witnesses who had seen him hit the ferret. The con-goers went along their way, deciding it was just a ruitien they had come into halfway. The pair made it to one of the drinking stations, took a glass of ice water, and splashed it over the ferret's face.

"Who are you?"

The ferrets rubbed his now sopping features. He pulled the paws back and stared at them, then, startled twitching in his whiskers, looked about himself. "Where am I?"

"First tell me who you are?"

"Regi. No...wait...I'm not Regi. Just a moment."

"Jacob."

"That might be it." His eyes widened. "Yes. Wait. What's going on? You!"

"Yes, me. It appears I've miscalculated something."

"You did this to me?"

"Yes, to a point. This change in your personality is entirely unexpected though. You were only supposed to become what your costume was, not become what your character was."

"Why? No, that's too vague. There are so many questions I don't even know where to begin. What's going on? Why do I...I..." the sides of his face twitch, sneaking into a smile, he giggled briefly, chittering giggle, then his face cleared again, "Why can't I think of myself as...J-...Ja-...I'm Regi. Pleased to meet you." He clamped paws over his muzzle.

"I underestimated your level of imagination, Jacob. As you were saying, humans are amazing creatures, capable of much potential and fantastic accomplishment. Look at you. You made this costume, trying to bring a character to life, just for fun. But that character is being made real. Yes, I did do this to you, but something in you is bringing you the rest of the way into this character."

"It's taking all my power to not go over there and muse over that shiny ball of sparks for ten minutes," Regi said, gesturing over his shoulder.

"Would it be any comfort to you to say that you are a ladykiller with that face of yours?"

"I've been told when I stick my blue tongue out when I smile I'm liable to cause girlish squees from any nearby females. So who are you?"

The kitsune shrugged. "Remember what I said when we met?"

Regi facepawed. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Yes, I am a trickster, through and through, but this is not what I was aiming to do. I am not a cosmic creature doing things to make people's lives miserable. I do it for the same reason you costume, just for fun. By the way, you're not a furry, are you?"

"...actually, no. Common misconception though."

"Ah, well, I'll go for poetic irony next time. The point is...Regi. I mean...Regi. Reginald." The kitsune leaned in closer. "Regi Tesla. OK, that is a little weird. Are you still with me?"

Regi nodded. "I know what happened. I just...can't remember things. What is happening?"

"Regi is acclimating himself to this world. He is not some evil spirit trying to take over your body, he's just trying to be himself, and trying to let you be yourself. The problem is, he doesn't know where one ends and begins. You know how writers put a little of themselves into their characters?"

"...yes."

"Therein lies the avenue where the personalities have collided and integrated. Being in Regi's body is not helping settle matters."

"Can't you just turn me back?"

"Yes, you see, there's an issue, it seems that, urm..." Regi noted the kitsune's tails all lowered, as did the kitsune's ears. "Would it be a cop-out to say it's all up to you on how you end up?"

"Yes."

A ringing came from the kitsune's pocket. "One moment." He pulled a russet cellphone out. "Yes? Oh. Beargod, huh? He can't be Mars, that's Roman, that is Death Valley. Urhmm. The armor...and epic sword. You know...I can't...yeah. My vacation time...you can't say that wasn't funny. Yeah. The cleanup. That PETA picnic was asking for it...I thought the skunk thing was...yeah. OK, I'll be there in a few...yeah...ur...I don't...loveyoutoo." He pressed a button with a claw to hang up. "I need to go."

"You can't leave me like this."

"You'll be just fine. I heard Dr. Ralph is taking care of you."

"Wait, what does...?"

"Just be yourself, Regi."

And suddenly the kistune was gone.

O O O

After the kitsune had left, Regi wandered the con in a daze, occasionally perking up to some shiny activity or item, but in general lost in thought. He eventually settled down on a chair next to the elevators, no armrests which made it easier to sit with his tail, creatures here had little to no accommodations for tails. Pulling out pieces he's scourged from his hotel room's complimentary hair dryer and electric shaver, Regi started fiddling with the mass of wires, unpacking tools on the fake wooden end table. Working with his paws helped him concentrate..

None of this made sense. He shook his head. Of course it didn't. He was visiting an alternate dimension set in the far future. If this all made sense, he would have to be worried about his mental status. Still, he sensed something wrong with himself. The conversation with the kitsune had unlocked some things, but no sooner had the kitsune left, had the fractures sealed, leaving him befuddled and twitchy. In fact, his tail still had a nervous tick, almost knocking the cheap lamp off the end table.

Regi started to mutter to himself. "Ah. I wish that kitsune hadn't of come and said anything at all. I was having such fun. I'm Regi Jacob Tesla. Why was I saying if he could turn me back? Turn me back to what? So silly. I am a prime example of the extents of genetic manipulation. I just wanna go and try that grilled cheese sandwich again. Those are cool. Wonder why I never had one before."

He viciously twisted coils around the shaver motor. "And what about me being a character? I'm not a character. I'm not. Characters are things in books with ray guns and who go on space adventures and fight off bog beasts. Stuff that would never happen in real life. I am a legitimate creature founded on scientific fact. There is nothing..." The device he fiddled with sparked, shocking him. He mind quirked, just a moment. He sucked on the digit hurt and stuffed the wires and tools back into his bag.

He didn't like being angry, he wanted to be happy, he wanted to enjoy the con, he wanted to meet more people. Regi found his mind embroiled in the seeds of doubt placed in his mind by the kitsune. He growled at anyone who spoke to him. The people laughed and growled back, moving on. The ferret wanted to go home. He wanted to be in his own hammock, in his own little lab, surrounded by his own inventions. Regi didn't want to bother with this idea of being a character and yet he couldn't shake it.

Something caught him, through the edge of his gaze, he paused, first torso, and then legs turning towards the distraction. A wall covered with photos of con-goers, from the first day, just after registration, He snatched at one of the photos, staring slacked jawed the figure it portrayed.

"That your entrance photo?" a voice interrupted, coming from a man in full Spiderman costume and money pouch.

"I...guess."

"That will be ten dollars."

"Oh. Yes." Regi stuck a paw in his pocket, digging for some of the monetary paper had had brought along. He pulled out a couple crumpled fives to the man.

"Nice costume."

"...thanks." Regi couldn't take his attention off the photograph, a 8 x 10 glossy. It showed Regi, though not exactly. It appeared as some strange chractature of Regi, exaggerated in the details, fake looking face, perpetual grin, glazed-over eyes, could see sewed seams on the edges, off-kilter paws holding a fake over-sized pocket watch. The figure was posed in a mischievous salute at the camera. In every way, it was a photo of a person in a ferret hybrid costume. A costume of Regi.

At first, Regi thought perhaps it was just some strange coincidence, but the more he looked, and compared the details of the costume with his own body, the more he knew this was not true.

He was a character.

But if he were a character...who...

The sides met."

"Jacob? Wait, yes, I am Jacob, but I'm also Regi. I thought my middle name sounded familiar. But, is that my real middle name? Oh pufferfish this is odd. I'm Jacob. I know it. I'm Regi, too. This is getting us nowhere. Am I even speaking to myself or...ok, let's just think of his sensibly. I came to this con as Jacob but now I'm Regi but I'm also still Jacob. Ow, my head hurts...I can't even have a proper split personality to sort this out. Am I even alright with this?"

He got on his haunches, and scratched behind an ear with a hind paw, then got up, smoothed his fur, and continued walking.

"I think that odd interlude in itself just screamed both yes and no. This is weird. Just trying to speak this all out. Don't want to think it all out. I'd be liable to explode in a puff of logic or something. For the time being, I think I can stick with calling myself Regi Jacob Tesla. Keeps a good solid...ooo, is that a Red Dwarf signed poster...no, moving on. No shinies. Bad ferret. Uncle Niclov would know what to do. I can't believe I know Tesla and I call him my uncle. There is something so cool about that. I'm accepting this too readily. Oh, fuzzbutt this absurd."

He pulled out his pocket watch. "And I have dinner with Becca in twenty minutes. Perfect."

O O O

Regi lapped his ice water nervously as he waited for Becca. This would not end well. It wouldn't start well either. He just knew it. Now that he had come to the absurd eqaulibrum between himself as Jacob and himself as Regi, it seemed that rather anything being solved, it just made everything just more complicated. It didn't help that the Jacob side of himself kept bringing up legitimately worrisome questions which Regi brushed off with a cheerful disposition and equally worrisome answers.

Though still a casual restaurant, he still received a good share of Looks from the restaurant patrons.

"Jacob, I can't say I'm surprised, but, forgive my bluntness, what in Hellgates?"

"Your use of children's literature swearing is quite endearing, Becca," Regi countered, rising to pull out a seat.

"You said you wouldn't be wearing that fursuit."

"And I kept my word."

"Brushing it off as an 'animal costume' is not going to cut it."

"Becca," Regi said, placing a paw over his fuzzy chest where he believed his heart was (was hard to tell with a longer body to deal with, "Trust me."

"I've heard that line just before you've dragged me into some horrifying slash amusing experience."

"Hopefully more of the latter than the prior."

"The jury is still out about that," Becca said, accompanied by an eyeroll and brushing her chestnut hair behind her ears. "I assume this means the convention is going well."

"You could say that. It's come with some complications."

"What, Regi, you got your tail stuck in an elevator door?" She made a face. "...Regi. No. Regi. No, wait...why am I...?"

"Well, my name /is/ Regi Jacob Tesla."

"No it isn't. You're Regi." She looked at Regi, and this time, Regi could tell, she really looked. He twitched his whiskers and let himself smile.

"That...you're..."

"I've heard this routine before. Let me cover the bases," Regi said, spreading his paws, "Yes, I am a real ferret hybrid from a alternate history steampunk era where I have associations with the mad science of genetics and a rising inventor named Nikola Tesla. And..." He rose one digit to keep Becca from interjecting, "I was created by Jacob, a sci-fi / fantasy fan, and my creator, and I also happen to be him. One in the same. Two for one deal. We're still writing up the contracts."

Becca appeared dumbstruck, twisting a napkin in her grip.

Regi rose a paw, "More crackers please!"

"That doesn't make any sense. I've known you since elementary school, there is no way..."

"And yet here I am before you, able to pick my nose with my blue tongue. A sort of blue tongue that even a proper popsicle can't manage."

"And you're alright with this?"

Regi leaned forward and held out his paws. It took a full awkward minute, before Regi could tell his cute face seeped past the logic of Becca's mind and she placed her hands in the ferret's sable paws. "Becca. You are one of my best friends. You know me all too well. I'm compulsive and absurd, I say and do stupid things, and above all, I am always trying to be somewhat normal. Believe me. This is nothing I wanted. This is nothing I dreamed about. And I am scared out of my wits. But at this point, at this moment, I know that I'd never be happy try to be normal, and if being Regi is where I have to go to be not normal...well..." He shrugged. "Being a steampunk ferret hybrid is not a bad way to go."

"This is a lot to take in."

"So, bad time to say government agents are converging on our table?"

"Perhaps."

"Mmm...could I still take out my electric pulse gun?"

"If you want to. Can you really pick your nose with your tongue?"

"Yes."

"That's gross."

"What can say? It's a habit I'm trying to break. But genetically installed instincts, what can you do?"

"So about those government agents..."

"I wasn't going to say anything about them. How did you know?"

"Lucky guess."

Two rather large men in black suits flanked the table.

Regi smiled at the two, not letting go of Becca's hands. "We'll order later, we're having a meaningful moment."

"We are here on the behalf of the U.S. Government."

"Well, if you are from the Men in Black, sorry in inform you, I am not from outer space /and/ U.S. Citizenship under the Genetic Creatures Rights Law of 1909. So both definitions of alien do not apply. Of course, that depends upon your views on cross-dimensional law."

"Regi, I'm sure they are just here to check on my highly insidious ferret tattoo."

"D'aww, when did you get that?"

"It was going to be a surprise."

The men in black suits cleared their throats, simultaneously. The one on the left spoke. "We're sorry to interrupt your date."

"Ooo, we're dating?" Regi exclaimed.

"Perhaps. Not at the kissing stage yet. I think we will have to draw the line at nose-nuzzling."

"Shut up!" the man on the right said.

Regi and Becca reluctantly stopped holding hands and settled back in their seats.

"So is this on the horrifying or amusing side, Becca?" he said, looking about for the waitress with potential crackers.

"I think your current ferrety disposition is pressing it to amusing. Though can't be sure. This feels like a strange dream. Is your mood infectious?"

"No, I think we're just being...normal, for us," Regi said, sticking his tongue out at her.

Before anything more dire could proceed in this dinner theater, which most the restaurant patrons now watched, someone called out. "Stop!" All turned, to see Dr. Ralph and a woman, of brunette hair and flowing skirts, walk into the restaurant. The woman continued, "What is going on here?"
The government agents glowered. The one on the left spoke. "We are here on behalf of that U.S. Government to investigate the presence of a foreign lifeform in..."

The woman turned to Dr. Ralph, "Is he serious? You were being serious? And that is a ferret thing."

Dr. Ralph shrugged, "I had a bit of a feeling this would happen. You see, I think that the fabric of our universe is being wrinkled because of the presence of Regi Tesla. The world about him is bending in ways to conform to something out of a science fiction plot, to the point that reality is..."

"No need of the specifics, Ralph. I get the gist. Now, you two. You cannot take that ferret into custody."

"Why not," the man on the right growled.

"Do you have a warrant?"

The men shuffled awkwardly.

"Of course. You don't need a warrant. You come in and clean up, no questions asked. Now I'm here to question you."

"Who are you?" the man on the right countered.

"I am Jess Winters, science fiction writer and I have a PhD in Law. I normally use that in my illegal space alien court drama plots, but considering what Ralph has told me, this is an opportunity I couldn't miss." She walked up to the table and, with a professional edge, tweaked Regi's ears, nose, mouth, and paws, before giving a satisfied nod. "I have gathered documentation on Mr. Tesla to form a case in his processing all rights he had before he became his own character. Now, I need to do further research, but I have the papers here that prohibit you from taking this creature into custody."

She handed a folder over to the man on the left. He took it carefully and leafed through, then handed it over to his partner, who ripped though the documents with a more violent vigor. They shared a glower over the table, then left. Though the man on the right made rude gestures before he exited and muttered a few things that made the fur on the inside of Regi's ears burn. The patrons felt obliged to clap.

After they had left, Jess Winters turned her attention back to Regi. "I am offering my services as your lawyer, do you accept?"

Regi looked the lady up and down. "I can't think of anyone better to represent me."

She suddenly hugged Regi around the neck. "Oh, I always hoped to use my research! I always hoped maybe for a real alien but I shall make do with a ferret. You're so fuzzy! I shall keep in touch." She released, with a wide smile on her face. "Oh, Ralph. I'm going to have so much fun with this. I hope there's a case. I shall work on the papers now. Keep in touch, Regi. I'll have a preliminary report tomorrow." She practically skipped out of the restaurant.

Dr. Ralph turned back to Regi. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm not completely Regi or Jacob now, if that's what you mean?"

"And you're alright with this?"

Regi shot a glance at Becca, then shrugged. "I guess we'll see."

Dr. Ralph sighed and shook his head. "You...will let me poke and prod you for a minimally invasive scientific and biological examination, won't you?"

"I'll think about it. You're giving me the fuzzy tenure ticket look again."

"I can't help it."

"I'll catch up with you tomorrow morning."

Dr. Ralph nodded to Regi and Becca, then exited himself. The two finally looked back at each other.

"That was...interesting," Becca said.

"That's one way to put it, wonder where my crackers got to," Regi said, trying to spy the waitress again.

"So, where do we go from here?"

"Well..." he pulled a device from his pocket, and placed it in the center of the table. "I conjured this up while waiting for you to come. It took me a bit to get it just right, but...this is a wormhole conductor."

"I'm not even going to grace you with asking 'what.'"

"This device can make a condensed wormhole, one capable of transporting me back to my steampunk era...and a friend."

"Wait, that place doesn't exist. You're still a character. There is no way that...and I'm trying to explain this to a six foot tall ferret."

"So, do you want to come?"

"Seriously?"

"Why not?"

"And give up my life. You giving up your life? You can't be serious. This..."

"No, no, no. Just a little vacation. For a few weeks. Well, a few weeks there, only two hours here. You know, traveling through time and space. Has nice quirks there."

"You're trying to catch my inner Doctor Who fangirl, aren't you?"

Regi's ears lowered guiltily. "Yeah, a little."

Becca took one of his paws, giving a devious smile. "You're a little weasel, you know that."

Regi lowered his goggles with a paw. "I prefer 'ferret.'"

He pressed the button.
[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Comedy]] [[Category:Anthropomorphic]] [[Category:Ferret]] [[Category:Mental change]]

Nothing Up My Sleeve

2011-01-14T14:44:26Z

Jonas: added the Batsignal; part of the reason Traxer let me post his stories here was to recieve feedback/critique

{{Critique requested}}Every time I opened the closet door to grab a jacket, shoes, or miscellany, the fox stared down at me. To a normal person, they would find this unsettling. To me, it just caused me to sigh. Sometimes I looked up into its vacant expression and stared back a while. Usually, I just closed the door and carried on my way.

It was an impulse purchase. Late on a Friday night after a long week of work, actions muzzy at best, I somehow ended up ordering a fursuit.

Don't get the wrong impression from that. I know the stories that go around about fursuits and I'm not one of those guys. I do it for the same reason people want to be a mascot. For that absurd detachment from reality, to be someone else, at least for a little while.

In retrospect, that still sounds strange.

Anyway, the following days, some e-mails with the maker (who I found was a beginner in the business, though showed a lot of talent) and after much internal debate... I caved and carried through with the ambitions of my late-night actions. I placed the order, paid the deposit, waited, and three or so months later a disembodied head, paws, and tail arrived on my doorstep. I could have gotten a full body suit, but some part of me held back from going quite /that/ far. That being said, when I got the costume I promptly panicked and placed it in the closet before I could let its presence set in.

Where it stared at me day after day.

My talent for foresight is again shown to be faulty.

Time passed. I went to work. I stared at a computer screen from eight to five. I went home. I stared at computer screen until sleepy. I went to bed. Meals and chores scattered between. I never could remember what I actually stared at screens for afterward, at either work or home. Pixels just blurred by, acting as a form of time eater, consuming the time from point to point. Life was just being life, in the usual menial way.

Then the e-mail came from the fursuit maker, asking how I liked the suit, and my clicking through pixels stopped for a moment. I returned to the closet, and locked my gaze with the fox. The design of the fox was nice. Russet fur offset by the lower white, black marks on both sides of the muzzle, golden eyes, shiny nose. A fox was not exactly the most original of costumes, but I had a character when I was a kid; a goofy adventuresome fellow who happened to be a fox. He didn't even have a name as far as I knew. As I grew older, I played with the idea of him less and less until only a vague memory remained. So, in a way, it was him staring down at me from shelf in the closet.

I took down the head, the paws, and the tail, from closet and brought them to the living room. I sat holding the head for a long while.

"What are you looking at?" I said.

The fox head stared.

"Yeah, you're most likely wondering why I've left you in the closet for a while. You see, I'm not sure you're right for me. I mean, yeah, it sounded like a fun idea to wear you at the time, but now...when am I supposed to do so? I don't have time or money for conventions. I have no friends I hang out with who would be comfortable with me wearing a fox costume around. And now I'm speaking to an inanimate object."

I patted the fox between the years. "No offense."

The fox kept staring.

Well, there was only one way to end this. I carefully pulled the black paws over each hand, the oversized footpaws over my feet, hooked on the tail onto the back of my pants, and, of course, pulled the head over my own, hooking the velcro strap under my chin.

I stood there, the sound of my breath magnified within the head. I saw the room through the two eyeholes. I settled back down on the couch, moving the tail to the side so I could sit properly. After waiting so long, I supposed some part of me thought finally putting on the costume would be significant somehow. But, after doing it, I just thought the velcro strap felt a little itchy under my chin. I got up and wandered to the bathroom. I looked at myself with the fox's face in the mirror. Same vacant expression--though the smile was visible now-- small plastic canines, pink tongue sticking out a little. A tad surreal to see, but it still didn't stir anything within me.

Dang, this had been a waste of money. At least I'd only bought a partial. I rubbed my temples. then realized I was rubbing the temples of the fox's head. I snickered a little. "My enemy, Lord Fisher of the Laundry Room has eluded me once again," I stated, rubbing the fox's muzzle, "Alas, his leagues of brainwashed lemmings are a force to be reckoned with. They have the nasty habit of setting themselves a-blaze and throwing themselves off cliffs into the canyon we must pass to enter the Weasel Valley."

The memories of tales composed in yesteryears bubbled up as I said the words, those worlds I spun for the fox to explore, the dangers I had the fox face, the challenges that I had the fox solve in his creative and swash-buckling way. I paced the bathroom. "How can I do this? Time is of the essence, to rescue our comrades." I took a towel and tied it around my neck, letting it hang like a cape behind me. I grabbed the plunger by the toilet. I slunk to the door, and peeked into the hall. "I must work quickly. With this magic staff, given to me by the wise Sir Wolfie, I will find a way."

As I kept up this monologue, the story started growing, both old forgotten plots and new formed tangents, I crawled and scampered around the house, before I realized the absurdity of it while giving a one-liner to a pillow as I held the plunger to its nonexistent gizzard. Even then, I finished the sequence with "So long, Lord Fisher," before pressing the plunger into the pillow.

After that, I quickly returned the costume to the closet and slumped back on the couch. I sat there wondering what had just happened. I was pretty sure I had not lost my mind. Just, doing all that had felt like the right thing to do when I had that fox head on. All in good fun. And I had enjoyed it. I occurred to me that I had been playing with my imagination, which, for someone in their mid-twenties, was an unsettling thought. Perhaps I had lost my mind. But no, I wasn't doing anything I hadn't seen people role-playing do, and that really was my motivation. it was just fun to act like the fox for a little while. That fox of my younger imagination, who I'd almost forgotten, who may very well be reincarnated by that costume.

With these troublesome thoughts, I headed to bed.

The events of the evening did not leave me. The following day at work I could not stop thinking about it. I found myself jotting down notes of possible adventures. My fingers danced on the desk, plotting out daring-do escapes. I couldn't get my mind off it; even in discussions with co-workers, my mind wandered to the quests I would set forth upon once I got home.

My evenings changed.

The moment I got home, the adventure began again.

My schedule changed from staring at the computer screen to questing to defeat whatever evil happened to be plaguing the land. I overthrew the tyrannical Master Jupiter, the crazed wildcat from the far west. I tricked the Haze the Owl Dictator at his own games. I set free the lemmings enslaved by the gang of arctic foxes, who used an abbey as their cover for their trading of labor. Castles made of couch cushions, forts made of sheets, mountains made of comforters and pillows, each day a new landscape or adventure. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, until, just before setting off on a quest for the Eternal Fresh Scone, the phone rang.

It took me a few moments to place where the strange sound came from, that it came from my phone, and then actually find the phone to answer it.

"Evan? Is that you?"

"Yes?"

"This is Mr. Roberts from across the street. Just wanted to present you an invitation to the Neighborhood BBQ this evening. Everyone will be there and Mrs. Roberts and I did not want you to feel excluded. We know you live alone and perhaps you will meet some new friends."

I knew that tone all too well. It was the one my parents used. It meant that "You are coming to this event whether you like it or not and oh! Look over there! There is a girl your age who is nice looking and single, why don't you go over and chat with her!" Though Mr. and Mrs. Roberts were not my parents, they were the same general age and seemed to have the parent aura about them (plus, I had my suspicions that my parents had built a network of informants among my neighbors.)

"OK...when is the event?" I asked, hoping to fend it off with some made up scheduling conflict.

"Just started. We will be waiting for you. See you soon."

He hung up before I could respond. I glowered at the cell phone. I had little choice to put on a coat and head across the street. I did not like social events. Not that I had any trouble talking to people, but normally, conversation revolved around the current local gossip, a topic I could only nod to while retaining a hopefully interested blank expression.

I did not expect the odd looks I was given when I entered the backyard. I decided they were a pleasant change of pace. The kids there were very warm towards me, which I should have found suspect. Still, I decided to play along with the social coil, and at least make an effort to be grown up.

"Seems like a nice BBQ," I commented, to the first neighbor I encountered, "You're Mr. Cory, right?"

The man nodded, eyes a bit wider than I was used to seeing.

"I didn't miss the good steaks, did I?" I said, nudging Mr. Cory on the arm, flashing a smile.

He shook his head and edged away.

It was then I noticed that the odd looks had turned into odd stares from everyone at the BBQ. I saw Mrs. Roberts walking towards me. I gave a good-natured wave, then noticed her face was covered by a nervous expression. "Excuse me, who are you?"

"Evan, Mrs. Roberts. Mr. Roberts just invited me, I thought..."

"What are you wearing?" she whispered, gaze giving me a once-over.

"Ur...a coat."

"Don't be silly, Evan. That is not what I'm talking about."

The reality dawned on me as I went back over my actions between getting home from work and getting the call from Mr. Roberts. Putting down bag and hanging up jacket, taking out the fox suit, setting forth to defeat the zombie squirrels, getting the call from Mr. Roberts, putting on the coat...I have obviously missed a step somewhere. I was still wearing the fox suit. It would seem something I would have noticed. I guessed I was getting so used to wearing it after work that it felt natural.

"Ur...this is...my...costume...for work."

Mrs. Roberts pursed her lips. "As a software engineer?"

"...Casual Friday?"

Mrs. Robert's sighed and took hold of my paw. "Come with me, Evan."

She led me over to a girl, rather, a girl about my age, brown flowing air, cute classes, a bit of freckles on her nose.

"Hilda? This is Evan, he lives across the street from us."

Hilda giggled. "You told me about him. But you didn't..."

Mrs. Roberts sighed, interrupting her. "Hilda is new to the neighborhood, she lives just around the block. I leave the rest to the fates." She sighed again, and moved away.

Hilda smiled, and not an odd forced smile either. "Mrs. Roberts did not mention how cute you were."

I shrugged, "I guess my rugged good looks did not meet her standards."

"Shall we get some food?" she asked.

"Why not?" I said, "I suppose you're not up on the neighborhood gossip."

"I don't know," Hilda said, leaning in, "I have it on good authority that the person who lives across the street dresses up like a fox in his spare time."

"Really?" I said, lowering my own voice conspiratorially as I picked up a paper plate.

"Yeah, and there's a good chance he might be a furry."

"You don't say. How scandalous." I chose a hamburger bun and blackened hamburger to place inside.

"I know. But I'm sure he's harmless. Not a sexual deviant or anything."

"For sure. I've heard he just does it to release his inner child." I added ketchup and mustard.

"That sounds oddly cute."

"Or just weird."

"I like weird," she said, rubbing my snout. "By the way, how are you managing to eat through the costume head?"

I stopped in mid-chew. I tasted the mix of burnt meat, bun, ketchup, and mustard in my mouth. Though, I didn't quite know /how/ I had the taste in my mouth. I chewed a little further. I swallowed.

"Evan? You know. That's really cool how your costume is moving like that, the jaw and everything. Aren't you worried about stains."

I felt my tongue across my teeth. I felt my tail twitch.

"I'm sorry. I must go."

"But you just got here. I..."

"I really. I just..." I started backing away. "Nice to meet you. Long day tomorrow. Work."

I ran. Through the yard, through the gate, across the street, to my door, opened it, went inside, closed it, leaned against it, gasping for breath. I took account of myself. Everything felt odd. I rubbed a paw across my face. It was hard to describe. it was as if I could /feel/ the touch, in both my paw and on my muzzle. I slowly walked to the bathroom. I turned on the light. I looked the same. Though now, I knew, I wasn't looking through two small holes in the fox costume's eyes. The costume’s eyes and my own were one in the same. I stared cross-eyed down my muzzle. I could tell in the mirror that nothing of my appearance had changed. Wait. I opened my coat. I lifted my t-shirt and found white belly fur. Oh, my partial suit seemed to have become a full suit at some point.

It still looked like a costume though. I could see seams, I could still see the eyes were plastic, and, though I could move it, the tongue was even fabric (but now with slight mustard stains). I breathed. Still a costume. I could feel it. Perhaps I could just take it off. I pulled off my left paw.

I yipped in surprise.

I rose my left hand. Or rather, the space at the end of the left arm where my hand ought to be. I tried to move my left hand. The left paw, still being held by my right hand, clenched. Carefully, I placed the left paw back near the arm. It stayed. I wiggled the digits.

Ok, this could still be just a very absurd dream.

I took my left arm, and this time, pulled the fuzzy sleeve down. There was my left paw, hovering in mid-air. No arm. Cautiously, I moved my right paw through where the arm should be. It passed through air. My left paw made a peace sign. I carefully pulled the sleeve back down. The strange part was that when I'd done that, I could swear I could feel my skin wrinkle back..

One last test. I unhooked the Velcro strap of my head. I put a paw on each cheek.

I lifted.

I was suddenly looking down from a foot higher, my head detached from my shoulders. I chanced a look down at the empty hole where my head ought to be on the suit before my paws dropped my head into the bathtub. Soon after, I heard a soft thump, which I assumed was my body loosing balance. I felt the impact.

There I was. Head lying sideways in the bathtub, cheek soaking up a puddle of stagnant water left over from the last shower, body lying elsewhere. I wondered if this was the time to panic. Oddly enough, I felt rather calm about the situation. Yes, I had somehow turned into an animate fursuit. How was I supposed to react to that? All I could really do was try to get my head back on my shoulders and go from there.

I concentrated on my body. I made it feel its paws about itself. Floor. Porcelain. No, too curved. Must be the toilet. Plastic sheet. I saw the shower certain move. OK. I could guess where it was now. Sit up. Strange to do when I was literally disembodied. Took a bit of effort. Eventually, after a bit of fumbling, feeling wetness as I tried to seek purchase on what I concluded was the toilet, I saw two black paws, and then my headless fox body rise over the rim of the tub. I'd say it was looking down, but you see how that wouldn't make sense without a head. It was a disorienting action, but I somehow got my paws to grip my head, lift up, dizzying as I tried to get my head to an upright angle, and place it back onto my fuzzy shoulders. I reconnected the Velcro strap. To what, considering I was lacking a chin, I could not say.

I sat next to the bath a long time, absently rubbing my tail. Events caught up to perception. I realized I felt different and felt the same. Different, because my body was obviously...was. Same, because all my thoughts and feelings felt normal. What instincts would an animate costume have need to corrupt me with anyway? Avoid starches? I lifted the shirt again to look down at the white stomach fur. I felt along it. By all accounts, it felt like there was something under the fabric fur. I felt under my chin again and my claws caught hold of a zipper. I mentally steeled myself, and pulled down to my stomach. I lifted the shirt again, and pulled the opening apart. I could see the back of the costume, an athletic mesh, similar to that of the paws and arms. No insides whatsoever.

I zipped back up.

Shouldn't this awareness cause me to collapse? By all accounts, I should be limp on the floor. Then again, by all accounts, I shouldn't be a fox costume either. So perhaps one weirdness met with the other and collaborated so I could remain in this odd middle ground.

I needed some coffee. I wondered I'd be able to. Then I realized the half of a burger I'd eaten had went somewhere, so coffee couldn't hurt to calm my literally thread nerves. As I contemplated the odd sensation of coffee soaking into my tongue, I considered my options.

Well, there was always the fursuit maker…

It took a few hours to find her contact information. Between getting used to the limited paw-typing function and the perspective through these new eyes, it took a little long than normal. I did know she lived somewhat nearby. She'd actually dropped the costume off on my doorstep when she'd finished. Her website didn't seem like it'd been updated for the last five months though. The last pictures in the gallery were work-in-progress shots of my costume being made. After that, some general note how life and gotten busy and then nothing. This worried me as I carefully dialed her number with one plastic claw.

It rang six times before someone picked up.

"Hello, is...Gig there?"

"Who?"

"Ur...Gig...wolf?"

"Oh, Emily. Yes, she's here. Emily! Phone for you!"

Some shuffling, some strained statements with "mom" in them, then a wary, "Hello?"

"Yes. This is...Evan."

"Evan? Evan! I tried e-mailing you a few months back. How's it going?"

"Fine. No. Wait. Not fine."

"Do you like the suit?" I could hear the slight wariness in the tone.

"Yes. Yes, the costume has been great. I need to meet you."

Silence on the other side.

"Excuse me?"

"Just...I think. Has there been any side effects reported...from your commissioners?"

"Side effects? What are you talking about? No..." her voice moved away from the phone, "Mom, stop being a snoop. I'm not..." A door closed. "OK. What was that again?"

I rubbed my muzzle. "This is really hard to explain over the phone. Can't we just meet up somewhere?"

I heard the hesitation.

"Somewhere public. Like, there is a Starbucks not far from here. How would that work?"

"I don't know..."

"Please."

"...would tomorrow evening work?"

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes, that would be fine."

"The Starbuck on Jackson Ave, right?"

"Yes."

"Six be alright?"

"Yes, thank you."

Only after I hang up did I remember I had work the next day. It wasn't a matter of it conflicting with the meeting, it was a matter of it being /work/. A fleeting hope that this condition would pass scampered by.

The following morning, mid-way through bushing my plastic canines, did the reality slap in the muzzle again.

Of all the reasons to skip work, you would think this would be near the top next to "I appear to have been disemboweled." And truth be told, I /had/ been disemboweled. Just not in the conventional way. I didn't skip work though. I really couldn't bring myself to do it.

So, wearing a tie (because it was the only dressy thing I could fine that fit me), I took the bus, I entered the office building, I went to the fifth floor, I sat in my cubical, I turned on my computer, I typed productively. Between the lines, many stares, bugging out eyes, surprised gasps, whispers, and (oddly enough) high-fives to my raised paw filled the spaces in between. Never having worn my costume in public, besides that brief BBQ interlude, I found the effect...not altogether dissatisfying. For every glare my fuzzy frame attracted there were three grins with a chuckle or two on the edges. To be fair, I did ham it up, with exaggerated waves and proclamations of love, despite my growing fear of actually making it to the office.

I had hoped, perhaps, to fly into the fog of menial labor that the office bred, and maybe no one would notice that a six foot fox had snuck into the workspace.

I don't know why I thought that would work. Not minutes after sitting at my computer did I feel the pressure points of dumbfounded stares cast down upon me from surrounding cubicles. I leaned closer to the screen, muzzle almost touching the monitor, trying to get used to coding with four digits and plastic claws.

"Evan, is that you?"

Grudgingly, I turned around and forced a grin. "Hi Tim."

"It /is/ you." Tim took a sip of coffee. "Is this for a protest or..." He let the inquiry float, as if waiting for me to catch it. I didn't oblige.

"When is the deadline for this project again?" I asked, "I have the format down, but I need some time to insert the elements and test the..."

"Seriously. Is this a joke? Are there cameras set up to see our reactions?"

I growled low and steady. I didn't like Tim that much. He tended to steal my pens when he thought I wouldn't notice. I kept growling until Tim took the hint and slowly backed out of the cubicle, nervous grin pasted on his face. My tail wagged as I turned back to the computer.

Time almost got to that point where moments flowed into each other, coding out programs used for boring teacher tasks, and I could let myself float until five came around and I could escape to home...until a throat cleared. I turned again. Ah, Manager Susan. I should have known. Interminable middle age, tweed dresses, and a strange shade of burgundy lipstick;she could strike fear in any person's heart. Even mine, though I didn't have one at the moment. She adjusted her square-rimmed glasses.

"Walk with me."

I could feel my ears and tail lower as I rose from the chair. The sound of co-workers frantically typing spoke of their attempt to keep from making eye-contact with Manager Susan or my doomed hide. She looked me up and down.

"Nice tie," she stated, "It complements the fur."

"Thank you," I squeaked, a slight yip on the edge.

We walked down the row of cubicles, into the hall of real offices. She smiled, in a way that may me feel more mouse than fox. She opened a door and motioned me to enter first. This was it. I was going to be fired. Would it happen with yelling? Or just a simple "You're fired, have a nice day"? I felt my tail twitch. I closed my eyes and entered the room.

I opened them, only to see a half dozen people in suits seated around a table.

Manager Susan stood next to me. "This is Evan Stephens, he is our junior software engineer here at the company. Evan, these are our investors, here to see what new projects we have in development."

I gave a weak wave back, hoping that I would suddenly flop into a pile of fur on the floor like I should. Oddly enough, a few of the investors waved back, and a few smiles snuck in as well. Others glared with such an effect I was impressed my synthetic fur didn’t start melting. They didn’t even have jaws and I felt they wanted to rip out my throat. I pressed myself against the wall, my paws held behind me, clutching each other tightly.

Susan cleared her throat. "Now, as you know, our demographic here is aimed at teachers and instructors. But, I heard that you wish us to widen our scope, to look further into our education fields, and help a younger demographic. I believe that Mr. Stephens here is the...fox to take us there."

My jaw dropped. I wanted gave a little yip of surprise, and before I could object Manager Susan put an arm around my shoulders. "In Mr. Stephens's spare time he has been creating a plot that we can use to get through to students though adventures and quests using animal characters. In fact, this fox costume he is wearing represents the main character of these stories. Using this format, we can educate kids about anything they need to know in a new and fun way. Real education can be achieved when students don't even know they are being taught. This is no new..."

I just stared blankly at Manager Susan as she pitched this idea with a passionate vigor that would make a wolverine jealous. The investors were obviously interested, and smiles grew. She patted me on the back as she winded down, "And Mr. Stephens will be the Creative Manager of this new project, meaning he will be in charge of the organization and creative design of this program, assuming he agrees to take on the position. Will you, Evan?"

I nodded dumbly.

"Thank you for your time." The investors clapped as she took me by the paw and led me out.

"Wha-?" I started.

"I saw that you have been distracted for the past few weeks, scribbling notes during work. It would have been irresponsible for me to see that you were not wasting company time."

"You saw...I'm sorry..."

She rose a hand. "Evan. You scribbles gave me this idea. Our investors have been chiding us for something new, and you are it. It was only luck that you happened to be wearing this suit on the day of the bi-annual investor meeting. Any other day, I would have, pardon the pun, thrown you out on your tail, but between the scribbles and this, it turned into the perfect storm for you, Evan. Enjoy the promotion. It will include an office, higher pay, and..." She have me another look from footpaws to ears. "You may wear the suit. If this is what you need to play with this idea, I think I could convince the boys upstairs that this is your official outfit. Assuming you would agree to some PR events."

I tried to speak and ended up yipping again.

"You may go home a little early, Evan. You deserve it. Plus== I was watching you a few minutes ago; you really suck at typing with those paws."

I shrugged helplessly.

"See you about, Evan." She winked and headed off to torment some other soul. Such a brilliant woman.

So, loosening my tie, I headed to the coffee shop early to let the details of what happened settle in. Three varieties of coffee (grande) later, many stares, two flirting occasions, and three tail pulls by little children later, Gigwolf entered. Blue hair, messenger bag with many buttons, pink shaded sunglasses. I waved. She, after a slight pause, waved back and slowly approached my table.

"You got a body to go with the rest, I see," she commented.

"Heh. Yeeeeeah. Not exactly. How about I buy you a coffee and I'll explain."

She got a raspberry banana smoothy. I explained the events of the past month, mainly the last day. She took it rather well, claiming me to be insane, before I did my little trick of pulling down my sleeve and wiggling my digits. A little creative swearing later (does "jackalope droppings" really count as a swear?), we got to her side of things.

"I didn't do anything weird with the suit, if that's what you mean."

"Are you sure...didn't dig it up from an Indian graveyard or something...?" I asked, half-serious.

She sucked the last of her slurpy. "Well, I did get the fur from Goodwill."

I chewed on that. "Goodwill?"

"I washed it before I used it."

"Goodwill?"

"They have quality stuff there!" she said.

"So, no Chinese guy who spoke in haiku there?"

"At least you're taking this all well."

"No, seriously, was there a Chinese guy there?"

She gave me a look only humans under the age of twenty could properly give.

I sighed, and let another large drink of coffee soak into my mouth. I relished the hazelnut. "I suppose trying to find where the fur came from would be impossible."

"The place burned down a few weeks back," she offered.

"Convenient," I said, "I wonder if this will just...wear off. I just can't shake this feeling that I'm going collapse in on myself under the force of both logic and gravity."

"Do you ever have the feeling you want to be...worn?"

I growled at Gigwolf.

She held up her hands, "Sorry, it needed to be asked." She looked down at her empty slurpy cup. "You know, I feel responsible for this. I know this is absurd and proves I shouldn't make a business out of fursuits, but I really want to at least...help out somehow."

I slanted my felt eyelids.

"How?"

"It will requires a needle, thread, and twenty bags of cotton padding."

"You're going to make me stuffing ?"

"It will keep logic from making you collapse."

I agreed to her proposal.

After I got home, I slumped against the front door, exhausted. The fear of collapsing had diminished greatly after being properly stuffed with stuffing, and having my limbs sewed together did help avoid any future senses of detachment. Though a fun effect, I did not want to wake up after some late-night quest to find my right paw missing, or my whole body. The visit with Gigwolf had been an satisfying affair. Plus, she had agreed to help with any wear and tear I might run into. She bought extra bags of plush filling just in case.

I still couldn't quite believe the situation. Even after all this. I rose my paw and wiggled the digits. Felt a dash more substantial when it had plush rather than phantom force within it.

I now existed as a large animate fox costume.

That statement's significance did not jar me as much as I supposed it would. I breathed a lung-less sigh. I spotted a empty paper towel roll nearby. I picked it up and swung it lightly, as if testing the balance of a blade. Ah, my reliable weapon. I pulled the cushions from the couch, making them fort walls, arranged the blankets for a moat of sorts, I used magazines for winding pathways, put the tall lamp in the middle of the castle's courtyard, to use in warding off dragons. I had just gotten some pots to make some outposts when the doorbell rang.

I paused.

The doorbell rang again.

I didn't react. I wondered if I should just continue the construction work. Just lose myself.

"Evan?" Hilda's voice called through the door. "Are you there?"

"Yes," I responded.

"Are you busy?"

I looked at the half-finished world in the middle of my living room. "I suppose."

"I just wanted to check if you were sick or anything. You really seemed panicked about something last night. And you didn't answer the cell phone number Mrs. Roberts gave me."

I tried to recall where that devious electronic device was hidden.

"I'm alright."

"Are you sure? I really...just...you /are/ cute. I know that's silly to say. I mean, I really don't even know what you look like, but just, even when talking with you, I can sorta tell you're...nice. I was hoping just..."

"You want to be friends?" I ventured. My mind started clutching at the meaning in Hilda's voice. I started slinking to the door.

"I guess."

"Hilda. That would be nice...but...I need to ask you something."

"Yes?"

"Would you be willing to go on grand adventures into the unknowns? Go on quests for items of mystical power? Defeat creatures of ill repute? Fight for the good of the world? And be accepting of hugs in times of pain and...just in general?"

A long silence settled from beyond the door.

"Yes."

I opened the door.
[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Fox]] [[Category:Inanimate]] [[Category:Anthropomorphic]] {{fiction}}

Nothing Otter

2011-01-14T14:43:43Z

Jonas: added the Batsignal; part of the reason Traxer let me post his stories here was to recieve feedback/critique

{{Critique requested}}
Wend was skeptical the moment Luke professed his extreme love of sushi. He didn't profess it verbally as much as show it while eating at every meal and mid-meal snack. And it was just the way he fed upon it. "Ravenously" was the only word that properly captured the display.

Wend thought this word while peeking over his book of calculus at Luke snacking on the sushi, in his usual chomping way. Wend cleared his throat. Luke didn't notice.

"Ah-hem," he said.

Luke paused, straightened up, and looked directly at Wend. This bothered Wend. Or, rather, the bright eyed excited expression he got when being spoken to, as if it were a treat in itself. "Yep, Wendal?"

"Must you, what's the word, slurp at your plate like that?"

Luke's expression fell. "But...how will I be able to obtain all of the fishy goodness down to the last fishy morsel of fishiness?"

Wend did not quite know how to answer. This was another thing that bothered him about Luke, his impressive capability to leave him tongue-tied. He shook his head and tried again. "I just need to study. That's all."

"I can go in the closet to eat if you wish."

"No, that's not..."

"I can go outside. I'm really sorry to bother you with my eating habits. Is there..."

"Luke, I don't..."

"Do you not want me to be your roommate? I can..."

"NO!" Wend yelled. He then noticed he had yelled, and Luke had sunk down into his seat, hiding behind his plate.

"I'm sorry, Luke. It's nothing. Really."

"Is it about your dad?"

"What? How do you know about that? I mean, no!"

Luke had sank further.

Wend pinched the bridge of his nose. "You must have just overheard. I'm sorry. College is just not what I expected...I would figure after two years I would have some sense what I wanted to do. I thought maybe getting off campus would be better. Perhaps it would take some of the stress off. And my dad gets all panicked. He wants me to..."

"College is weird," Luke said, slowly getting back in his seat. "I didn't really know what to expect either. It's a fun too. Ooo, do you want to come to that game group I go to? You would like the guys there. Even though their stat sheets on mythical creature are completely out of whack."

Bright-eyed and ever-optimistic Luke, the gleam shimmering in his eyes had not even flickered since that first moment that he'd inquired Wend about the co-rental. The freshman had been a pleasant change of attitude from the usual ragged college adventurer, and Wend took to him quickly, though his personality never quite agreed. He often wondered why he had fallen to Luke's charms in the first place.

“Hi there! I’m Luke. I’m really glad to meet you. I’m going to college here. Is this place for rent? Are you the lord of the house?”

Wend blinked at the zealous freshmen shaking his hand. Only a freshmen could be that cheerful. “I’m not the…landlord. I’m just staying here.”

“I saw this paper and it said that there was space.”

“Oh…I put that up. My last roommate had a nervous-breakdown...I’m Wendal. Most people call me Wend. And…you appear to be hugging me.”

“Oh, sorry. I’m just really excited to be here.”

“…you’re still hugging me.”

“Oh…sorry.” Luke finally released. “So, can I be your roommate?”

He looked at Luke’s face. There was just something infectious in the expression, something around the eyes that just made him melt. Wend found this worrisome on multiple levels. Wend knew he was doomed to say yes.

As a roommate, Luke was actually a good find in the long run. It was just the little things that rubbed Wend the wrong way. The cheerfulness, for one, the odd night hours for another. Usually on weekends and sometimes a few weekdays, at three am he heard the front door squeak open, the padding of boots down the hall, and the clanking of a mattress bend under weight. The day after, before class, Wend would rub down the muddy tracks from the hall with a series of sighs he hoped would wake Luke.

Wend knew Luke would clean up the mud he said something about it, with a smile at that, but he held it as some tangible item to hold against Luke if they ever got into one of those rumored roommate feuds.

It had not come close to that. Except for the long showers. One gasp from Wend at the water bill and Luke quickly agreed to cover all water costs from then on. Wend, though he thought it was silly in retrospect, could not stand how damned /nice/ Luke was.

And now Wend had snapped at Luke, and now Wend felt horrible about it. Snapping at Luke was like slapping a kitten.

"No. That's fine," Wend sighed, "How are your classes going?"

Luke's face brightened again. Wend knew he had opened the floodgates, but he was fine with it. As long as Luke retained such a romantic view of college, he supposed he ought to let Luke bubble about it, even if he tended to tone out Luke halfway though his flowery descriptions of the first class.

"...and do you know the fantastic things you can do with numbers. You can make them bigger or smaller, and there are numbers that can go on forever. Did you hear about pi? Sounds tasty, but even though you can't eat it, you can use it to measure circles and..."

Wend did find it strange how much Luke retained that feeling that only elementary students and strange graduate students contain: a love for school. He quietly laughed at this thought as he turned back to his calculus under the blanket of Luke's narrative.

Wend awoke in a pool of drool on the glass surface of the kitchen table. He slowly came to consciousness, wiping a sleeve across his wet face, then sorely pushing himself up. Ah, calculus and sleep had conspired again to put him into this position. He noticed a blanket had been draped over him. Luke. Of course. He was half surprised his roommate hadn't carried him to bed. The kitchen was dark, the echo of the clock ticking overhead, the soft green glow of the microwave shining 3:00 across the way, moonlight flittering in, giving the sink a strange glow. A click of a key in lock, the squeaking of the front door opening.

Wend got to his feet, stumbled to the kitchen door, and peeked into the hall. A shadow closing the front door. "Ah, the mysterious figure returns," he said in a low voice, words slurred from grogginess.

A startled squeaking, a clattering, perhaps the coat rack being knocked over, silence. Then, in a small whisper, "Wendal?"

"I always say call me Wend. That's what my friends call me. If I had friends. I suppose."

"I wasn't doing anything strange."

The words of Luke were half captured by Wend's mind. He couldn't quite separate them out, and his sleepiness was not dissipating, rather, making a comeback. He attempted muzzy grin at the shadow. Odd, seemed a little weirdly shaped. Not what a proper silhouette ought to be. More like what one of a childhood monster ought to look like. Sorta. Wend rubbed his face. "Yeah. Whatever. Just wipe your boots when you come in."

"Alright. You should go to sleep, Wend. Don't you have a test tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I suppose."

An arm went around his shoulders, leading him down the hall, onto his bed, under the covers. He would object, but his consciousness was quickly falling away until he lost it again.

The sun woke him, glittering through the blinds, in turn blinding Wend. He fell out of bed, murmuring murderous phrases under his breath. Memories of three am came to him blurry, making fragmented images. He rose from the floor, trying to piece them together, a puzzle with many parts missing. Mmm...he'd seen Luke. The details stopped there.

He made it to the hallway, down the hall, to the bathroom door, locked. The familiar whistle of the shower fixture rang out, steam flowed over Wend's toes from the doorjamb. Luke's infamous shower. Friday, hence, it would be longer, since it had been agreed, according to the schedule, that since Wend was not required on campus until noon, and Luke at ten. Hence, Luke could take one of his long showers, and then there would be enough time for the hot water to reboot and...this made much more sense when Luke had described it with accompanying charts.

Wend always wondered how Luke managed to keep going, since the hot water couldn't have lasted that long.

Wend placed his head on the door. He needed a shower to wake up though. There was no coffee filters in the kitchen, and he'd learned in semester one that chewing a mouthful of grounds for a quick pick-me-up in the morning was a bad idea. Friday. College paper. Reading grammar-error filled articles of juicy gossip might wake him up.

He wandered down the hall. He looked out at the frosty yard, a rolled up newspaper on the sidewalk beyond. The chill set the hair on his exposed arms and legs on end. Wend grasped at the coat rack, still half-aware, grabbing the first available item. Luke's sweatshirt. Wend glanced at the coat rack. Nothing else.

Go find his own ragged coat. Skip into the frosty morning in a t-shirt and shorts. Or...he took a look down the hall at the bathroom door...he pulled the sweatshirt over his head, it would only take a minute. The warmth was immediate and jarring, like a hug from a bear, without the mauling. He pulled up the hood and scampered outside, breath making a trail of fog on the way. By the time he picked up the paper, the comfort of the sweatshirt fully struck him. No wonder Luke wore this thing all the time. He hugged himself and relished the soft plush warm of the fabric.

"Who made this shirt?" he murmured, looking down at the chocolate brown sweatshirt for some tag. He noticed a word written in thread on the cuff of the left sleeve.

"Lutra...now that's..."

Then Wend couldn't say anymore.

O O O

Luke stopped the shower. He'd felt something. Something on the edge of his instincts. Something very odd.

He peeked out of the shower curtains. No, the toilet had not overflowed.

Luke did not take stopping a shower lightly. He loved standing under this indoor waterfall of warmth until the heat died down and the brisk cold started flowing, invigorating his soul. Not as enlightening as an actual waterfall, but it gave the right taste. He got out of the shower and quickly dressed, trying to place what would cause the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. The something that he'd felt remained a vague something. Luke had felt this something before. It did not feel like a hunter watching from the woods, a fish on the edge of being captured, or the thrill sliding on one's belly down a proper muddy slope.

The something felt almost electric.

Then he realized what the something was, just as a thunder rattled the bathroom. "Fishmuffins," he squeaked, opening the bathroom door. A little late in the year for a storm. Luke rather liked storms. It was in his blood. However, this seemed a little haphazard for his taste, just, something in the way the wind rattled against the house, a little too concentrated and unstable. Not the way he would compose a storm, to be sure. A flash filled the house, immediately followed by a boom of thunder. This was followed by the banging of a swinging screen door. Luke turned to the front door.

He stopped. He saw the empty coat rack. Wait...hadn't he...he'd left his shirt right there...but where...perhaps he'd just forgotten where he'd placed it, humans forgot where they put things all the time. They no talent for perception. They saw the world through a very small scope. That was one of the things Luke had noticed in his observations. He rather pitied Wendal for the fact.

Wendal.

The storm. The missing sweatshirt. No...couldn't be. Luke ran to the front door and looked out into the front yard, through the sheets of pounding rain, and he saw what he feared. He wrenched open the door, ran out, being saturated completely through a moment, he picked up the furry bundle from the middle of the lawn. It had been huddled around a soggy thing that had been a newspaper. Luke ran back inside, and stood there, dripping, afraid to look down at what he held. He stroked the thing, the autumn storm stopped being as erratic.

He slowly walked into the living room. He knelt down and placed the bundle onto the couch. Luke waited. Minutes passed. Eventually, the fuzzy bundle stirred, and uncoiled. Long sleek body, thick tail, streamlined face, a creature made for water that Luke knew all too well, the animal yawned with toothy jowls. It looked around warily until's gaze fell on Luke. It opened its mouth and squeaked. It closed its mouth. It opened its mouth again. It squeaked two more times. The creature seemed disconcerted now. It scratched behind one of its small twitching ears then paused. It turned to stare at the hind paw which was doing the ear-scratching. It's fore paw touched at the hind paw. It ended up staring at the forepaw, then feeling the forepaw to its face. It turned back to Luke.

"Wendal?"

The creature barked, loudly, as if saying, "Yeah?!" Actually, Luke /knew/ that's what the animal was saying.

"You...put on my sweatshirt, didn't you?"

The animal nodded rapidly.

"You read the inscription on the sleeve, didn't you?"

The animal nodded, slower this time.

"Well, I hope this doesn't put a strain on our roommate relationship or anything, but...at the moment, you are an...otter."

The otter stared blankly at Luke.

"Yes, you're an otter. I can explain, you see-"

Luke didn't have time to continue as the otter leapt at him with bared jaws and flailing paws. Thankfully, the otter had not become coordinated enough with the body, so he just ended up falling to the floor in a flailing ottery heap. Luke carefully picked the otter up, opened the hallway closet, placed the otter inside, and closed the door.

Luke listened to the sound of panicked scratching from within. "I know that Mrs. Henroy is very nice, but I don't think either of us want to explain why there are scratches on the inside of the closet door." The scratching stopped, but plaintive squeaks continued. "Wend, I just placed you in there because you are panicked, angry, and I'm sure you are struggling with some internal instincts at the moment. In all, I don't want you to bite me."

A growl came through the door.

"As a human, you are completely out of your depth, you are not used to dealing with changing into a new body."

A questioning bark.

"I'll try to explain, with you outside of the closet. So I can speak directly to your fuzzy mug. As long as you promise not to bite me."

A hesitant squeak.

"I'm opening the door." Luke cracked opened the door and looked down at the otter tangled in a multicolored scarf that must have been on the floor of the closet. He did not look like a happy otter, the bared teeth told that much, but at least Wend didn't lunge at him again. "I suppose you need some sort of explanation of why you are suddenly an otter."

Wend made an expression made a gesture with his paws that practically said, "Duh."

"Well, for one thing, I'm not technically human, for another, I'm not technically nineteen either. Long and short of it, I'm a selkie."

The otter squeaked.

"No, not like the seals who turn into woman. I'm impressed you know that much, Wendal. Those are actually saltwater selkies. I'm a freshwater selkie, so my neutral form is actually a river otter...as you might be able to guess...but, not to bore you with details...though, I guess you might want to know as many details as possible...considering the situation...that sweatshirt that I usually wear is my otter skin made to /look/ like a sweatshirt. It would look sorta strange if I came to college with a literal otter skin draped over my shoulders. Anyway, the sweatshirt is almost as comfy as and otter hide itself. Admit it, that fur you're wearing is cozy."

Wendal relented and gave a bark in the affirmative.

"Now...the issue is, you're not a selkie. You're not meant to change forms or switch back and forth between species. That is not your skin, and a human wearing a selkie skin is...tricky. That's why there's a certain word a selkie says to activate the skin, which you obviously found. And...you're not going to like this part..."

Wend leaned forward, motioning a paw for "And...?"

"I'm not sure I can change you back to a human," Luke said as quickly as possible, hoping it wouldn't sound as bad if he just blurted it out. He saw the fire alight in Wendal's eyes and he quickly closed the closet door again. He didn't think warnings of displeased landlords would deter the otter's frantic scratching this time.

Luke walked to the bathroom, hands on his face. Part of the reason he thought Wend had been a good choice for a roommate, besides the prime location near a fish pond behind the house, was Wend's lack of suspicion. Wend tended to be in odd moods and appeared to have issues with his father at the moment, but besides that, Wend had not asked why he ate so much sushi, why he went out late at night, or even about his general lack of knowledge about human conventions. Luke was certain that Wend had noticed these things, especially after the run-in last night, but Wend wasn't the sort of human to really poke his nose into business that wasn't his own.

Wend putting on a sweatshirt that wasn't his own did not logically count, Luke decided, he supposed that's just what roommates let other roommates do from time to time. Luke still hadn't gotten up the courage to test if the action of "glomp" was an acceptable roommate action. He'd read about that on the Internet. It sounded fun.

He filled the bathtub until the water lapped the top. He felt the temperature. Nice and cool. Perfect. Luke went to the kitchen and retrieved his stash of sushi from the fridge. He placed four rolls into a bowl, arranging them evenly. He knew if he were going to be around humans, that they frowned upon someone ripping out the juicy entrails of a trout at the dinner table. However, sushi was considered completely innocuous. It did not have the same texture or juices of a freshly caught fish, but it contained a nice flavor all its own that Luke found satisfying when his mouth was under human limitations. Fresh caught fish. The premise struck him and sunk into his stomach like a stone. If he couldn't fix this, would he even be able to catch fish in his own jaws again...

He shook himself. No need to worry about that. He was a selkie, not a human, he did not worry about those things on the horizon. He lived in the moment of now, where everything had a chance to get better just around the corner. He got back to the closet. The growling and scratching had stopped. Luke knocked lightly. "Wend. You alright?"

No response.

"I'm going to come in. I have something that might make you feel better." He slowly opened the door. Wend lay in the middle of the closet, rolled in a sleek fuzzy ball, face tucked under his tail. Luke smiled. He carefully placed the bowl near the otter, then backed away to watch. The otter slowly moved his head, peeking out over his tail at the bowl, obviously suspicious, sniffing the air. Wend unrolled himself and trotted to the bowl, sticking his muzzle in, sniffing a little more before giving the contents a cautionary lick. The otter shot a brief angry glance at Luke before taking a bite of the sushi. Luke could see at least a little of displeasure fade from the otter's demeanor as Wend continued to chew upon the raw fish delight.

Luke waited till Wend was nearly done with his meal before clearing his throat. "Would you mind following me to the bathroom? Or are you still getting used to having four paws?"

Wend barked, and scampered towards Luke.

"Ah, nice. Your instincts are kicking in." Hopefully not too much, Luke thought.

"I figured if there's anything that would get you into a better mood, it would be a nice swim," Luke said, motioning towards the bath when entering the bathroom, "True, I imagine part you may want to try the pup pool first..." he added, gesturing to the toilet, "but I think the bathtub would be more hygienic." The attempt at humor received a growl. Wend scampered over to the bath, balancing up on his hindpaws, he grasped the top of the bath with his forepaws, sticking his face over the edge to look at the water. This may not end well, Luke thought, just before he leaned down, placed his hands around the otter's middle, and heaved the creature over the edge, into the tub with a moderate splash. Wend bobbed to the surface, barking at Luke, then seemed to become aware he was floating with ease. "Feels nice, eh? It's not a pond, but it does the job in a bind. I'll be right back."

Luke retrieved his book bag and grabbed a little sushi for himself. By the time he returned, Wend was swooping through the limited bath area with the fluid movements and turns only an otter could accomplish. The instincts were catching up indeed. It took saying Wend's name three times before pulling the otter's attention from his new-found swimming talents. "Listen carefully Wend. I need to get to class."

The otter barked.

"I know, leaving you like this sounds callous. But I really can't afford to miss any classes. And there's two exam reviews and a chem lab today. We're making things with explosive reactions and...I guess that's not the point. Just..."

The otter sighed, and then nodded.

"You're alright with me going?"

The otter shrugged, and floated on his back in a circle.

"I have someone I can call to ask about this. Don't worry, I want you out of that skin as much as you want out of it. Trust me. After class, I'll get some answers and we can act like this never happened, alright?"

The otter stuck his tongue out for an obvious "Yeah, right." Sorta just came off as cute. Luke didn't state this.

"I'm going to close the door, you know, just in case someone stops by. I'll leave another bowl of sushi for you right here," Luke said placing a bowl on the floor, "I'll be back as soon as possible." He slowly backed out of the room and closed to the door. The sound of splashing water resumed when he was out of sight. Luke took a deep breath. He could fix this. Maybe. He pulled out his cell phone as he exited the house and dialed Dr. Griff's number. As he listened to the ring tone, he hoped Wend would be alright being alone for the day. What's the worse a river otter left in a house for an extended period could get up?

He knew from personal experience, yet wouldn't admit it to himself now, but the answer was "a lot."

O O O

"Fun" was not the primary word Wend suspected he would choose to describe this situation. At the moment however, it seemed to fit rather well. How else could he describe the sheer blissful sensation of slipping through the water, rolling, spinning, in a limited space, though no less enthralling. Oh, how he wondered what he would do with entire pool's worth of water to swim about in.

The effect of being an otter appeared to be infecting him, making his thoughts more fragmented and smooth and simple and generally…happy. As if he were taking a drug that completely fogged his mind and let his cares slip away (not that he had ever taken drugs to make such a comparison). As much as he wanted to, he couldn't get himself to properly worry about being an otter. Every time he tried to focus on that point, it eluded him, leaving him thinking about fish or swimming.

Only something as powerful as the term "calculus exam" managed to break through the otter hazed mental block. This served as the cold bucket of water for Wend's fading thought process. He slithered out of the bath then slipped across the linoleum floor for the door, before he realized even on his hind paws, the handle eluded his grasp. The calculus exam. How had he forgot?

OK, actually, he had every good reason to forget, being an otter and all, but the point was his grade practically hinged upon being at that exam. Without at least a sub-par grade on that exam, course grade was liable of falling into the black hole of flailing, and then his dad would use that tone to tell him he was "disappointed" and how "expensive" college was and that it required "responsibility" and…he could not put up with that again.

A swim would help make him feel better. He started trotting towards the bath again. No. He stopped. He tried to refocus to what Luke had been saying. Selkie. Otter skin. Not being able to turn back. Perhaps he wouldn't have to worry about college period. Perhaps he would be able to be donated to a zoo and just… No, he would not roll over like that. He would beat this. Wend concentrated. He needed to get to that exam. He needed to think big. He'd seen this sort of thing in the movies. He needed to think really hard about being a human. Human. Human. Human. Fish. Mmm…fish… No…human. Human.

Wend found himself chewing on the sushi. Mmm…but, wait…his muzzle hadn't filled the entire bowl before. He rose his head. Well, the concentrating had done /something/ at least. He stood up on his hind paws, a little easier this time. Wend now stood tall enough so he could reach the door knob. In fact, he stood tall enough to use the sink and reach the light switch. But he didn't appear to be that much more human than before. Just an over five foot tall otter. He looked into the mirror and patted his round streamlined muzzle and tweaked his black nose. "Hello there," he said. The voice sounded a little squeaky and his mouth looked strange trying to say the words, but at least he could speak now. He looked at one of his paws. Still webbed otter paws, though with something of an opposable thumb now. He glanced at himself in the mirror again. Last night came back to him, what had seemed so strange about Luke's suiloilette. It had the odd shape of an otter about it. That explained a little. Sorta...

Now what the heck was he supposed to do now? He looked at the bathroom clock. He had a little under a forty-five minutes to get to the exam.

Improvise.

One baggy pair of sweatpants, one baggy t-shirts, one baggy hooded sweatshirt, a scarf, a baseball cap, a trenchcoat, and some some sunglasses later, Wend looked over himself and realized something: he looked like an uncoordinated idiot.The fact his legs were half the size and his body torso was double the usual length were only a few of the issues this body had with human clothing. His hind paws were not going to be covered, period. Wend hoped they would be brushed off as unusual slippers or something. The fore paws he could cover with the over-extended sleeves. The muzzle was covered by the scarf.

All he could do now was go out and hope no one would dare ask if anything was wrong. Thankfully, the usual brand of college student had about as much reaction to the unusual as a zombie, without any of the motivation of brains (so perhaps a little less possible reaction). This theory held true rather well as he walked in his bow-legged way across campus. Students on the route may have chanced a glance, but besides eye-rolls, little notice was given to his oddly shaped form. He wondered if it would have been better if he had just went without anything on. His tail felt exceptionally uncomfortable stuffed down a leg of the pants.

With minutes to spare, he waddled into the exam room, slipping into a seat in the back. He had underestimated how hard it would be to actually sit down. Otter had the rudder like tail behind them, and as Wend tried to sit, he slipped right off. Growling, he got back up and looked over the class. Everyone was staring at notes or checking calculators, distracted by this exam barreling down at them. The professor entered with a mound of papers in his arms. All focus fell on him.

Quickly, Wend reached into his sweatpants, fished the tail out so it hung over the back of the pants, stuck the tail through the hole of the seat back, and sat down. He carefully took out his pencil and calculator. He then saw the girl, two seats down (every other seat empty, on account of the exam), staring at him strangely.

"You know if you keep staring, Prof Doom might think you're cheating," Wend whispered.

She appeared not to want to take the risk, and turned away. Professor Dominic passed the exams down their row. The exam had begun.

Wend didn't think the exam was too bad. Besides his odd form and limited digit dexterity, he was able to press through most of the problems. His speed was slower than usual, but he thought this actually helped him consider each set of numbers more carefully before getting to a solution. By the time he had finished the last story problem and headed to the front with his test, he was one of the last students left. With only a few minutes to go, he thought, setting the exam on the table where the professor sat.

"Wait right there," Professor Dominic snapped. Wend froze. "Sit in the front there." Wend slowly backed to the front row, his tail feeling suddenly exposed as he remembered he hadn't tucked it back in his pants. He sat down awkwardly, twiddling his paws inside his sleeves. After the last student had finished and left, the professor rose. "You, come with me to my office."

Wend felt his tail twitch at the tone of the voice. He followed warily behind Professor Dominic, out of the building, across the Memorial Building courtyard, into another building, up an elevator, into a hall, into a small cramped office with mountains of papers on both sides, a desk in the valley in between. He had not said a word the entire way. Wend wondered if he should have ran.

"I know exactly what you're up to," Professor Dominic hissed.

"You do?"

"Yes, I run into one of you little snots every semester."

"...really?"

"And you try this same game. Putting on a ridiculous outfit, taking the exam, and then leave, acting as if nobody is the wiser. Well, I'm not buying this rubbish. Take off the scarf."

"...why?"

"I'll tell you, Mr. Keith." Professor Dominic opened up his laptop and jabbed a finger at a photograph, Wend noticed it from his student ID. "I took the liberty to check up on you after you turned in your test. You're not Mr. Keith, are you? You're one of his friends. He /paid/ you to take the test for him. Do you realize how serious an offense this is at this college?"

The pieces fell into place. "Oh! No. Wait, I'm Wendal Keith. This is just a misunderstanding."

"Then take off that getup and prove it."

"I...I..." Wend fumbled for a proper excuse. "I have a horrible rash."

"Then prove it, or I will call the Dean and have both you and Mr. Keith suspended from this university." Professor Dominic's hand hovered over his phone.

Wend felt himself getting very warm. Lightening hit outside, followed by thunder that rattled the room. Rain started pounding against the window. In the sudden fall of shadows, Professor Dominic's feature grew demonic. A sudden storm, like that morning's, and again, Wend could almost feel the energy of the turmoil flowing from his soul, his defense embodying itself. He noticed the mounds of paper on both sides of the office stir. He slowly pulled off the scarf. Drops of water splattered onto the desk's notes, ink blurring upon impact. The electricity in the air seemed to cause Professor Dominic's hair to stand on end. His expression fell as he noticed strange occurrences.

Above, a swirling mass of storm cloud had formed, sparking at the edges. The wind picked up, throwing the papers into waves of rustling white. The rain stared sheeting down on them. Wend threw down his hood and shed the trenchcoat and baseball cap. He rose to his full height and leaned over the desk to the now cowering Professor Dominic. "I. Did. Not. Cheat," Wend growled, in a deep soul-shaking voice from the darkness.

Professor Dominic screamed, jumped to his feet, swam through the cyclone of papers, and made it to the door, before someone else entered. A man in a tweed suit, who looked about at the office storm, as if it were some minor if amusing event. Professor Dominic yelled, "Doctor Griff! The student! The student. A monster. He...he!" he gestured wildly at Wend. "Call the police! Get someone! A STORM!"

The man looked Professor Dominic over. "You seem to be over-reacting."

"ARE YOU INSANE?"

"No. Just appears your student is a selkie," the man waved at Wend. The storm abated as Wend waved back, becoming aware again. wondering who the man was.

"A WHAT? LET ME GET PAST I NEED...!"

The man clicked his fingers. Suddenly, his features shifted, until a large beak graced his face, feathers covered the rest of his head, and his hands looked very much like talons.

Professor Dominic fainted.

"Ah. Much better," Doctor Griff said, turning his attention to the large otter, "Now, you must be Wendal."

O O O

Luke slurped his over-sweet coffee beverage nervously as he paced the fish pond. Dr. Griff had said he would meet him here at four and now it was half past. He looked up at the overcast sky. He'd swore he'd heard thunder in the distance, but had yet to see storm clouds. This made him think of Wend. Perhaps he should have checked up on him. This was all very bad. Why did he have to be a selkie? Why did he have to deal with loosing his skin? Why couldn't he be like a normal shapeshifter, who didn't have that absurd restriction. Tanukis did not have to deal with this. He kicked a stone into the pond.

"Good afternoon, Luke," a familiar voice said. Luke turned to see Dr. Griff walking through the woods.

"Thank you for coming."

"My pleasure, Luke. I am your college advisor, after all. If there is any issues you have with your college experience, I am the one to turn to. For mythical issues at least," he said, with a wink at the end. "You have a breach in your skin's security?"

Luke rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeeeeeah. It's not my roommate's fault, really. He had no idea."

"I did say you could room with another mythic on campus. That kitsune fellow had an opening."

"I know," Luke grumbled, "But...I wanted to get the full college experience."

Dr. Griff chuckled, letting his human form slip away, beak, feathers, grand wings, until there stood a full grown griffin, eagle front, lion back, golden eyes staring down with bemusement. The glasses, his tweed coat, and his messenger bag remained on his visage. "Oh, I can't tell you how much I've heard that line, from both mythic /and/ mortal. The 'full experience' is what is sought when in reality, the full experience is whatever you do in life. There is no easy way through and no water down adventures. Life is life, no matter how you play it."

"I know," Luke sighed, "I really feel horrible what happened to Wend though. I really wanted to be his...friend." He looked over the pond, which reflected the gray mood of the sky and Luke. "I tired to be nice to him, but he just seemed to be so...sad."

"Humans are fickle creatures, and college is tough. That's the short version. The long version is much more complicated and riddled with swearing," Dr. Griff said. "But I'm sure Wend didn't really think badly of you. Just didn't know how to react to you. You are a strong personality in a closed in space, Luke."

"Do you think he'll forgive me? Even if this can't be fixed?"

"Why don't you ask him that yourself?"

Luke turned back to Dr. Griff. "What?"

An otter head popped out of the messenger bag and barked.

"I found Wend in the Math Department today. It appears his calculus teacher Dr. Dominic, you may have heard him by the nickname Professor Doom, awakened a storm within him."

"He didn't. How...?"

"Wend apparently discovered a way to get into mid-form after you left him. Appears the motivation to not fail calculus is an untapped energy to be reckoned with," Dr. Griff said, rubbing Wend under the chin with a talon. Wend squeaked in pleasure.

Luke slapped a hand to his face, "You've got to be...I'm so screwed."

"No, don't fret about it. Professor Dominic will never explain what happened and I don't think Wend caused too much stir otherwise. Much stranger occurrences have happened on campus. Trust me. Anyway, the storm drained a lot of energy, obviously, and he reverted back to his current default form."

"Is there a way we can...you know...remove the selkie skin?"

The griffin rubbed the underside of his beak. "This case is unusual. Selkie skins being stolen and kept is common enough. Being worn and activated, is frankly unheard of. You mentioned what you were told as a pup about the dangers. Most of that is just heresy and stories told by selkie parents to keep them from trusting humans so much. Which is in itself interesting, considering selkies willingly give their skins to humans they love..."

The griffin laughed, deep, beak clacking. This not the time or place to discuss that tangent of selkie lore," he said, using a talon to ruffle Luke's hair. "All myths have their dark and light sides. This case is in the middle, and I've called in a few favors. I have a fellow coming down through the wormhole messenger byways to meet us here. Should be here before nightfall. Why don't you grab some food from your house, I'll make a fire and protective barrier. As for Wend, I will let him have a little swim." Dr. Griff winked at Luke.

Luke smiled back, knowing the full meaning of "a little swim."

"I think Wend would like that."

O O O

Dr. Griff picked the otter out of his bag, like an owl would pick up a rodent, though, thankfully, not with the intent to kill and with less of the element of surprise. Wend, at a nice calm mood now, let his body go limp in the grasp of the talon. In any other situation, he would run at the sight of this massive bird-lion creature, though now, he could look into the golden gaze of this fearsome creature with a quiet amazement.

The griffin's brown flecked feathers glittered in the sun beams and the sharpness of its beak accentuated in the shadows. He let the details settle in, until the griffin tossed him at the fish pond.

He managed a surprised bark before he hit the water.

Except, he didn't quite hit the water. Wend flowed into it without a splash, diving under the surface of the murky water. And then the details all changed. The bath had nothing on this. In the bath, he had received a brief taste of what magic water could hold. And the bath in comparison, was just a flash, a tiny spark, of what wonders water could hold. In all Wend's time of swimming lessons and brief fleeting visits to the ocean, he could not have imagined /this/.

Underwater was another planet. His entire body moved through the murky waterscape, slipping through with no resistance, his very movements made for speed and fluid dexterity. Wend did not use his webbed paws as much as he thought he would, perhaps to claw through the water to get speed. No, it was his spine that moved, from head to this tip of his apply-described rudder-like tail that propelled him. He skirted the muddy bottom of the pond, seeing vague shapes of reeds and rocks with his eyes, seeing these same details in shimmering clarity with his whiskers. He stuffed about his snout in the mud, seeking something he couldn't quite compute at the edges of his instincts.

He rose up, surfaced, to replenish his air supply. He idlely floated on his back, looking at the golden hues of the evening sky, which profiled the flying griffin. Dr. Griff waved as he made a lazy circuit of the pond's perimeter. Tendrils of sparking light played off his hide. They arched over the pond, and Wend vaguely remembered the speak of a barrier. His instincts pulled him under and he dove again.

On the way down, his whiskers detected a target. He pulled his forepaws closer to his body and pointed his snout like a laser sight. He spun and banked this way and that, looping and careening, always keeping focus on the target, trying to predict its next move, coming ever closer, closing the gap. His jaws reacted as his snout made contact and his paws came into play. His entire body wrapped around the target as it struggled in his grasp. He broke the surface, splashing, holding down tighter with his jaws, trying to make purchase on the silvery scales. He got the proper grip and bit, hearing the crack of the fish's spine and tasting the flavor on his tongue. The fish stopped thrashing. He was a the master of this pond. A predator. No fish could out swim him. Wend swam slowly to the shore, fish still gripped in his teeth.

Dr. Griff and Luke were waiting there, sitting around a small fire. Dr. Griff clacked his beak. "Ah, a trout. On your first try too. Of course, this pond is populated with a good supply of such fish for the local fishes so you had a perhaps a higher probability of catching such a big specimen...still, brilliant show. Looks like a good meal." His pointed tongue licked poked out of his beak.

Wend growled and hugged the trout to his body.

"You should know better then to threaten a selkie's meal, Dr. Griff," Luke said, rolling his eyes.

"I do, which makes it so much fun to mess with them," Dr. Griff countered.

"Somebeast say something about messing with people?" a new voice said.

"Ah, Noone, you're here."

Wend cautiously lightened his grip on the fish and tried to see the source of the new voice. A figure wearing a crooked pointed cap emerged from the shadows. As it turned out, the odd pointed cap was the most normal part about the figure. It could almost be described as a wolverine, though walking on its hind legs, wearing a light vest and carrying a pack, what appeared to be scrolls sticking out of the edges. He also wore a tall pointed blue cap, somewhat like a dunce cap, but it bent to the side halfway up.

"Luke and Wend, meet Noone. He is a gnome."

"Don't give me that look," Noone growled, pointing at Wend, who didn't know he'd been giving a look, "You were expecting a little human guy with a beard. That was an image propagated by the gardening community. Humans have never properly /seen/ a gnome, only seen our hats, and..."

Dr. Griff cleared his throat. "Noone. Do I need to hear this rant every time you meet someone?"

"It's not a rant! I'm stating truths!"

Dr. Griff rubbed the bridge of his beak. "Noone...please. Anyway, Luke, you know the basic facts about gnomes. As for you Wend, I will give you a brief crash course. Gnomes are basically protectors of the forest and what things it contains. They keep the cycle of life balanced as best they can. Their responsibility in the last few thousand years as been regulating human forest activity..."

"Griff! Why are you giving the spiel. I can do my own introduction, thank you very much," the gnome snapped. He stalked up to Wend and took him by the cheeks. "I make sure humans don't do anything stupid in the forest. Big job, I can tell you. Do you know how many forest laws any given human can break on a single picnic? There is a list as long as your body. So I teach them a lesson or two so they learn if they break some laws..."

"I still don't understand how turning someone into a badger over a thrown away piece of gum is fair retribution," Dr. Griff inserted.

"Do you know how long it takes for gum to break down? Let along how difficult it is to get out of fur?!" Noone yelled, hackles raised. "The forest laws are very complicated!"

"I'm sorry. You're the expert, continue," Dr. Griff said. Wend got the sense that the griffin enjoyed prodding the gnome.

"To cut to the chase," Noone grumbled, "I've been told of your situation. And I'm an expert in the transfiguration from human and animal and back again. Speaking of which, remind me that there's a few squirrels I need to find on this campus. I think I'm overdue at getting them off their sentence...by perhaps a few...days."

"It's more like a few years, isn't it?" Dr. Griff said under his breath.

"I need a proper organizer!" Noone half-growled, "Doesn't matter anyway. With the wards and the reality tangents, no harm, no foul. Perhaps the side-effects of nut obsessions and hoarding and...NEVERMIND. Point is, let me take a good look at you. Lay on your back."

Wend, though nervous, obliged. The gnome felt its claws across Wend's stomach, under his neck, around his face, looked into his mouth, pulled at the tail. "Tricky. Tricky. Though not hopeless. I've never done a hide removal before. At least, not officially, but I think I can manage this one. Just might be a little...messy." He cracked his paws.

"What do you mean by that?" Luke said, "You'll wreck the skin?"

Wend barked what he hoped translated to "Yeah, thanks a lot."

"Oh, sorry."

"No, no, no. Not messy as in bloody. Nooo. More messy as in mentally jarring. Can already feel that in the mental some selkie elements have burrowed in. I bet you're feeling a little drained, as if you're forgetting some things? Eh?"

Luke stared at the fire. "A little," he said, just a bit over a whisper.

"Now, pulling that away from this fellow is not like pulling off a velcro strap, this is more like...you know that wax human's use to remove hair?"

Uncomfortable silence and shuffling.

"I'll take that as a yes. Pulling this hide off might do that. How it might do that, I have no idea. He might forget who he is, his personality might change, he might think his name is Frank. I just don't know. What I do know, is the hide needs to come off now, rather than later, or you might not get your skin back period."

"I...think that's up to Wend."

"Really? The human?" Noone eyed the Wend. Wend rolled into a ball, tucking his face under his tail. This felt more comfortable. He didn't want to think about everything that was said. He just wanted to enjoy his fish. He wanted to swim. He didn't want to go back to college. And he didn't even know if that was what he really wanted. He couldn't remember what his father had yelled over the phone. He couldn't remember why he was so worried about college. The memories were fleeting as he tried to focus and his recognition of the faces around him and himself were fading.

"Wend. Do you want to go through with this?"

Did he? He didn't really know now. Perhaps he could get another fish. Then he would know. Just one more fish.

Luke knelt next to him and rubbed Wend's back. He looked up at Luke. He saw the expression. Luke knew how this all felt. He was giving Wend the choice. How could he give him the choice? He knew how being an otter felt. He knew everything. He could see it. And he thought, in a moment of clarity, if he stayed like this, it would pull away Luke's very lifeblood, his entire world.

He'd experienced this for these fleeting moments, to have this experience taken from someone who'd lived as this?

Wend barked.

Noone came forward. He placed a paw on Wend's chest. "This might sting, like taking off a bandaid," he said.

And it did.

If magnified a few thousand times at least.

Thankfully, afterwards, Wend didn't remember a thing.

O O O

Two Months Later

Wend hung up his phone and wandered into the kitchen.

"Was that your dad?" Luke asked through a mouthful of something.

"Yeeeeeah. He'd doing...better. Not sure if he agrees with my choice of degree."

"Awwwww, what's wrong with forestry? They have those awesome hats."

"I think you're thinking of park rangers."

"They have the hats with the built in ear muffs?"

"I think those are Canadians. Which is to say, close enough," Wend said, snickering. "What's for breakfast? Widening your pallet yet?"

"I made an omelet."

"Are those...sardines in that?"

"Yep. Want some? I made enough"

"I suppose it can't hurt," he said, pulling out a chair. Luke pushed an over-full plate of fishy egg mass towards him.

"How goes classes? Are they fun?"

"Oddly enough, not too bad. Calculus has been much better since Prof Doom took a sabbatical. Yeah, really wish I knew /that/ full story. There's a rumors flying everywhere. He may have had a nervous breakdown. I dare not consider the student that'd be able to give Prof Doom a breakdown." He took a bite of the omelet. "This is oddly good."

"How is the new teacher?"

"Dr. Griff? Really good actually, though he really can make you squirm with that gaze of his, he literally must have eagle eyes. I hedge all bets and just sit in the front row. Ya know, almost seems like he knows me. I've went in for help in his office a few times. Though...he does have dead rats in his mini-fridge...don't spread that around. A good calc prof is a good calc prof."

"My maw is sealed. By the way, you got a package in the mail. Looks important."

"Really? Mmm..." he glanced at the counter, a wrinkled package sat there. He took a final bite of omelet, crunching on a sardine, before getting up to investigate. "No return address. No postage either. Someone drop this off? See who?"

"Nope, just found it in the mailbox."

Wend brought it to his room.

Luke stared at the bedroom door. Wend would open the package, he would find a piece of paper, he would read it, confused, then he would open the door again.

The door opened, "Hey, Luke, did you apply me for something?"

Luke shrugged. "Why?"

"This says your the..." Wend looked down at a paper in his hand, "What am I candidate for?"

"Ooo, there was this contest for a fishing boat that I wanted another chance to win and I put your name in could that...?"

"No. That's not. Just a moment."

Luke took another bite of omelet. Ah, the application had went through. With the help of Dr. Griff, of course. He didn't know if the Mythos Council would let it pass, but after they'd heard the circumstances and some testimony from Noone... Wend would return to the package. Find a sweatshirt with the logo of the college. He would look at it a moment, he would shrug and pull it over his head. He would exit the bedroom.

Wend emerged from the room. "You got me a sweatshirt? That's really nice, Luke. Thanks. I'm sorry about being snippy a month ago. I really feel bad about that still. After that...what was it, fishing trip you brought me on? Really turned stuff around. Wish I could remember it actually..." He hugged himself. "This sweatshirt is really nice. I best get ready for class."

Luke smiled as Wend entered the bathroom. Wend would have a feeling of de ja vu. He would look at the sleeve. He would see an inscription. He would read the inscription aloud.

Luke heard the startled bark.

Luke got up, walked into the bathroom, picked up the confused otter, went out, placed the otter in the closet, and closed the door.

"Don't worry Wend, I've done this before."

Luke went to start the bath, smiling.
[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Otter]] [[Category:Animal]] [[Category:Mythical]] {{fiction}}

The Strength in the Shark

2011-01-14T14:42:20Z

Jonas: removing the batsignal

{{Universe|Pig and Whistle}}{{byline|Jonas}} {{author note|This story follows one of the events of [[Within and Without]]. I advise you read it before this piece in order to understand the context.}}
It was an idyllic summer day; the sun was shining, the breeze was light, and the sky was cloudless. I should have been out enjoying the wonderful afternoon, but instead I was inside the Pig and Whistle sitting on a cushion and nursing a grape soda while trying to salvage some shred of self-esteem.

Last night I had run into a giant shark morph, gotten scared, and ran away. The reaction was understandable—I was a fox slightly larger than a housecat, and he was, quite simply, HUGE—almost a foot taller than Scott—but I still felt ashamed when I thought about it. I don’t usually lose control over my instincts like that, but I guess last night I just… slipped up.

“Hey there little guy.” Came a voice, interrupting my self-deprecation. I turned my head and was startled to see the shark morph I had been pounding myself over crouching nearby. Once again I felt the urge to flee but this time I managed to keep myself still.

“It’s alright—I won’t hurt you.” The shark continued, in what I imagined to be the closest thing his resonating voice could get to a soothing tone. I continued to stare and he held out a webbed hand—a gesture I recognized as a way to show animals you don’t mean them harm. Great; first he scares me into my instincts and now he thinks I’m a wild animal. This guy was not good for my self-esteem.

I wanted very much to ignore him, but I had no idea how he would react; and it would be unwise to make conflict with someone eight times my size. Playing along, I approached and gave his hand a curious sniff. No surprise—it smelled like salty fish.

“There we go!” The shark said happily when it became apparent I wasn’t about to run away. “I’m Jimbari by the way, and you’re—” his eyes flicked to my collar, “Jonas, right?”

I nodded absently and he scratched me behind the ear, smiling as I gave a pleased (involuntary) growl. All I had to do was go along with it and he’d probably go away…

“See? I’m not such a bad guy after all—nothing to be scared of.” Jimbari continued. “And I’m sorry if I frightened you the other day.”

I gave another growl of acknowledgement and he grinned even wider—I averted my eyes away from his razor-sharp teeth.

“Thanks man.” He said with a chuckle, “And here—” he added, taking something out of his pocket. “Consider it a peace offering.”

I stared at his outstretched hand. Smack dab in the middle of his palm was a small, bone-shaped, pet treat.

“I. Am. Not. A. Dog!” I barked, my indignation turning into anger.

Jimbari pulled back in surprise. “Ack!—you can talk?”

“Yes!” I snapped.

“I didn’t think—that is I didn’t… know and—I mean,” He spluttered, blushing a dark grey, “why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“Because I thought playing along would make you go away.”

“I just—” Jimbari began, but I cut him off.

“You just what? Thought that since I looked like an animal I didn’t have a mind?” I shouted, my anger rising. “It’s bad enough that I lost control over my instincts but I do '''NOT''' need someone like you making it worse by patronizing me like a common house pet!”

I fell silent; continuing to berate him would just increase the risk of losing my voice. Besides, we were starting to attract stares.

Jimbari hung his head, thoroughly embarrassed. An awkward silence passed.

“I’m sorry.” He said at last. “I’ve never really met a fullmorph before and people say they got all the instincts and I dunno… I just sort of didn’t think it through.”

“No, you certainly didn’t.” I replied coolly.

“I guess I was just so focused on what you thought of me that I didn’t think about what I thought of you.”

I looked at him quizzically. “What I… thought of you?”

He nodded dejectedly. “Strangers get scared when they see me—can’t blame them I guess, looking how I do, but it sucks. You’re the tenth person I’ve freaked out this week and I just couldn’t handle someone else thinking I’m a monster.”

I sighed, it was getting harder and harder to stay mad at this guy. “It’s alright; I guess we both messed up.”

Jimbari looked up at me. “Really?”

“Really. I get a little… sensitive about my instincts sometimes. I shouldn’t have blamed you for my loss of self-control.”

He gave another smile—this time one of relief. “Thanks man. And I am sorry for treating you like an animal.”

I nodded. “And I’m sorry for venting at you. Just… be more careful in the future, ok?”

The shark got to his feet. “Definitely. I’ll see you around I guess?”

“Sure.”

Jimbari gave a small wave goodbye and headed for the door. I went back to my pillow and soda. He seemed nice enough, I guess, and I felt a bit embarrassed for yelling at him.

[[Category:Pig and Whistle|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Jonas|Strength in the Shark, The]] {{fiction}} [[Category:Story|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Fox|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Animal|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Aquatic|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Anthropomorphic|Strength in the Shark, The]]

Not Quite Furry

2011-01-10T18:05:34Z

Jonas:

Jacob walked into the bathroom breathing hard.

He brought costumed paws to over-sized plastic eyes and leaned back against the sink. The paws sank, lingering on the sides of his muzzle, before they came down to his coat. He straightened out the baggy cloth, riddled with pockets and brass buttons, briefly took out a large novelty pocketwatch to check the time, and then patted down the chest fur that stuck out his unbuttoned front. Only then did he peak a look at the mirror behind him. He didn't have to flash a smile, it was already displayed in muzzle and foam teeth on the mask. The goggles, just big enough to cover the costume's eyes, were still there.

David thought he might have lost them busting some moves in the lobby. What could he say, he was a sucker for an audience. Especially an audience of geek females. Must have been the glasses. And perhaps the offer of a cookie (which had been nicely placed through the mouth of his costume, complete with nomming sounds).

His breathing slowed. He rubbed at the fur at his neck, trying to relieve the itchiness of wayward velcro.

The sound of a stall opening interrupted him. Followed by a question. "So, what are you supposed to be?"

Jacob rolled his eyes under the facade. His friends had suggested he'd go as the Tenth Doctor, there wouldn't be as many questions, they said. He turned and saluted to the figure, only noticing in mid-motion that it was another fellow in full animal costume, russet furred fox and with the many tails, kitsune, outfitted in leather vest and bowler cap. A dash more realistic design than his own, yet still processing a dynamic flair. Jacob hadn't seen any other fellows of the fuzzy sort during this con, but it being just a small general sci-fi / fantasy con, he hadn't expected to.

"Are you one of those that doesn't speak?" the kitsune form asked.

"Ah, no, sorry. Didn't know anyone was in here. Just taking a breather. I usually reserve speaking for outside this room of porcelain thrones."

"I can jive with that," the kitsune said, turning on the faucet, "Not exactly the most enlightening of spots in human society, especially those frequented in public locations. Not many places make my nose wrinkle more, but they serve their purpose."

Only when the sink had turned off did it occur to Jacob he wasn't certain if the kitsune had removed his paw gloves before washing. By then, the kitsune was already heading to the door. Jacob took one final look in the mirror, to be certain his head was straight, and followed.

"So, what are you?" the kitsune repeated, as they headed across the tiled lobby, beyond through a pair of double doors, into the madness known as a science fiction / fantasy convention. A world filled with foam swords, fake pointy ears, horns, leather, and enough high-level Red-Bull-fueled geekness that would knock a Dementor a into a coma.

It was a dynamic quite unlike any other.

"Steampunk ferret, Regi Tesla, created in an alternate timeline where the development of genetics took a more mad science route the same time steam became the primary power source. Not completely ferret, a few other weasel species thrown in, have an otter tail, golden chest fur and ears of a marten, and fringed with bright blue markings on the edges, as you can see. And, a blue tongue, just for fun."

"Wow. What prompted all that?"

"Boredom. Mostly. That, and when you be dealing with fantasy and sci-fi, much more fun to dance on the outskirts than sit on the mainstream. What better way than to mix together fringe science and anthropomorphic creatures? What is your backstory?"

The kitsune shrugged. "Kitsune trickster wandering time and space messing with whatever unwitting victims he happens to meet."

"I believe you've come to the epicenter of 'unwitting victims' my friend."

"Perhaps."

"I like it. Straight to the point. Simple to explain. And nice bowler cap, by the way."

"Nice goggles."

"Thank ye."

"So, what exactly takes place here?"

"First con?"

The kitsune looked like he was chewing his lip. Jacob brushed this off as a trick of a nearby stobelight. "Yes, you could say that."

"Mine too. The basics are thus: geeks gather together to discuss, buy, and play about geeky things. There's discussion panels, gaming rooms, a theater (mostly filled with bad anime), and, of course, the dealer's den, where merchandise calls its siren's song to con-goers. Just a matter of poking thing and seeing what you like best."

"Not many ferrets around."

"Alas, not enough people are as cool as me. Only I dare to be fuzzy among this geekiness. I don't have the guts to go to a con with primarily fuzzy creatures. Ah, the furries."

"Come again."

"Furry. I use the term 'anthropomorphic creatures' myself. Seems to give it a more literary edge. Still, can't go about wearing a ferret costume for long without the word popping up. Heck, I put a few months of trying to get this costume just right. Who else but a crazy person would go through the trouble, and the needle stabbing, involved in sewing just to sweat it out in a furry costume, hot and uncomfortable, barely able to see through these blasted eyeholes and...? I'm babbling. Point is, perhaps I'm a little insane."

"No, of course you're not."

"Posh. Everyone has levels of insanity. Mine is the fact I dress like a ferret hybrid because it feels like no one can see me, I can be someone else because everyone expects someone else, they do not see me, they see Regi."

"I disagree."

"Mmm?"

"Isn't it more along the lines of when you wear that suit, you are free to act as yourself?"

Jacob screwed his face into an odd expression, which he was glad the kitsune couldn't see. Now that seemed a little too odd to him. It was one thing to wear the costume, it was another to suppose the costume was him. He decided this fellow was one of those spiritual furries and suddenly he felt as he'd been pulled somewhere where he didn't want to go. All there was to do now was to figure out an excuse to get out of this potentially awkward situation.

"I just do this for the fun of it."

The kitsune nodded, looking down at the floor with a reflective look. How did his mask do that? Jacob decided this was the time to make his escape. "So, a panel I wanted to go to is coming up so...I best be going."

The kitsune's ears perked. Literally perked. Jacob was becoming more and more wary. Why had he been saying all that stuff to this stranger. He didn't even know his name. He needed to go. But... He put up a paw. "Paw bump?"

The kitsune stared.

"You know. Like a fist bump. Except with paws. Just use your paw and bump mine. The least I can do." Weird or not, Jacob couldn't resist doing this action to anyone he met. The kitsune carefully clenched his digits and tapped Jacob's paw with his own. An odd surge, like a string of static electricity, spread through the fabric through Jacob's hand. He kept from letting loose a startled squeak and saluted with his other hand. "Nice to meet you, dude. Enjoy the con!"

He backed away a few steps before turning tail, slithering through the crowd. Very strange chap, Jacob thought. All people here danced on a very thin line, between normal fans and crazed fanboys. Jacob liked to think of him on the sensible side, despite the ferret suit. His hand still tingled.

The rest of the Friday evening went without fanfare. The Dragon Slaying panel turned out to be less on-fire than Jacob would have hoped, and the Werewolf panel lacked bite, but the Totally Non-Sparkly Vampires panel didn't suck as much as expected either (the Vampire-in-the-Box had been a nice touch), so it all evened out. Soon, Jacob forgot about the kitsune, his focus being drawn to Doctor Who replicas in the dealer den and marathon of bad movies complete with humorous commentary.

He parried questions about his suit with what he hoped was an infectious flair, throwing some in-character comments from time to time (usually doing brief interludes on whatever devices or 'shinies' con-goers had on their person). Soon he started growing the character on the fly, making him a mechanic or engineer, always prone to seeing out stuff worked, obsessed with gears. He would need to write some of this down when he got back to the room.

Throughout the evening, the numbness remained in his arm, starting to spread outwards, radiating over him, inch by inch. He pressed this to the back of his mind.

Late, in the motel bar, Jacob found it impressive how much free drinks he could get just because people wanted to see him swig through the mouth of his costume.

O O O

"Regi?"

Through the haze, he felt himself being pulled up.

"Regi? I never caught your real name earlier."

Bright lights and shadows surrounded him and blurred as he tried to focus. He stumbled. Something gripped him, keeping him upright. He felt obliged to slump on this something. He noted russet tails waving behind his something. An arm wrapped around his middle and led him forward, onward. Still in the bar. Voices, laughs, how much had he drank? The voice trickled into his mind again.

"You appear to have drank a lot. That can't be good for your changing metabolism."

Jacob didn't trust himself to speak, so he gave a muzzy smile at the kitsune.

"Can you feel this?"

Something poked his nose. Strange feel. Odd. Just didn't, then there was a rub at the back of his neck, a pinch and suddenly his entire body went slack.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, forgot about that ferret reflex. Up we go."

Somehow, Jacob kept upright. He noticed vague details. The hall. The elevator. His tail twitching. Odd. He nuzzled the kitsune. Though he didn't normally do that in suit, just sorta happened. The kitsune pushed him back, chuckling.

"No, you just need rest. Glad I took a swing back to see how you were doing. Now, ah, judging from your key card, this is your room. This is where I'll drop you off." He pressed the door open and the key into one of Jacob's jacket pockets. They got into the room. Jacob felt himself fall onto the bed. He clutched at the comforter and sheets, pulling them to his body. He made a little dooking noise.

"Now, when you wake up, you're gonna feel much better, Regi."

The world faded away.

O O O

Jacob opened one eye, the sunlight blinding it immediately. He turned over and slumped off the bed with a soft thump. His head burned. He licked his muzzle. The sticky taste of alcohol tinged the fur. His breath stank. His vision swam when he tried to push himself up.

The full definition of the word "hangover" wandered crookedly through his mind.

He saw paws blurrily. Still in costume? Figures. Still, it appeared he was in his room at the least. Small blessings. The premise of coffee wandered by. His whiskers twitched and he started moving towards this idea.

He stumbled on all four paws out of the bed sheets before snuffling about for his clothes. He found his jacket behind a chair, his bandana under the bed, his leather tote bag in the shower. While there, he took the time to splash water on his face. He smoothed the fur about his eyes, blue tongue licking a stain of something on his nose. Jacob got to his hind paws, cracking the vertebrate of his back, stretching it this way and that, getting himself limber, finding the right balance point by getting his thick tail into position. He shook himself, patted his left jacket pocket for the hotel keycard, and headed into the hall.

Jacob played off the people along the journey from room to breakfast room. Giving sleepy waves, high fours, and goofy faces to the younger ones. He felt much better by the time sat down to lap at his coffee. There was a little trouble to be had with the chair though. He couldn't quite get his tail to cooperate, so he had to settle with sitting on the chair sideways, so the tail could be unfettered.

He nodded politely to the variation of "great costume" that were tossed his way. He hoped they couldn't smell the beer on his fur.

Halfway through his cup of coffee the gleam of a shiny object in the breakfast nook caught his eye. Before he could stop himself, he had scampered to the shiny, and was examining it, turning it all ways in his paws. Feeling the smooth edges, claws picking at the coils within. He pulled a screwdriver out of his tote. He unplugged the device, for safety. Soon, coils and wires spilled out the bottom. A few persons came by, bread in hand, opened their mouths, then ended up just watching the progress. Jacob smiled. He loved an audience.

Then someone cleared their throat in a displeased way. Regi didn't like that sound. Made his tail twitch. Jacob looked up, to see a mustached man with hotel employee tag on his jacket.

"Excuse me, sir. What are you doing with that toaster?"

"Fixing it."

"Sir. That is property of the hotel. If it was broken, you should have told us and..."

"Oh, of course it /worked/. Just wasn't working to its full potential."

The hotel employee's brows furrowed. The other hotel patrons quirked theirs.

Jacob carefully closed up the toaster and plugged it in. "Let me show you. You see, this device was not using the energy it was using to its full potential to heat the coils and toast the bread." Jacob took a piece of bread from one of the audience and placed it in the toaster. He pushed the lever down with one claw. The toaster blazed with light for no more than a second, before the toast popped back up. The audience gasped. The bread had been toasted to the most perfect shade of brown.

"See, reduces the time and completely streamlines the process. You'd think that a society with an advanced paw on manipulating energy would be more adept at taking advantage of these sorts of things. Now about your waffle maker, I think..." Jacob caught sight of something in the toaster. He picked it up again. He looked closer. He saw a reflection. He saw a face. A face of a ferret, a dark mask around its eyes fringed with a line of bright blue fur, maw gapping, showing a blue tongue, this surrounded by muzzle, complete with twitching whiskers.

And suddenly the string of events, from first opening his eye to looking into this toaster lost their alcoholic haze. From nose to tail, he felt everything. He did not have a limited view through two eye holes for those eye holes were where his eyes were, now looking cross-eyed at his own muzzle, at his paws holding the toaster, down at his golden furred chest.

Jacob placed the toaster down. "I'll get to the waffle maker later."

The hotel employee, still staring at shock at the toaster, did not react. He gave a few more high fours and salutes as he snuck out of the group of people.

In a blur, he got back to the elevator, up to his floor, back into his room, back into the bed, and promptly gave a series of panicked chitters into a pillow.

In a corner, hugging a pillow, Jacob tried to rationalize his situation.

With little success.

He slowly brought up his right paw up again. He looked at the pink paw pads against sable fur, the claw on the end of each digit. He followed the sable fur down the arm, interrupted by a ring of bright blue fur, before turning to the milk chocolate shade of his hide. Jacob gripped the arm with his left paw, feeling his pulse under the fur, running at an alarming rate.

"I'm perfectly fine. Nothing to worry about. Absolutely fine. There is nothing to worry about. Just need to take a few more deep breaths and then everything will be normal. I will take off this mask and just spend the rest of the con splurging in the dealer's den. Perhaps get a few shiny items..."

His voice tapered off, realizing his vocalized assurances were not helping much. He breathed deeply. Once. Twice. Three times. He brought his paws, no, hands up to his neck, feeling for the Velcro strap. He felt deeper. He started scrabbling at his neck, as if being strangled, gasping for air, feeling desperately through the fur, trying to capture the zipper. It had to be there, it had to...

"Ow!" he squeaked. He felt his chin and brought back the paw. A slight dash of red had sprinkled the pad. He had nicked himself with a claw.

"What? You have got to be kidding me! WHAT IN THE-" His jaws took hold of the pillow and ripped, sending feathers into the air, flashing in Jacob's mind, fueling the rage, he leapt at the feathers, diving, crashing against a chair, twisting his body, diving again, hitting the drawers, the tv rocked, he stabilized it with his tail. He carried on half conscious as he pounced onto the bed, claws and jaws ripping into the bed sheets, mind flashing, words lost to squeaks and dooking noises. This blurred motion of pouncing, bouncy, feral actions continued, until he became tangled in the comforter, which brought his swooping rampage to a halt. Still tangled, he rolled off the bed onto the carpet, huffing breaths, whiskers still twitching. He sniffed to note the odd smell in the air. He sent a baleful glance down at his lower half, tail still wagging, and wondered briefly if he had glandes that had went off.

He was a weasel after all.

No, ferret hybrid thing. Even if that might have been a weasel war dance...

No, he wouldn't accept that. There was something he had done. Something that someone else had done. As he realized himself from the comforter's comforting confinement, he wracked his memories. Last night. The haze. The hangover still nibbing at the edges. The bar. The drinks. The burning throat. The stickiness of the floor. The kitsune. He squinted at that. The kitsune? That spiritual furry? He'd seen him again. Hadn't he? Assuring words. He'd brought him to his room. What had he said? Suddenly, all those tail and ear twitches, the expression managed by the vulpine muzzle, the odd knowing gold tinge in the eyes, clarified.

You'll feel much better in the morning.

He dooked at the realization.

He found the half-emptied pillow amidst the feathers and clutched it again, giving the surroundings a wary look.

"OK. I get it. Nice trick. Very funny. You can come out now."

No response.

"Yeah, I had some life lesson. Come on. You can turn me back now. I'll not...do, whatever I was supposed to be not doing now. That's it, right? Needed to learn a lesson? Yeah?"

Nothing.

Jacob's ears drooped. What was he doing? Just speaking to the air. Not like anyone would respond from the ether.

His ears perked, hoping perhaps this expectation of nothing to happen would cause something to happen.

Nothing did.

Everything about him drooped now. He nibbled at the pillow, noting a flavor to the feathers. Goose down. Fancy. Dang How had he gotten into this? He had turned into his costume. Not turned into his costume to the point he had fabric hide and plastic eyes, but to the point he had become what his costume had only attempted to represent. He was flesh and blood, right down to biological levels and he didn't even want to consider what that fully entailed.

He dooked, a sad tone to the sound. Still a little cute sounding too, he had to admit.

O O O

"Hellooooo, Beeeeecca."

"Jake?"

"Yes. How are you doing?"

"Find. How's fursuitting?"

Jacob placed a paw over his eyes. "Don't use that word."

"Oh. How does the convention go...in that fursuit?"

"Must you torture me so."

"I'm your friend, its in the job description."

"We need to negotiate that contract. Dare I go into the argument that its a costume that happens to be an animal?"

"Heard it before. Argument needs work."

Jacob noticed he was a wrapping the cord of the hotel phone around a claw, bringing him back to quote-unquote reality.

"That's why I called you."

"To come up with a better argument? How about not wearing that odd thing. Looks cute and all but do you really need to deal with the context?"

"Context. Yeah. Heh. You see. Funny thing..."

"You didn't have a fling, did you?"

"No. No. Nononono. Just...heh. Hahahaha. HEH. You see..." He caught sight of himself in a mirror. He stuck out his blue tongue at the image. He regressed to laughing.

"Are you strangling a squeak-toy there?"

He came back to his senses. "Oh. No. Laughing."

"Only you, Jacob." Jacob could almost hear the eye roll over the phone. "So what's this call about?"

Jacob wanted to say something along the lines of "I've turned into the ferret hybrid I was costumed as" or "I seem to be a large weasel" or "my tongue is blue" or "I seem to be lacking in pants without any morality issues." None of these seemed to be good candidates in getting Becca to take him seriously. It was unfortunate that any of these things might be something he would say in the string a late-night conversation. Instead, he said:

"Still on for dinner tonight?"

"Of course."

"Still don't know why you wouldn't come to the con."

"And deal with being seen with a six foot tall ferret? That, and my geek quota stops at watching Battlestar Galactica."

"Fair enough."

"...you're not gonna be wearing the costume to dinner, are you?"

Jacob clenched and unclenched a paw, noting muscles under fur that provided to the action. "I hope not."

The said good-byes and Jacob replaced the phone on the cradle.

He sat on the bed clenching and unclenching his paw. He searched his chest for a hidden zipper again. He experimentally twitched his tail. He hopped about on his digitigrade legs. He examined the places where the bright blue fur and brown fur met. He placed the goggles on, turning the world green and shiny.

He took in his options and decided he had gone insane. Sure, most insane people didn't know they had gone insane but he decided it was the only way this made sense. People did not become what they were costumed as.

Jacob ignored that this was the same logic most creatures used his an absurd unexplainable situation in most narratives.

He let himself settle back on the bed, limbs splayed out, twisting and turing, liking the feel of his long body on the linens. Ah, insanity didn't feel that bad. No wonder insane people smiled so much. Or why ferrets did this in bedsheets in countless YouTube videos.

A sensation hit him.

O O O

One disconcerting trip to the bathroom later, he decided he had not gone insane.

O O O

"So, you got like straps and stuff in that thing?"

"Excuse me?"

"To make your tail move like that."

Jacob made a sideways glance at the guy sitting next to him. He wore a t-shirt with skulls for some rock band, his hair looked lived in. "Yeah. Sure."

"I'm not usually a fan of these costumes, but its pretty sweet," the guy said, poking at the tail.

"Don't touch the tail..." he checked the badge, "...Raven."

As if to emphasize the point, the tail rose, and the tip of it poked Raven on the nose. Raven gaped. Jacob turned his attention back to the panel. He briefly considered staying in the hotel room. Then the forty five dollar con fee haunted his hide. He'd considered since nothing had happened horribly this morning in his strange daze (he still wasn't quite sure what had happened there) he probably could attend the con with little notice.

He was half right. He did gain notice, but mostly because his costume was so notably brilliant. He didn't know what to make of this. He would thinks someone would notice how oddly real his outfit was. He decided after a while that people just looked at the world through a tint, that something strange was brushed under the carpet as something sensible. Even for fans of the fantastical, it made more sense to see Jacob as a person in a realistic costume than a large ferret, or perhaps it was the other way around. As with yesterday, people still saw him as a larger weasel-type creature, and treated him as thus, just taking it in stride the same as before.

It was a sci-fi / fantasy convention after all. One could pick out a dozen or so strange creatures in any landscape view in any room of the hotel.

The other thing that had drawn him out, was this panel. Biology and Ecology of Anthromorphic Races

If there was anywhere he was going to get some answers, this was going to be the place.

He listened as the panelists discussed foreign biology and traditions of fantasy species, and soon focused in upon the man to the right, Dr. Ralph Higgins, PhD of Biology, Zoology and Cryptozoology from the Northwest University. He seemed to have the best handle on the topic, bringing up issues, talking of genetics, and generally being amusing in his analogies. If there was anyone Jacob needed, it was someone with a sense of humor.

After the panel came to a close, it took all of Jacob's power to keep from going to all four paws and sneaking up the front as fast as he could. The tendencies kept sneaking up from the back of his mind. Odd thoughts. Some came from what he supposed came from being in the body of a ferretish creature. Some came from places a little odder (or would it be otter?), memories, faces, scenes of a steam filed landscape, dreams, details, things that were scrabbling for attention, coming to the surface when he became distracted. He found himself introducing himself as Reginald Tesla to whoever asked, without even a twitch of hesitation.

Which is why he needed answers.

He got to the table. "Dr. Higgins."

"Please, Dr. Ralph," the man said, taking a drink of water. "What can I do for you?"

"I have a bit of a problem I was wondering you could help me with."

"And what would that be."

"You see, I'm sorta a ferret."

Dr. Ralph sighed, pushing thick rimmed glasses up his nose, and gave a forced smile. "I'm sorry, I don't think I can help you. Humans are humans. And as much as you wish..."

"You misunderstand me."

"I know what you think. That you are a ferret trapped in a..."

"No. Just stop. Look at my face."

Dr. Ralph sighed again, but he did look at Jacob's face. The room was almost empty, the other panelist were gone, a few people were stumbling in for the next panel, Jacob took a deep breath.

Jacob licked his muzzle.

"Wha...wha...wha..."

"Dr. Ralph."

"Did. What? Now. Just..."

He whipped out a penlight from his shirt pocket and shined it in Jacob's eyes. His other hand danced its way across his marten-like ears. "You have...who are you...?"

"Dr. Ralph. I just needed to confirm I hadn't gone completely insane. I was a pretty sure but...well...good to have a doctor's opinion."

"You're actually a ferret. Well, not a ferret completely. The details are a little hazy. These are not ferret ears to be certain...and the tail looks like something off an otter...I can't believe I'm saying any of this. Is your tongue blue?"

"Just for fun."

"Do you have time?"

"Well, I was interested in that panel on gremlins...and the Artist of Honor is doing a display of...of course I have time. I'm a bloody ferret."

"Darn it. I have a panel coming up. Perhaps I've went insane. Perhaps..."

Jacob tweaked Dr. Ralph's nose with his claws.

"Ow. Thank you."

"Will you be able to help me?"

"I don't know. Can we meet for lunch? Please."

"You're looking at me like I'm a massive fuzzy tenure ticket."

"...yes?"

"Of course I'll meet with you for lunch. I've not made a stir yet. I can just wander about here." He held out a paw, he shook it, he hurried on his way, looking back multiple times, still in shock. He took out his pocket watch, now, mysteriously, authentic gold.

The costume contest was in a half-hour. He was signed up for it. When he had signed up it, he had not suspected this. Then again, there was no one in their right mind who would have suspected this. And there was the prize. An authentic replica of the 11th Doctor's sonic screwdriver /and/ signed poster.

Even if he weren't primarily a ferret the word "shiny" would have come unbidden to his mind.

O O O

"...and if you fix the wiring like so, you should be able to get a proper charge." Jacob looked down the glass barrel of the weapon. "You didn't even have the right to be calling this a lightning gun before I came along."

"What exactly did you do?" the lady dressed in the leather apron asked, taking the lightning gun back, "It took me ages to get it to spark up when the trigger is pulled."

"When Regi sees a device of untapped potential, something just opens up within me. As my Uncle Nikola used to say, 'It all starts with a spark...' And with your weapon there, I took that line quite literally. Now, considering bystanders, I thought it best not to extend its potential too much, but enough that it gives a little of a show. See that mysterious potted plant over there, just aim and fire."

"Ah, it can't hurt." The lady raised the weapon and pulled the trigger. The end of the gun sparked, then kept sparking, outward, strings of static electricity rotating through the air until they hit the plant, rotating about it in a shiny orb, that seemed to touch all parts without effecting the leaves. Meanwhile, the lights of the large meeting area flickered and sputtered with the charged air. She released the trigger. "How...?"

"Untapped potential, as I said," Jacob inserted, giving a deep bow to the miss, "And the only tip I require is a rub between the ears."

Uncertain how else to react, she rubbed him between the ears, letting a smile spread across her face. "That was brilliant, Regi. This is supposed to be just a model but... how did you do that? You only had it a few minutes."

"Never underestimate these fuzzy paws," Jacob countered, waggling his digits, "Speaking of which, the footpaw ones are dragging me to meet more chaps. See you about, miss." He saluted and moved on into the crowd, many of which were staring at him after the electric display. Jacob played along with their questions as they came...

"I'm a ferret, mostly, a dash of otter on my mum's side, a bit of marten on my pa's. But considering I grew up in a pod, didn't know either. Sad facts of genetic engineering, chap. Still didn't affect my roguish good looks."

"Need to say the best time I have was fending off that steam-powered dragon in the Loch of Great Britain. Dastardly foe. Had a loose gasket and started eating all the fish. So, with only a wrench and bottle of castor oil, totally got that metal maw out of commission, saving the fish...after sampling a few myself. Testing for mercury content, you see."

"Wormholes are impeccable means of travel. How I came to this fair time to study the rhyme and reason of this impeccably ran alternate universe. Not the smoothest running place but I do adore those vending machines."

"Ah, Tesla? I miss Uncle Nikola. He had the most fun facial hair. I tried to grow one like it but I just ended up grizzled."

Jacob would have been more unsettled on how easily the in-character conversations came to him if he wasn't having so much fun, exchanging brags with the brawniest of the airship pirates, flirting with the most spiced of the Female Gear Corps, trading ideas for the next phase in steam powered transportation (he believed pneumonic tubes were the next big thing). It was only half-way snorfing down a bowl of popcorn (paws optional) when his ears perked at the name of "Regi Tesla." He scampered up to the stage, waving at the audience, placing the popcorn in a pocket for later.

The moderator spoke: "I don't think we need to look very far to see who the Audience Favorite Award goes to. With his unconventional portrayal of a steampunk ferret hybrid, Regi Tesla has wooed at least a few ladies in the room." A series of female whistles met this remark. "He totally fits the theme of our convention, fuzziness and all. Now, it appears his name has been smudged on our sheet, so who are we giving this award to, Regi?"

Jacob smiled and cleared his throat. "Regi Tesla."

"Excuse me."

Jacob frowned. "Regi. Tesla. Sometimes Reginald Tesla." Something about that didn't sound right. The moderator was giving him a strange look. He rubbed the back of his head. What was he forgetting? He was Regi, wasn't he? Regi Tesla. Something didn't sound right still. "Just a moment, I have ID."

"What about that folks, keeping in character to the end," the moderator quipped. "Are you ok? You seem to be...panting."

Regi tried to get a hold of himself, shuffling through his pockets. He found his wallet, that seemed to look different. Than what, he couldn't remember. He opened it, he found his ID. Relieved, he handed it to the moderator. The moderator looked from the card to Regi a few times. "This is a card for the New York City Library from 1919. It says Reginald Jacob Tesla."

"Ah, Jacob. That's what I was forgetting," Regi stated, chittering nervously.

"What a character," the moderator said, shaking his head and rubbing Regi's snout, "No matter. You still deserve the prize. Bring it out here. Regi's eyes lit up when he saw the leather pouch held towards him. Authentic steampunk instruments and tools, made for any sort of task involving gears and bolts. Regi could already imagine using these for all matter adventures, slithering through crevices and corners of expansive machines across the globe.

"Thank you!" He almost tackled the moderator in a hug, nuzzling him on the neck, causing the moderator to giggle.

"Down, boy. Anyone have a ball of tin foil to distract him?" he called to the audience, winking. "Dang your costume is impressive," he whispered when Regi relented, "Heck, your nose is even a little wet."

Regi saluted. "Thanks. Must head to an appointment, sir."

O O O

"Your name is really Regi Tesla?" Dr. Ralph asked.

"You keep asking that. You think the waitress will bring more crackers if I ask? I really like the crackers here. Every time I eat them, there are crumbs left over. Then I can lick them off the table, and my paws, and my chest fur and then..."

"Focus. When did...this, happen?"

Regi twitched his whiskers, giving a Dr. Ralph a long stare, before he brightened. "I am a genetic experiment. Mostly ferret. They grew me in a pod. Like peas. But I'm not green. I've been told I'm very bright for a ferret, though I've found ferrets are very bright, humans just don't know how to listen. Have you ever spoke to a ferret?"

Dr. Ralph stirred his coffee. "I'm a little confused."

"You see. I was going to come to a human event to see how they acted in real life. At first I said my name was Jacob and I was dressed like a ferret, but then I found out that people saw me as a steam punk ferret already, so why not just be myself. It's much easier to be myself. I'm having a lot of fun here. Ooo, and there's dancing tonight. I love dancing. I get to be swoopy."

"Regi. You're not going to believe me. But I don't think you're a genetically grown ferret. If you are a flesh and blood ferret, that doesn't even make sense. It is not possible. You shouldn't exist."

"Don't you like me?"

"What? I don't..."

"You think I'm strange, don't you..."

"No. That's not what I mean. You're fine. I like you. But..."

"Oh good. I like you too. Think I can have more crackers?"

Dr. Ralph rubbed his temples. "Alright. I think you are heading towards some trouble. I'll call a few friends and we'll take care of you. In fact, I'll call my lawyer. Just to be safe. While you're here, I wouldn't worry. That's the funny thing about these conventions, something like this can happen and no one will notice. Outside of this place, if whatever this is doesn't go away, it might be tricky."

"Tricks. I know tricks. Do you have a deck of cards?"

"Dr. Ralph shook his head. "A tenure might take me taking this on. Trust me. I'll make sure nothing happens to you. I have connections. You just stay around the convention and I'll find you. Understand?"

"Yes. I'll call you on this." He pulled out a dial phone out of his pack, wires and gears sticking out of the sides, it appeared to be smoking. "I put a little combustion engine in that phone in my room and look, its portable now. I see other people with little ones but this is much more nice looking. Don't you think?"

Dr. Ralph straightened his glasses. "Yes, it is."

O O O

Regi walked around the dealer's den with a vigor only a ferret could accomplish, scampering from table to table, getting his paws on everything, making comments upon the impressive workmanship and artistry. He loved seeing that humans could accomplish when left to their creative devices. They had an imagination he was quite envious of, so much potential, so many shiny stuff they could create.
Many artists found them in the position of being hugged by an over-enthusiastic ferret thing, who could think of no better way to portray his appreciation. Licking was not approved by many human societies.

As he took time to got down notes in the artist section, in a nice homemade leather-bound journal he had bought (the artist had been nice enough to stamp a ferret likeness on the cover), a figure brushed next to him. Regi paused, and looked over at the many tailed vulpine.

"Hey. You. Haven't seen you for a while. Have you been enjoying this grand display of humans acting and reacting within a organized meeting in which they celebrate the collective works of their imaginations?"

The kitsune cocked an ear. "Come again?"

"It's bloody fantastic. I really can't wait to get back to my typewriter at home and write out a report."

"You're loosing me."

"I just can't get over how wonderful the place is. I've been told I can't stay after its over, but I just want to explore more of this world. I want to get my paws dirty. To wander into other strange new places that..."

The kitsune punched Regi across the maw, then took the ferret by the shoulders.

"Look me in the eyes, Jacob."

The ferret blinked. Shook himself. Blinked again. "Jacob..."

"Jacob. What's going on?"

"I'm not Jacob. That's my middle name. I like that name though. I guess you could..."

"Come with me."

The kitsune dragged the ferret with him, tipping his hat to any witnesses who had seen him hit the ferret. The con-goers went along their way, deciding it was just a ruitien they had come into halfway. The pair made it to one of the drinking stations, took a glass of ice water, and splashed it over the ferret's face.

"Who are you?"

The ferrets rubbed his now sopping features. He pulled the paws back and stared at them, then, startled twitching in his whiskers, looked about himself. "Where am I?"

"First tell me who you are?"

"Regi. No...wait...I'm not Regi. Just a moment."

"Jacob."

"That might be it." His eyes widened. "Yes. Wait. What's going on? You!"

"Yes, me. It appears I've miscalculated something."

"You did this to me?"

"Yes, to a point. This change in your personality is entirely unexpected though. You were only supposed to become what your costume was, not become what your character was."

"Why? No, that's too vague. There are so many questions I don't even know where to begin. What's going on? Why do I...I..." the sides of his face twitch, sneaking into a smile, he giggled briefly, chittering giggle, then his face cleared again, "Why can't I think of myself as...J-...Ja-...I'm Regi. Pleased to meet you." He clamped paws over his muzzle.

"I underestimated your level of imagination, Jacob. As you were saying, humans are amazing creatures, capable of much potential and fantastic accomplishment. Look at you. You made this costume, trying to bring a character to life, just for fun. But that character is being made real. Yes, I did do this to you, but something in you is bringing you the rest of the way into this character."

"It's taking all my power to not go over there and muse over that shiny ball of sparks for ten minutes," Regi said, gesturing over his shoulder.

"Would it be any comfort to you to say that you are a ladykiller with that face of yours?"

"I've been told when I stick my blue tongue out when I smile I'm liable to cause girlish squees from any nearby females. So who are you?"

The kitsune shrugged. "Remember what I said when we met?"

Regi facepawed. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Yes, I am a trickster, through and through, but this is not what I was aiming to do. I am not a cosmic creature doing things to make people's lives miserable. I do it for the same reason you costume, just for fun. By the way, you're not a furry, are you?"

"...actually, no. Common misconception though."

"Ah, well, I'll go for poetic irony next time. The point is...Regi. I mean...Regi. Reginald." The kitsune leaned in closer. "Regi Tesla. OK, that is a little weird. Are you still with me?"

Regi nodded. "I know what happened. I just...can't remember things. What is happening?"

"Regi is acclimating himself to this world. He is not some evil spirit trying to take over your body, he's just trying to be himself, and trying to let you be yourself. The problem is, he doesn't know where one ends and begins. You know how writers put a little of themselves into their characters?"

"...yes."

"Therein lies the avenue where the personalities have collided and integrated. Being in Regi's body is not helping settle matters."

"Can't you just turn me back?"

"Yes, you see, there's an issue, it seems that, urm..." Regi noted the kitsune's tails all lowered, as did the kitsune's ears. "Would it be a cop-out to say it's all up to you on how you end up?"

"Yes."

A ringing came from the kitsune's pocket. "One moment." He pulled a russet cellphone out. "Yes? Oh. Beargod, huh? He can't be Mars, that's Roman, that is Death Valley. Urhmm. The armor...and epic sword. You know...I can't...yeah. My vacation time...you can't say that wasn't funny. Yeah. The cleanup. That PETA picnic was asking for it...I thought the skunk thing was...yeah. OK, I'll be there in a few...yeah...ur...I don't...loveyoutoo." He pressed a button with a claw to hang up. "I need to go."

"You can't leave me like this."

"You'll be just fine. I heard Dr. Ralph is taking care of you."

"Wait, what does...?"

"Just be yourself, Regi."

And suddenly the kistune was gone.

O O O

After the kitsune had left, Regi wandered the con in a daze, occasionally perking up to some shiny activity or item, but in general lost in thought. He eventually settled down on a chair next to the elevators, no armrests which made it easier to sit with his tail, creatures here had little to no accommodations for tails. Pulling out pieces he's scourged from his hotel room's complimentary hair dryer and electric shaver, Regi started fiddling with the mass of wires, unpacking tools on the fake wooden end table. Working with his paws helped him concentrate..

None of this made sense. He shook his head. Of course it didn't. He was visiting an alternate dimension set in the far future. If this all made sense, he would have to be worried about his mental status. Still, he sensed something wrong with himself. The conversation with the kitsune had unlocked some things, but no sooner had the kitsune left, had the fractures sealed, leaving him befuddled and twitchy. In fact, his tail still had a nervous tick, almost knocking the cheap lamp off the end table.

Regi started to mutter to himself. "Ah. I wish that kitsune hadn't of come and said anything at all. I was having such fun. I'm Regi Jacob Tesla. Why was I saying if he could turn me back? Turn me back to what? So silly. I am a prime example of the extents of genetic manipulation. I just wanna go and try that grilled cheese sandwich again. Those are cool. Wonder why I never had one before."

He viciously twisted coils around the shaver motor. "And what about me being a character? I'm not a character. I'm not. Characters are things in books with ray guns and who go on space adventures and fight off bog beasts. Stuff that would never happen in real life. I am a legitimate creature founded on scientific fact. There is nothing..." The device he fiddled with sparked, shocking him. He mind quirked, just a moment. He sucked on the digit hurt and stuffed the wires and tools back into his bag.

He didn't like being angry, he wanted to be happy, he wanted to enjoy the con, he wanted to meet more people. Regi found his mind embroiled in the seeds of doubt placed in his mind by the kitsune. He growled at anyone who spoke to him. The people laughed and growled back, moving on. The ferret wanted to go home. He wanted to be in his own hammock, in his own little lab, surrounded by his own inventions. Regi didn't want to bother with this idea of being a character and yet he couldn't shake it.

Something caught him, through the edge of his gaze, he paused, first torso, and then legs turning towards the distraction. A wall covered with photos of con-goers, from the first day, just after registration, He snatched at one of the photos, staring slacked jawed the figure it portrayed.

"That your entrance photo?" a voice interrupted, coming from a man in full Spiderman costume and money pouch.

"I...guess."

"That will be ten dollars."

"Oh. Yes." Regi stuck a paw in his pocket, digging for some of the monetary paper had had brought along. He pulled out a couple crumpled fives to the man.

"Nice costume."

"...thanks." Regi couldn't take his attention off the photograph, a 8 x 10 glossy. It showed Regi, though not exactly. It appeared as some strange chractature of Regi, exaggerated in the details, fake looking face, perpetual grin, glazed-over eyes, could see sewed seams on the edges, off-kilter paws holding a fake over-sized pocket watch. The figure was posed in a mischievous salute at the camera. In every way, it was a photo of a person in a ferret hybrid costume. A costume of Regi.

At first, Regi thought perhaps it was just some strange coincidence, but the more he looked, and compared the details of the costume with his own body, the more he knew this was not true.

He was a character.

But if he were a character...who...

The sides met."

"Jacob? Wait, yes, I am Jacob, but I'm also Regi. I thought my middle name sounded familiar. But, is that my real middle name? Oh pufferfish this is odd. I'm Jacob. I know it. I'm Regi, too. This is getting us nowhere. Am I even speaking to myself or...ok, let's just think of his sensibly. I came to this con as Jacob but now I'm Regi but I'm also still Jacob. Ow, my head hurts...I can't even have a proper split personality to sort this out. Am I even alright with this?"

He got on his haunches, and scratched behind an ear with a hind paw, then got up, smoothed his fur, and continued walking.

"I think that odd interlude in itself just screamed both yes and no. This is weird. Just trying to speak this all out. Don't want to think it all out. I'd be liable to explode in a puff of logic or something. For the time being, I think I can stick with calling myself Regi Jacob Tesla. Keeps a good solid...ooo, is that a Red Dwarf signed poster...no, moving on. No shinies. Bad ferret. Uncle Niclov would know what to do. I can't believe I know Tesla and I call him my uncle. There is something so cool about that. I'm accepting this too readily. Oh, fuzzbutt this absurd."

He pulled out his pocket watch. "And I have dinner with Becca in twenty minutes. Perfect."

O O O

Regi lapped his ice water nervously as he waited for Becca. This would not end well. It wouldn't start well either. He just knew it. Now that he had come to the absurd eqaulibrum between himself as Jacob and himself as Regi, it seemed that rather anything being solved, it just made everything just more complicated. It didn't help that the Jacob side of himself kept bringing up legitimately worrisome questions which Regi brushed off with a cheerful disposition and equally worrisome answers.

Though still a casual restaurant, he still received a good share of Looks from the restaurant patrons.

"Jacob, I can't say I'm surprised, but, forgive my bluntness, what in Hellgates?"

"Your use of children's literature swearing is quite endearing, Becca," Regi countered, rising to pull out a seat.

"You said you wouldn't be wearing that fursuit."

"And I kept my word."

"Brushing it off as an 'animal costume' is not going to cut it."

"Becca," Regi said, placing a paw over his fuzzy chest where he believed his heart was (was hard to tell with a longer body to deal with, "Trust me."

"I've heard that line just before you've dragged me into some horrifying slash amusing experience."

"Hopefully more of the latter than the prior."

"The jury is still out about that," Becca said, accompanied by an eyeroll and brushing her chestnut hair behind her ears. "I assume this means the convention is going well."

"You could say that. It's come with some complications."

"What, Regi, you got your tail stuck in an elevator door?" She made a face. "...Regi. No. Regi. No, wait...why am I...?"

"Well, my name /is/ Regi Jacob Tesla."

"No it isn't. You're Regi." She looked at Regi, and this time, Regi could tell, she really looked. He twitched his whiskers and let himself smile.

"That...you're..."

"I've heard this routine before. Let me cover the bases," Regi said, spreading his paws, "Yes, I am a real ferret hybrid from a alternate history steampunk era where I have associations with the mad science of genetics and a rising inventor named Nikola Tesla. And..." He rose one digit to keep Becca from interjecting, "I was created by Jacob, a sci-fi / fantasy fan, and my creator, and I also happen to be him. One in the same. Two for one deal. We're still writing up the contracts."

Becca appeared dumbstruck, twisting a napkin in her grip.

Regi rose a paw, "More crackers please!"

"That doesn't make any sense. I've known you since elementary school, there is no way..."

"And yet here I am before you, able to pick my nose with my blue tongue. A sort of blue tongue that even a proper popsicle can't manage."

"And you're alright with this?"

Regi leaned forward and held out his paws. It took a full awkward minute, before Regi could tell his cute face seeped past the logic of Becca's mind and she placed her hands in the ferret's sable paws. "Becca. You are one of my best friends. You know me all too well. I'm compulsive and absurd, I say and do stupid things, and above all, I am always trying to be somewhat normal. Believe me. This is nothing I wanted. This is nothing I dreamed about. And I am scared out of my wits. But at this point, at this moment, I know that I'd never be happy try to be normal, and if being Regi is where I have to go to be not normal...well..." He shrugged. "Being a steampunk ferret hybrid is not a bad way to go."

"This is a lot to take in."

"So, bad time to say government agents are converging on our table?"

"Perhaps."

"Mmm...could I still take out my electric pulse gun?"

"If you want to. Can you really pick your nose with your tongue?"

"Yes."

"That's gross."

"What can say? It's a habit I'm trying to break. But genetically installed instincts, what can you do?"

"So about those government agents..."

"I wasn't going to say anything about them. How did you know?"

"Lucky guess."

Two rather large men in black suits flanked the table.

Regi smiled at the two, not letting go of Becca's hands. "We'll order later, we're having a meaningful moment."

"We are here on the behalf of the U.S. Government."

"Well, if you are from the Men in Black, sorry in inform you, I am not from outer space /and/ U.S. Citizenship under the Genetic Creatures Rights Law of 1909. So both definitions of alien do not apply. Of course, that depends upon your views on cross-dimensional law."

"Regi, I'm sure they are just here to check on my highly insidious ferret tattoo."

"D'aww, when did you get that?"

"It was going to be a surprise."

The men in black suits cleared their throats, simultaneously. The one on the left spoke. "We're sorry to interrupt your date."

"Ooo, we're dating?" Regi exclaimed.

"Perhaps. Not at the kissing stage yet. I think we will have to draw the line at nose-nuzzling."

"Shut up!" the man on the right said.

Regi and Becca reluctantly stopped holding hands and settled back in their seats.

"So is this on the horrifying or amusing side, Becca?" he said, looking about for the waitress with potential crackers.

"I think your current ferrety disposition is pressing it to amusing. Though can't be sure. This feels like a strange dream. Is your mood infectious?"

"No, I think we're just being...normal, for us," Regi said, sticking his tongue out at her.

Before anything more dire could proceed in this dinner theater, which most the restaurant patrons now watched, someone called out. "Stop!" All turned, to see Dr. Ralph and a woman, of brunette hair and flowing skirts, walk into the restaurant. The woman continued, "What is going on here?"
The government agents glowered. The one on the left spoke. "We are here on behalf of that U.S. Government to investigate the presence of a foreign lifeform in..."

The woman turned to Dr. Ralph, "Is he serious? You were being serious? And that is a ferret thing."

Dr. Ralph shrugged, "I had a bit of a feeling this would happen. You see, I think that the fabric of our universe is being wrinkled because of the presence of Regi Tesla. The world about him is bending in ways to conform to something out of a science fiction plot, to the point that reality is..."

"No need of the specifics, Ralph. I get the gist. Now, you two. You cannot take that ferret into custody."

"Why not," the man on the right growled.

"Do you have a warrant?"

The men shuffled awkwardly.

"Of course. You don't need a warrant. You come in and clean up, no questions asked. Now I'm here to question you."

"Who are you?" the man on the right countered.

"I am Jess Winters, science fiction writer and I have a PhD in Law. I normally use that in my illegal space alien court drama plots, but considering what Ralph has told me, this is an opportunity I couldn't miss." She walked up to the table and, with a professional edge, tweaked Regi's ears, nose, mouth, and paws, before giving a satisfied nod. "I have gathered documentation on Mr. Tesla to form a case in his processing all rights he had before he became his own character. Now, I need to do further research, but I have the papers here that prohibit you from taking this creature into custody."

She handed a folder over to the man on the left. He took it carefully and leafed through, then handed it over to his partner, who ripped though the documents with a more violent vigor. They shared a glower over the table, then left. Though the man on the right made rude gestures before he exited and muttered a few things that made the fur on the inside of Regi's ears burn. The patrons felt obliged to clap.

After they had left, Jess Winters turned her attention back to Regi. "I am offering my services as your lawyer, do you accept?"

Regi looked the lady up and down. "I can't think of anyone better to represent me."

She suddenly hugged Regi around the neck. "Oh, I always hoped to use my research! I always hoped maybe for a real alien but I shall make do with a ferret. You're so fuzzy! I shall keep in touch." She released, with a wide smile on her face. "Oh, Ralph. I'm going to have so much fun with this. I hope there's a case. I shall work on the papers now. Keep in touch, Regi. I'll have a preliminary report tomorrow." She practically skipped out of the restaurant.

Dr. Ralph turned back to Regi. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm not completely Regi or Jacob now, if that's what you mean?"

"And you're alright with this?"

Regi shot a glance at Becca, then shrugged. "I guess we'll see."

Dr. Ralph sighed and shook his head. "You...will let me poke and prod you for a minimally invasive scientific and biological examination, won't you?"

"I'll think about it. You're giving me the fuzzy tenure ticket look again."

"I can't help it."

"I'll catch up with you tomorrow morning."

Dr. Ralph nodded to Regi and Becca, then exited himself. The two finally looked back at each other.

"That was...interesting," Becca said.

"That's one way to put it, wonder where my crackers got to," Regi said, trying to spy the waitress again.

"So, where do we go from here?"

"Well..." he pulled a device from his pocket, and placed it in the center of the table. "I conjured this up while waiting for you to come. It took me a bit to get it just right, but...this is a wormhole conductor."

"I'm not even going to grace you with asking 'what.'"

"This device can make a condensed wormhole, one capable of transporting me back to my steampunk era...and a friend."

"Wait, that place doesn't exist. You're still a character. There is no way that...and I'm trying to explain this to a six foot tall ferret."

"So, do you want to come?"

"Seriously?"

"Why not?"

"And give up my life. You giving up your life? You can't be serious. This..."

"No, no, no. Just a little vacation. For a few weeks. Well, a few weeks there, only two hours here. You know, traveling through time and space. Has nice quirks there."

"You're trying to catch my inner Doctor Who fangirl, aren't you?"

Regi's ears lowered guiltily. "Yeah, a little."

Becca took one of his paws, giving a devious smile. "You're a little weasel, you know that."

Regi lowered his goggles with a paw. "I prefer 'ferret.'"

He pressed the button.
[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Comedy]] [[Category:Anthropomorphic]] [[Category:Ferret]] [[Category:Mental change]]

Not Quite Furry

2011-01-10T01:43:29Z

Jonas:

Not Quite Furry

2011-01-10T01:42:45Z

Jonas: New story! Not mine! Read it anyway! Wheee!

User:Jonas

2011-01-10T01:38:50Z

Jonas:

{{DEFAULTSORT: Jonas}} {{author page}}
For those who are/were familiar with Lloyd Brunnel, this is him. When I first created my shifti account I was still new to the furry scene and therfore used my generic online name. Now that I've developed a fursona though, I've decided that its time to re-organize all of my furry/transformation writings under his name.

==About Me==
I'm in second year university, living on residence. I like sleeping in, warm blankets, and stories that leave you feeling nice and fuzzy at the end. I've recently gotten into reading Agatha Christie's works, and heartily reccomend The Murder of Roger Ackroyd to anyone who has no read it. I'm Canadian, and proud of it, and I love maple fudge in all its tasty, tasty forms. In my spare time, I like to play World of Warcraft or hang out at the Crimson Flag chatroom and forum. Once a week I go out to a card store and play Yugioh or the Warcraft Trading Card Game, and I think I'm fairly good at both. My current goal is to get a job and earn enough money to buy a new laptop, since my current one is sad and gets beat up by morning breezes.

Here's a link to [[Lloyd's Favorites|some of my favorite stories on Shifti.]]

==Notes On My Writing==

I recycle names in most of my stories, so don't be suprised to find the same ones poping up as I add more stuff to Shifti. I also procrastinate ''alot'' when writing and have trouble committing to a single story idea, which dramatically inflates the time it takes me to write. Oh, and I tend to mention food more often than would be normal since I usually write while hungry for some reason.

==Shameless Self-Promotion==

[[Lost World]]: Set in the Blind Pig universe for pure laziness reasons (I don't like explaining things) this is a furry => human TF. My thanks to Cubist both for editing, and for publishing it on his anthrozine site.

[[Bureaucracy in Action]]: When a fun-loving force meets a literal-minded object.

[[Convoluted Quality]]: There is something known as the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, a competition to write the worst opening sentence to the worst possible novel. Out of boredom, I made an attempt to write the worst opening sentence to the worst possible TF story. If you think you can do worse, please add to the page.

[[The Fool in the Fox]]: My first foray into the [[Pig and Whistle]] setting introduces [[PAW Timelines/Character Timeline|Jonas]], a fox about to make a very entertaining delivery.

[[The Runaway in the Raccoon]]: This story introduces Daniel, a character of my friend Kiba, to the Pig and Whistle world.

[[The Strength in the Shark]]: This is a follow-up to Zach's Within and Without story (see below). I mainly use this to create a friendship between our two characters and to explore a bit on some of the beliefs people might have regarding fullmorphs.

[[Unexpected Consequences]]: Extremely short story meant to highlight one of the unexpected downsides to being a teefer...

[[King's Pride]]: This idea has actually been bouncing around my head for almost four years. When it came time to write though, I had a surprisingly large amount of difficulty. Takes place in the PAW setting.

[[Case Briefing: Leon v. Stewart]]: The main problem with handling teefers came from how to define them in a legal system designed for humans. This case and the subsequent ruling provided the landmark precedent that shaped the NAR's courts.

[[Daniel's Christmas Story]]: Written for Kiba as a Christmas present, this story takes place in the PAW universe. It is, however, non-canon due to the mechanics involved.

[[Hunting]]: Ever wonder why Jonas doesn't act more...foxish? It's because he does stuff like this.

[[Meeting]]: Written on the spur of an idea following Hunting.

[[Interview in the Fields]]: Since I lack the stamina to write a full story about the Leon/Stewart lawsuit, I'm going to cheat and instead write about Leon being interviewed about the case twenty years later.

[[I Regret Nothing!]]: I really don't!

[[PAW Musings]]: Not so much a story as a general list/rant of my various thoughts or questions about the Pig and Whistle setting. Respond to them if you want but this mainly exists so I can get the questions off my chest.
==Written For Others==
These are stories that I have either written at another's request, or done as part of a comission.

[[Comic Genesis]]: Written as a request from Virmir. In it, he finds the true extent of his artistic abilities. This story contains what is possible my favourite line out of anything I have written so far.

[[Jingle Bells]]: Written for Posti as part of the 2009 Christmas Story Exchange. See if you can spot the reference!

[[Muhmorpaguh]]: Written for Kris Schnee as part of the 2010 Christmas Story Exchange. Please insert the obligatory "video games are addictive" joke here =>

[[Refreshment]]: Written as part of a trade with Kenku. I'm not sure if it counts as a setting, but William's Soda Shoppe is a recurrent element in many of Kenku's stories. All in all, this is a pure TF fluff piece, but we've all got a soft spot for those somewhere, right?

[[Research]]: Written as a comission for someone named Modmyths. This details a researcher's attempt to study a centaur herd. This was my first time writing about centaurs, which I'm still unsure about.

[[Testing Tastes]]: One day on Crimson Flag chat, Traxer and I were talking about writing ideas. The conversation turned to fursuits and we both mentioned how it's very hard to find a fursuit TF story, let alone one with a positive tone or ending. We each decided to try and write such a story. This is the one I wrote, and Traxer's is posted below. This piece uses the William's Soda Shoppe "setting".

[[The Potion Maker's Result]]: Written for Kenku on the Crimson Flag forum. This story is meant to accompany a picture drawn by Virmir (http://www.furaffinity.net/view/4098942/). It is, like most things that come out of the Flag, utterly insane. Also, you'd be surprised at how satisfying it is to put a ''Frankenstein'' reference in something so silly.
==Stuff by Others==
I did not write anything in this section. In here are stories written by others that I have recieved permission to repost here. Enjoy!

[[In the Cards]]: Posti wrote this for me as part of the 2009 Christmas Story Exchange. While my taste in card games have changed since then, itis still a very nice piece. This was posted on Shifti back before the server failed.

[[Mind Over Matter]]: Arto "FoxOfWar" Mässeli wrote this as part of the Xmas Xchange a while back. He thinks it's good, but his brain seems to disagree. The title is not the one used in the original story, because I can't find out what the original title was.

[[Nothing Otter]]: A story by Traxer. While not my favourite of his works, it is a perfectly fun and quirky tail involving two roommates and a great love for fish. Mmm...fish.

[[Nothing Up My Sleeve]]: Written by Traxer as mentioned in the above section. While my Testing Tastes is nothing but a fluff piece, this story is an awesome little tale that catapulted Trax from a fellow writer to one of my idols.

[[Not Quite Furry]]: This is another one of Traxer's stories, and it's the first of his I ever read.

[[Within and Without]]: My friend Zach Fox has written this PAW story featuring the setting's first shark morph. I think it's good, but I helped edit it so I'm obviously biased. Read it!
==Comissions==
I like money, and I like other people thinking of things for me to write about. If you're interested in comissioning a story from me, please send me an email at jonasbelford@live.ca. I operate on a pay-what-you-like format, but payment is required before I begin writing.
==Random Thought==

Wheee!

Nothing Up My Sleeve

2011-01-10T01:35:44Z

Jonas: New story! Not mine, but read it!

Every time I opened the closet door to grab a jacket, shoes, or miscellany, the fox stared down at me. To a normal person, they would find this unsettling. To me, it just caused me to sigh. Sometimes I looked up into its vacant expression and stared back a while. Usually, I just closed the door and carried on my way.

It was an impulse purchase. Late on a Friday night after a long week of work, actions muzzy at best, I somehow ended up ordering a fursuit.

Don't get the wrong impression from that. I know the stories that go around about fursuits and I'm not one of those guys. I do it for the same reason people want to be a mascot. For that absurd detachment from reality, to be someone else, at least for a little while.

In retrospect, that still sounds strange.

Anyway, the following days, some e-mails with the maker (who I found was a beginner in the business, though showed a lot of talent) and after much internal debate... I caved and carried through with the ambitions of my late-night actions. I placed the order, paid the deposit, waited, and three or so months later a disembodied head, paws, and tail arrived on my doorstep. I could have gotten a full body suit, but some part of me held back from going quite /that/ far. That being said, when I got the costume I promptly panicked and placed it in the closet before I could let its presence set in.

Where it stared at me day after day.

My talent for foresight is again shown to be faulty.

Time passed. I went to work. I stared at a computer screen from eight to five. I went home. I stared at computer screen until sleepy. I went to bed. Meals and chores scattered between. I never could remember what I actually stared at screens for afterward, at either work or home. Pixels just blurred by, acting as a form of time eater, consuming the time from point to point. Life was just being life, in the usual menial way.

Then the e-mail came from the fursuit maker, asking how I liked the suit, and my clicking through pixels stopped for a moment. I returned to the closet, and locked my gaze with the fox. The design of the fox was nice. Russet fur offset by the lower white, black marks on both sides of the muzzle, golden eyes, shiny nose. A fox was not exactly the most original of costumes, but I had a character when I was a kid; a goofy adventuresome fellow who happened to be a fox. He didn't even have a name as far as I knew. As I grew older, I played with the idea of him less and less until only a vague memory remained. So, in a way, it was him staring down at me from shelf in the closet.

I took down the head, the paws, and the tail, from closet and brought them to the living room. I sat holding the head for a long while.

"What are you looking at?" I said.

The fox head stared.

"Yeah, you're most likely wondering why I've left you in the closet for a while. You see, I'm not sure you're right for me. I mean, yeah, it sounded like a fun idea to wear you at the time, but now...when am I supposed to do so? I don't have time or money for conventions. I have no friends I hang out with who would be comfortable with me wearing a fox costume around. And now I'm speaking to an inanimate object."

I patted the fox between the years. "No offense."

The fox kept staring.

Well, there was only one way to end this. I carefully pulled the black paws over each hand, the oversized footpaws over my feet, hooked on the tail onto the back of my pants, and, of course, pulled the head over my own, hooking the velcro strap under my chin.

I stood there, the sound of my breath magnified within the head. I saw the room through the two eyeholes. I settled back down on the couch, moving the tail to the side so I could sit properly. After waiting so long, I supposed some part of me thought finally putting on the costume would be significant somehow. But, after doing it, I just thought the velcro strap felt a little itchy under my chin. I got up and wandered to the bathroom. I looked at myself with the fox's face in the mirror. Same vacant expression--though the smile was visible now-- small plastic canines, pink tongue sticking out a little. A tad surreal to see, but it still didn't stir anything within me.

Dang, this had been a waste of money. At least I'd only bought a partial. I rubbed my temples. then realized I was rubbing the temples of the fox's head. I snickered a little. "My enemy, Lord Fisher of the Laundry Room has eluded me once again," I stated, rubbing the fox's muzzle, "Alas, his leagues of brainwashed lemmings are a force to be reckoned with. They have the nasty habit of setting themselves a-blaze and throwing themselves off cliffs into the canyon we must pass to enter the Weasel Valley."

The memories of tales composed in yesteryears bubbled up as I said the words, those worlds I spun for the fox to explore, the dangers I had the fox face, the challenges that I had the fox solve in his creative and swash-buckling way. I paced the bathroom. "How can I do this? Time is of the essence, to rescue our comrades." I took a towel and tied it around my neck, letting it hang like a cape behind me. I grabbed the plunger by the toilet. I slunk to the door, and peeked into the hall. "I must work quickly. With this magic staff, given to me by the wise Sir Wolfie, I will find a way."

As I kept up this monologue, the story started growing, both old forgotten plots and new formed tangents, I crawled and scampered around the house, before I realized the absurdity of it while giving a one-liner to a pillow as I held the plunger to its nonexistent gizzard. Even then, I finished the sequence with "So long, Lord Fisher," before pressing the plunger into the pillow.

After that, I quickly returned the costume to the closet and slumped back on the couch. I sat there wondering what had just happened. I was pretty sure I had not lost my mind. Just, doing all that had felt like the right thing to do when I had that fox head on. All in good fun. And I had enjoyed it. I occurred to me that I had been playing with my imagination, which, for someone in their mid-twenties, was an unsettling thought. Perhaps I had lost my mind. But no, I wasn't doing anything I hadn't seen people role-playing do, and that really was my motivation. it was just fun to act like the fox for a little while. That fox of my younger imagination, who I'd almost forgotten, who may very well be reincarnated by that costume.

With these troublesome thoughts, I headed to bed.

The events of the evening did not leave me. The following day at work I could not stop thinking about it. I found myself jotting down notes of possible adventures. My fingers danced on the desk, plotting out daring-do escapes. I couldn't get my mind off it; even in discussions with co-workers, my mind wandered to the quests I would set forth upon once I got home.

My evenings changed.

The moment I got home, the adventure began again.

My schedule changed from staring at the computer screen to questing to defeat whatever evil happened to be plaguing the land. I overthrew the tyrannical Master Jupiter, the crazed wildcat from the far west. I tricked the Haze the Owl Dictator at his own games. I set free the lemmings enslaved by the gang of arctic foxes, who used an abbey as their cover for their trading of labor. Castles made of couch cushions, forts made of sheets, mountains made of comforters and pillows, each day a new landscape or adventure. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, until, just before setting off on a quest for the Eternal Fresh Scone, the phone rang.

It took me a few moments to place where the strange sound came from, that it came from my phone, and then actually find the phone to answer it.

"Evan? Is that you?"

"Yes?"

"This is Mr. Roberts from across the street. Just wanted to present you an invitation to the Neighborhood BBQ this evening. Everyone will be there and Mrs. Roberts and I did not want you to feel excluded. We know you live alone and perhaps you will meet some new friends."

I knew that tone all too well. It was the one my parents used. It meant that "You are coming to this event whether you like it or not and oh! Look over there! There is a girl your age who is nice looking and single, why don't you go over and chat with her!" Though Mr. and Mrs. Roberts were not my parents, they were the same general age and seemed to have the parent aura about them (plus, I had my suspicions that my parents had built a network of informants among my neighbors.)

"OK...when is the event?" I asked, hoping to fend it off with some made up scheduling conflict.

"Just started. We will be waiting for you. See you soon."

He hung up before I could respond. I glowered at the cell phone. I had little choice to put on a coat and head across the street. I did not like social events. Not that I had any trouble talking to people, but normally, conversation revolved around the current local gossip, a topic I could only nod to while retaining a hopefully interested blank expression.

I did not expect the odd looks I was given when I entered the backyard. I decided they were a pleasant change of pace. The kids there were very warm towards me, which I should have found suspect. Still, I decided to play along with the social coil, and at least make an effort to be grown up.

"Seems like a nice BBQ," I commented, to the first neighbor I encountered, "You're Mr. Cory, right?"

The man nodded, eyes a bit wider than I was used to seeing.

"I didn't miss the good steaks, did I?" I said, nudging Mr. Cory on the arm, flashing a smile.

He shook his head and edged away.

It was then I noticed that the odd looks had turned into odd stares from everyone at the BBQ. I saw Mrs. Roberts walking towards me. I gave a good-natured wave, then noticed her face was covered by a nervous expression. "Excuse me, who are you?"

"Evan, Mrs. Roberts. Mr. Roberts just invited me, I thought..."

"What are you wearing?" she whispered, gaze giving me a once-over.

"Ur...a coat."

"Don't be silly, Evan. That is not what I'm talking about."

The reality dawned on me as I went back over my actions between getting home from work and getting the call from Mr. Roberts. Putting down bag and hanging up jacket, taking out the fox suit, setting forth to defeat the zombie squirrels, getting the call from Mr. Roberts, putting on the coat...I have obviously missed a step somewhere. I was still wearing the fox suit. It would seem something I would have noticed. I guessed I was getting so used to wearing it after work that it felt natural.

"Ur...this is...my...costume...for work."

Mrs. Roberts pursed her lips. "As a software engineer?"

"...Casual Friday?"

Mrs. Robert's sighed and took hold of my paw. "Come with me, Evan."

She led me over to a girl, rather, a girl about my age, brown flowing air, cute classes, a bit of freckles on her nose.

"Hilda? This is Evan, he lives across the street from us."

Hilda giggled. "You told me about him. But you didn't..."

Mrs. Roberts sighed, interrupting her. "Hilda is new to the neighborhood, she lives just around the block. I leave the rest to the fates." She sighed again, and moved away.

Hilda smiled, and not an odd forced smile either. "Mrs. Roberts did not mention how cute you were."

I shrugged, "I guess my rugged good looks did not meet her standards."

"Shall we get some food?" she asked.

"Why not?" I said, "I suppose you're not up on the neighborhood gossip."

"I don't know," Hilda said, leaning in, "I have it on good authority that the person who lives across the street dresses up like a fox in his spare time."

"Really?" I said, lowering my own voice conspiratorially as I picked up a paper plate.

"Yeah, and there's a good chance he might be a furry."

"You don't say. How scandalous." I chose a hamburger bun and blackened hamburger to place inside.

"I know. But I'm sure he's harmless. Not a sexual deviant or anything."

"For sure. I've heard he just does it to release his inner child." I added ketchup and mustard.

"That sounds oddly cute."

"Or just weird."

"I like weird," she said, rubbing my snout. "By the way, how are you managing to eat through the costume head?"

I stopped in mid-chew. I tasted the mix of burnt meat, bun, ketchup, and mustard in my mouth. Though, I didn't quite know /how/ I had the taste in my mouth. I chewed a little further. I swallowed.

"Evan? You know. That's really cool how your costume is moving like that, the jaw and everything. Aren't you worried about stains."

I felt my tongue across my teeth. I felt my tail twitch.

"I'm sorry. I must go."

"But you just got here. I..."

"I really. I just..." I started backing away. "Nice to meet you. Long day tomorrow. Work."

I ran. Through the yard, through the gate, across the street, to my door, opened it, went inside, closed it, leaned against it, gasping for breath. I took account of myself. Everything felt odd. I rubbed a paw across my face. It was hard to describe. it was as if I could /feel/ the touch, in both my paw and on my muzzle. I slowly walked to the bathroom. I turned on the light. I looked the same. Though now, I knew, I wasn't looking through two small holes in the fox costume's eyes. The costume’s eyes and my own were one in the same. I stared cross-eyed down my muzzle. I could tell in the mirror that nothing of my appearance had changed. Wait. I opened my coat. I lifted my t-shirt and found white belly fur. Oh, my partial suit seemed to have become a full suit at some point.

It still looked like a costume though. I could see seams, I could still see the eyes were plastic, and, though I could move it, the tongue was even fabric (but now with slight mustard stains). I breathed. Still a costume. I could feel it. Perhaps I could just take it off. I pulled off my left paw.

I yipped in surprise.

I rose my left hand. Or rather, the space at the end of the left arm where my hand ought to be. I tried to move my left hand. The left paw, still being held by my right hand, clenched. Carefully, I placed the left paw back near the arm. It stayed. I wiggled the digits.

Ok, this could still be just a very absurd dream.

I took my left arm, and this time, pulled the fuzzy sleeve down. There was my left paw, hovering in mid-air. No arm. Cautiously, I moved my right paw through where the arm should be. It passed through air. My left paw made a peace sign. I carefully pulled the sleeve back down. The strange part was that when I'd done that, I could swear I could feel my skin wrinkle back..

One last test. I unhooked the Velcro strap of my head. I put a paw on each cheek.

I lifted.

I was suddenly looking down from a foot higher, my head detached from my shoulders. I chanced a look down at the empty hole where my head ought to be on the suit before my paws dropped my head into the bathtub. Soon after, I heard a soft thump, which I assumed was my body loosing balance. I felt the impact.

There I was. Head lying sideways in the bathtub, cheek soaking up a puddle of stagnant water left over from the last shower, body lying elsewhere. I wondered if this was the time to panic. Oddly enough, I felt rather calm about the situation. Yes, I had somehow turned into an animate fursuit. How was I supposed to react to that? All I could really do was try to get my head back on my shoulders and go from there.

I concentrated on my body. I made it feel its paws about itself. Floor. Porcelain. No, too curved. Must be the toilet. Plastic sheet. I saw the shower certain move. OK. I could guess where it was now. Sit up. Strange to do when I was literally disembodied. Took a bit of effort. Eventually, after a bit of fumbling, feeling wetness as I tried to seek purchase on what I concluded was the toilet, I saw two black paws, and then my headless fox body rise over the rim of the tub. I'd say it was looking down, but you see how that wouldn't make sense without a head. It was a disorienting action, but I somehow got my paws to grip my head, lift up, dizzying as I tried to get my head to an upright angle, and place it back onto my fuzzy shoulders. I reconnected the Velcro strap. To what, considering I was lacking a chin, I could not say.

I sat next to the bath a long time, absently rubbing my tail. Events caught up to perception. I realized I felt different and felt the same. Different, because my body was obviously...was. Same, because all my thoughts and feelings felt normal. What instincts would an animate costume have need to corrupt me with anyway? Avoid starches? I lifted the shirt again to look down at the white stomach fur. I felt along it. By all accounts, it felt like there was something under the fabric fur. I felt under my chin again and my claws caught hold of a zipper. I mentally steeled myself, and pulled down to my stomach. I lifted the shirt again, and pulled the opening apart. I could see the back of the costume, an athletic mesh, similar to that of the paws and arms. No insides whatsoever.

I zipped back up.

Shouldn't this awareness cause me to collapse? By all accounts, I should be limp on the floor. Then again, by all accounts, I shouldn't be a fox costume either. So perhaps one weirdness met with the other and collaborated so I could remain in this odd middle ground.

I needed some coffee. I wondered I'd be able to. Then I realized the half of a burger I'd eaten had went somewhere, so coffee couldn't hurt to calm my literally thread nerves. As I contemplated the odd sensation of coffee soaking into my tongue, I considered my options.

Well, there was always the fursuit maker…

It took a few hours to find her contact information. Between getting used to the limited paw-typing function and the perspective through these new eyes, it took a little long than normal. I did know she lived somewhat nearby. She'd actually dropped the costume off on my doorstep when she'd finished. Her website didn't seem like it'd been updated for the last five months though. The last pictures in the gallery were work-in-progress shots of my costume being made. After that, some general note how life and gotten busy and then nothing. This worried me as I carefully dialed her number with one plastic claw.

It rang six times before someone picked up.

"Hello, is...Gig there?"

"Who?"

"Ur...Gig...wolf?"

"Oh, Emily. Yes, she's here. Emily! Phone for you!"

Some shuffling, some strained statements with "mom" in them, then a wary, "Hello?"

"Yes. This is...Evan."

"Evan? Evan! I tried e-mailing you a few months back. How's it going?"

"Fine. No. Wait. Not fine."

"Do you like the suit?" I could hear the slight wariness in the tone.

"Yes. Yes, the costume has been great. I need to meet you."

Silence on the other side.

"Excuse me?"

"Just...I think. Has there been any side effects reported...from your commissioners?"

"Side effects? What are you talking about? No..." her voice moved away from the phone, "Mom, stop being a snoop. I'm not..." A door closed. "OK. What was that again?"

I rubbed my muzzle. "This is really hard to explain over the phone. Can't we just meet up somewhere?"

I heard the hesitation.

"Somewhere public. Like, there is a Starbucks not far from here. How would that work?"

"I don't know..."

"Please."

"...would tomorrow evening work?"

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes, that would be fine."

"The Starbuck on Jackson Ave, right?"

"Yes."

"Six be alright?"

"Yes, thank you."

Only after I hang up did I remember I had work the next day. It wasn't a matter of it conflicting with the meeting, it was a matter of it being /work/. A fleeting hope that this condition would pass scampered by.

The following morning, mid-way through bushing my plastic canines, did the reality slap in the muzzle again.

Of all the reasons to skip work, you would think this would be near the top next to "I appear to have been disemboweled." And truth be told, I /had/ been disemboweled. Just not in the conventional way. I didn't skip work though. I really couldn't bring myself to do it.

So, wearing a tie (because it was the only dressy thing I could fine that fit me), I took the bus, I entered the office building, I went to the fifth floor, I sat in my cubical, I turned on my computer, I typed productively. Between the lines, many stares, bugging out eyes, surprised gasps, whispers, and (oddly enough) high-fives to my raised paw filled the spaces in between. Never having worn my costume in public, besides that brief BBQ interlude, I found the effect...not altogether dissatisfying. For every glare my fuzzy frame attracted there were three grins with a chuckle or two on the edges. To be fair, I did ham it up, with exaggerated waves and proclamations of love, despite my growing fear of actually making it to the office.

I had hoped, perhaps, to fly into the fog of menial labor that the office bred, and maybe no one would notice that a six foot fox had snuck into the workspace.

I don't know why I thought that would work. Not minutes after sitting at my computer did I feel the pressure points of dumbfounded stares cast down upon me from surrounding cubicles. I leaned closer to the screen, muzzle almost touching the monitor, trying to get used to coding with four digits and plastic claws.

"Evan, is that you?"

Grudgingly, I turned around and forced a grin. "Hi Tim."

"It /is/ you." Tim took a sip of coffee. "Is this for a protest or..." He let the inquiry float, as if waiting for me to catch it. I didn't oblige.

"When is the deadline for this project again?" I asked, "I have the format down, but I need some time to insert the elements and test the..."

"Seriously. Is this a joke? Are there cameras set up to see our reactions?"

I growled low and steady. I didn't like Tim that much. He tended to steal my pens when he thought I wouldn't notice. I kept growling until Tim took the hint and slowly backed out of the cubicle, nervous grin pasted on his face. My tail wagged as I turned back to the computer.

Time almost got to that point where moments flowed into each other, coding out programs used for boring teacher tasks, and I could let myself float until five came around and I could escape to home...until a throat cleared. I turned again. Ah, Manager Susan. I should have known. Interminable middle age, tweed dresses, and a strange shade of burgundy lipstick;she could strike fear in any person's heart. Even mine, though I didn't have one at the moment. She adjusted her square-rimmed glasses.

"Walk with me."

I could feel my ears and tail lower as I rose from the chair. The sound of co-workers frantically typing spoke of their attempt to keep from making eye-contact with Manager Susan or my doomed hide. She looked me up and down.

"Nice tie," she stated, "It complements the fur."

"Thank you," I squeaked, a slight yip on the edge.

We walked down the row of cubicles, into the hall of real offices. She smiled, in a way that may me feel more mouse than fox. She opened a door and motioned me to enter first. This was it. I was going to be fired. Would it happen with yelling? Or just a simple "You're fired, have a nice day"? I felt my tail twitch. I closed my eyes and entered the room.

I opened them, only to see a half dozen people in suits seated around a table.

Manager Susan stood next to me. "This is Evan Stephens, he is our junior software engineer here at the company. Evan, these are our investors, here to see what new projects we have in development."

I gave a weak wave back, hoping that I would suddenly flop into a pile of fur on the floor like I should. Oddly enough, a few of the investors waved back, and a few smiles snuck in as well. Others glared with such an effect I was impressed my synthetic fur didn’t start melting. They didn’t even have jaws and I felt they wanted to rip out my throat. I pressed myself against the wall, my paws held behind me, clutching each other tightly.

Susan cleared her throat. "Now, as you know, our demographic here is aimed at teachers and instructors. But, I heard that you wish us to widen our scope, to look further into our education fields, and help a younger demographic. I believe that Mr. Stephens here is the...fox to take us there."

My jaw dropped. I wanted gave a little yip of surprise, and before I could object Manager Susan put an arm around my shoulders. "In Mr. Stephens's spare time he has been creating a plot that we can use to get through to students though adventures and quests using animal characters. In fact, this fox costume he is wearing represents the main character of these stories. Using this format, we can educate kids about anything they need to know in a new and fun way. Real education can be achieved when students don't even know they are being taught. This is no new..."

I just stared blankly at Manager Susan as she pitched this idea with a passionate vigor that would make a wolverine jealous. The investors were obviously interested, and smiles grew. She patted me on the back as she winded down, "And Mr. Stephens will be the Creative Manager of this new project, meaning he will be in charge of the organization and creative design of this program, assuming he agrees to take on the position. Will you, Evan?"

I nodded dumbly.

"Thank you for your time." The investors clapped as she took me by the paw and led me out.

"Wha-?" I started.

"I saw that you have been distracted for the past few weeks, scribbling notes during work. It would have been irresponsible for me to see that you were not wasting company time."

"You saw...I'm sorry..."

She rose a hand. "Evan. You scribbles gave me this idea. Our investors have been chiding us for something new, and you are it. It was only luck that you happened to be wearing this suit on the day of the bi-annual investor meeting. Any other day, I would have, pardon the pun, thrown you out on your tail, but between the scribbles and this, it turned into the perfect storm for you, Evan. Enjoy the promotion. It will include an office, higher pay, and..." She have me another look from footpaws to ears. "You may wear the suit. If this is what you need to play with this idea, I think I could convince the boys upstairs that this is your official outfit. Assuming you would agree to some PR events."

I tried to speak and ended up yipping again.

"You may go home a little early, Evan. You deserve it. Plus== I was watching you a few minutes ago; you really suck at typing with those paws."

I shrugged helplessly.

"See you about, Evan." She winked and headed off to torment some other soul. Such a brilliant woman.

So, loosening my tie, I headed to the coffee shop early to let the details of what happened settle in. Three varieties of coffee (grande) later, many stares, two flirting occasions, and three tail pulls by little children later, Gigwolf entered. Blue hair, messenger bag with many buttons, pink shaded sunglasses. I waved. She, after a slight pause, waved back and slowly approached my table.

"You got a body to go with the rest, I see," she commented.

"Heh. Yeeeeeah. Not exactly. How about I buy you a coffee and I'll explain."

She got a raspberry banana smoothy. I explained the events of the past month, mainly the last day. She took it rather well, claiming me to be insane, before I did my little trick of pulling down my sleeve and wiggling my digits. A little creative swearing later (does "jackalope droppings" really count as a swear?), we got to her side of things.

"I didn't do anything weird with the suit, if that's what you mean."

"Are you sure...didn't dig it up from an Indian graveyard or something...?" I asked, half-serious.

She sucked the last of her slurpy. "Well, I did get the fur from Goodwill."

I chewed on that. "Goodwill?"

"I washed it before I used it."

"Goodwill?"

"They have quality stuff there!" she said.

"So, no Chinese guy who spoke in haiku there?"

"At least you're taking this all well."

"No, seriously, was there a Chinese guy there?"

She gave me a look only humans under the age of twenty could properly give.

I sighed, and let another large drink of coffee soak into my mouth. I relished the hazelnut. "I suppose trying to find where the fur came from would be impossible."

"The place burned down a few weeks back," she offered.

"Convenient," I said, "I wonder if this will just...wear off. I just can't shake this feeling that I'm going collapse in on myself under the force of both logic and gravity."

"Do you ever have the feeling you want to be...worn?"

I growled at Gigwolf.

She held up her hands, "Sorry, it needed to be asked." She looked down at her empty slurpy cup. "You know, I feel responsible for this. I know this is absurd and proves I shouldn't make a business out of fursuits, but I really want to at least...help out somehow."

I slanted my felt eyelids.

"How?"

"It will requires a needle, thread, and twenty bags of cotton padding."

"You're going to make me stuffing ?"

"It will keep logic from making you collapse."

I agreed to her proposal.

After I got home, I slumped against the front door, exhausted. The fear of collapsing had diminished greatly after being properly stuffed with stuffing, and having my limbs sewed together did help avoid any future senses of detachment. Though a fun effect, I did not want to wake up after some late-night quest to find my right paw missing, or my whole body. The visit with Gigwolf had been an satisfying affair. Plus, she had agreed to help with any wear and tear I might run into. She bought extra bags of plush filling just in case.

I still couldn't quite believe the situation. Even after all this. I rose my paw and wiggled the digits. Felt a dash more substantial when it had plush rather than phantom force within it.

I now existed as a large animate fox costume.

That statement's significance did not jar me as much as I supposed it would. I breathed a lung-less sigh. I spotted a empty paper towel roll nearby. I picked it up and swung it lightly, as if testing the balance of a blade. Ah, my reliable weapon. I pulled the cushions from the couch, making them fort walls, arranged the blankets for a moat of sorts, I used magazines for winding pathways, put the tall lamp in the middle of the castle's courtyard, to use in warding off dragons. I had just gotten some pots to make some outposts when the doorbell rang.

I paused.

The doorbell rang again.

I didn't react. I wondered if I should just continue the construction work. Just lose myself.

"Evan?" Hilda's voice called through the door. "Are you there?"

"Yes," I responded.

"Are you busy?"

I looked at the half-finished world in the middle of my living room. "I suppose."

"I just wanted to check if you were sick or anything. You really seemed panicked about something last night. And you didn't answer the cell phone number Mrs. Roberts gave me."

I tried to recall where that devious electronic device was hidden.

"I'm alright."

"Are you sure? I really...just...you /are/ cute. I know that's silly to say. I mean, I really don't even know what you look like, but just, even when talking with you, I can sorta tell you're...nice. I was hoping just..."

"You want to be friends?" I ventured. My mind started clutching at the meaning in Hilda's voice. I started slinking to the door.

"I guess."

"Hilda. That would be nice...but...I need to ask you something."

"Yes?"

"Would you be willing to go on grand adventures into the unknowns? Go on quests for items of mystical power? Defeat creatures of ill repute? Fight for the good of the world? And be accepting of hugs in times of pain and...just in general?"

A long silence settled from beyond the door.

"Yes."

I opened the door.
[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Fox]] [[Category:Inanimate]] [[Category:Anthropomorphic]] {{fiction}}

Nothing Otter

2011-01-10T01:30:03Z

Jonas: New story! I didn't write this, but read it anyway!

Wend was skeptical the moment Luke professed his extreme love of sushi. He didn't profess it verbally as much as show it while eating at every meal and mid-meal snack. And it was just the way he fed upon it. "Ravenously" was the only word that properly captured the display.

Wend thought this word while peeking over his book of calculus at Luke snacking on the sushi, in his usual chomping way. Wend cleared his throat. Luke didn't notice.

"Ah-hem," he said.

Luke paused, straightened up, and looked directly at Wend. This bothered Wend. Or, rather, the bright eyed excited expression he got when being spoken to, as if it were a treat in itself. "Yep, Wendal?"

"Must you, what's the word, slurp at your plate like that?"

Luke's expression fell. "But...how will I be able to obtain all of the fishy goodness down to the last fishy morsel of fishiness?"

Wend did not quite know how to answer. This was another thing that bothered him about Luke, his impressive capability to leave him tongue-tied. He shook his head and tried again. "I just need to study. That's all."

"I can go in the closet to eat if you wish."

"No, that's not..."

"I can go outside. I'm really sorry to bother you with my eating habits. Is there..."

"Luke, I don't..."

"Do you not want me to be your roommate? I can..."

"NO!" Wend yelled. He then noticed he had yelled, and Luke had sunk down into his seat, hiding behind his plate.

"I'm sorry, Luke. It's nothing. Really."

"Is it about your dad?"

"What? How do you know about that? I mean, no!"

Luke had sank further.

Wend pinched the bridge of his nose. "You must have just overheard. I'm sorry. College is just not what I expected...I would figure after two years I would have some sense what I wanted to do. I thought maybe getting off campus would be better. Perhaps it would take some of the stress off. And my dad gets all panicked. He wants me to..."

"College is weird," Luke said, slowly getting back in his seat. "I didn't really know what to expect either. It's a fun too. Ooo, do you want to come to that game group I go to? You would like the guys there. Even though their stat sheets on mythical creature are completely out of whack."

Bright-eyed and ever-optimistic Luke, the gleam shimmering in his eyes had not even flickered since that first moment that he'd inquired Wend about the co-rental. The freshman had been a pleasant change of attitude from the usual ragged college adventurer, and Wend took to him quickly, though his personality never quite agreed. He often wondered why he had fallen to Luke's charms in the first place.

“Hi there! I’m Luke. I’m really glad to meet you. I’m going to college here. Is this place for rent? Are you the lord of the house?”

Wend blinked at the zealous freshmen shaking his hand. Only a freshmen could be that cheerful. “I’m not the…landlord. I’m just staying here.”

“I saw this paper and it said that there was space.”

“Oh…I put that up. My last roommate had a nervous-breakdown...I’m Wendal. Most people call me Wend. And…you appear to be hugging me.”

“Oh, sorry. I’m just really excited to be here.”

“…you’re still hugging me.”

“Oh…sorry.” Luke finally released. “So, can I be your roommate?”

He looked at Luke’s face. There was just something infectious in the expression, something around the eyes that just made him melt. Wend found this worrisome on multiple levels. Wend knew he was doomed to say yes.

As a roommate, Luke was actually a good find in the long run. It was just the little things that rubbed Wend the wrong way. The cheerfulness, for one, the odd night hours for another. Usually on weekends and sometimes a few weekdays, at three am he heard the front door squeak open, the padding of boots down the hall, and the clanking of a mattress bend under weight. The day after, before class, Wend would rub down the muddy tracks from the hall with a series of sighs he hoped would wake Luke.

Wend knew Luke would clean up the mud he said something about it, with a smile at that, but he held it as some tangible item to hold against Luke if they ever got into one of those rumored roommate feuds.

It had not come close to that. Except for the long showers. One gasp from Wend at the water bill and Luke quickly agreed to cover all water costs from then on. Wend, though he thought it was silly in retrospect, could not stand how damned /nice/ Luke was.

And now Wend had snapped at Luke, and now Wend felt horrible about it. Snapping at Luke was like slapping a kitten.

"No. That's fine," Wend sighed, "How are your classes going?"

Luke's face brightened again. Wend knew he had opened the floodgates, but he was fine with it. As long as Luke retained such a romantic view of college, he supposed he ought to let Luke bubble about it, even if he tended to tone out Luke halfway though his flowery descriptions of the first class.

"...and do you know the fantastic things you can do with numbers. You can make them bigger or smaller, and there are numbers that can go on forever. Did you hear about pi? Sounds tasty, but even though you can't eat it, you can use it to measure circles and..."

Wend did find it strange how much Luke retained that feeling that only elementary students and strange graduate students contain: a love for school. He quietly laughed at this thought as he turned back to his calculus under the blanket of Luke's narrative.

Wend awoke in a pool of drool on the glass surface of the kitchen table. He slowly came to consciousness, wiping a sleeve across his wet face, then sorely pushing himself up. Ah, calculus and sleep had conspired again to put him into this position. He noticed a blanket had been draped over him. Luke. Of course. He was half surprised his roommate hadn't carried him to bed. The kitchen was dark, the echo of the clock ticking overhead, the soft green glow of the microwave shining 3:00 across the way, moonlight flittering in, giving the sink a strange glow. A click of a key in lock, the squeaking of the front door opening.

Wend got to his feet, stumbled to the kitchen door, and peeked into the hall. A shadow closing the front door. "Ah, the mysterious figure returns," he said in a low voice, words slurred from grogginess.

A startled squeaking, a clattering, perhaps the coat rack being knocked over, silence. Then, in a small whisper, "Wendal?"

"I always say call me Wend. That's what my friends call me. If I had friends. I suppose."

"I wasn't doing anything strange."

The words of Luke were half captured by Wend's mind. He couldn't quite separate them out, and his sleepiness was not dissipating, rather, making a comeback. He attempted muzzy grin at the shadow. Odd, seemed a little weirdly shaped. Not what a proper silhouette ought to be. More like what one of a childhood monster ought to look like. Sorta. Wend rubbed his face. "Yeah. Whatever. Just wipe your boots when you come in."

"Alright. You should go to sleep, Wend. Don't you have a test tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I suppose."

An arm went around his shoulders, leading him down the hall, onto his bed, under the covers. He would object, but his consciousness was quickly falling away until he lost it again.

The sun woke him, glittering through the blinds, in turn blinding Wend. He fell out of bed, murmuring murderous phrases under his breath. Memories of three am came to him blurry, making fragmented images. He rose from the floor, trying to piece them together, a puzzle with many parts missing. Mmm...he'd seen Luke. The details stopped there.

He made it to the hallway, down the hall, to the bathroom door, locked. The familiar whistle of the shower fixture rang out, steam flowed over Wend's toes from the doorjamb. Luke's infamous shower. Friday, hence, it would be longer, since it had been agreed, according to the schedule, that since Wend was not required on campus until noon, and Luke at ten. Hence, Luke could take one of his long showers, and then there would be enough time for the hot water to reboot and...this made much more sense when Luke had described it with accompanying charts.

Wend always wondered how Luke managed to keep going, since the hot water couldn't have lasted that long.

Wend placed his head on the door. He needed a shower to wake up though. There was no coffee filters in the kitchen, and he'd learned in semester one that chewing a mouthful of grounds for a quick pick-me-up in the morning was a bad idea. Friday. College paper. Reading grammar-error filled articles of juicy gossip might wake him up.

He wandered down the hall. He looked out at the frosty yard, a rolled up newspaper on the sidewalk beyond. The chill set the hair on his exposed arms and legs on end. Wend grasped at the coat rack, still half-aware, grabbing the first available item. Luke's sweatshirt. Wend glanced at the coat rack. Nothing else.

Go find his own ragged coat. Skip into the frosty morning in a t-shirt and shorts. Or...he took a look down the hall at the bathroom door...he pulled the sweatshirt over his head, it would only take a minute. The warmth was immediate and jarring, like a hug from a bear, without the mauling. He pulled up the hood and scampered outside, breath making a trail of fog on the way. By the time he picked up the paper, the comfort of the sweatshirt fully struck him. No wonder Luke wore this thing all the time. He hugged himself and relished the soft plush warm of the fabric.

"Who made this shirt?" he murmured, looking down at the chocolate brown sweatshirt for some tag. He noticed a word written in thread on the cuff of the left sleeve.

"Lutra...now that's..."

Then Wend couldn't say anymore.

O O O

Luke stopped the shower. He'd felt something. Something on the edge of his instincts. Something very odd.

He peeked out of the shower curtains. No, the toilet had not overflowed.

Luke did not take stopping a shower lightly. He loved standing under this indoor waterfall of warmth until the heat died down and the brisk cold started flowing, invigorating his soul. Not as enlightening as an actual waterfall, but it gave the right taste. He got out of the shower and quickly dressed, trying to place what would cause the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. The something that he'd felt remained a vague something. Luke had felt this something before. It did not feel like a hunter watching from the woods, a fish on the edge of being captured, or the thrill sliding on one's belly down a proper muddy slope.

The something felt almost electric.

Then he realized what the something was, just as a thunder rattled the bathroom. "Fishmuffins," he squeaked, opening the bathroom door. A little late in the year for a storm. Luke rather liked storms. It was in his blood. However, this seemed a little haphazard for his taste, just, something in the way the wind rattled against the house, a little too concentrated and unstable. Not the way he would compose a storm, to be sure. A flash filled the house, immediately followed by a boom of thunder. This was followed by the banging of a swinging screen door. Luke turned to the front door.

He stopped. He saw the empty coat rack. Wait...hadn't he...he'd left his shirt right there...but where...perhaps he'd just forgotten where he'd placed it, humans forgot where they put things all the time. They no talent for perception. They saw the world through a very small scope. That was one of the things Luke had noticed in his observations. He rather pitied Wendal for the fact.

Wendal.

The storm. The missing sweatshirt. No...couldn't be. Luke ran to the front door and looked out into the front yard, through the sheets of pounding rain, and he saw what he feared. He wrenched open the door, ran out, being saturated completely through a moment, he picked up the furry bundle from the middle of the lawn. It had been huddled around a soggy thing that had been a newspaper. Luke ran back inside, and stood there, dripping, afraid to look down at what he held. He stroked the thing, the autumn storm stopped being as erratic.

He slowly walked into the living room. He knelt down and placed the bundle onto the couch. Luke waited. Minutes passed. Eventually, the fuzzy bundle stirred, and uncoiled. Long sleek body, thick tail, streamlined face, a creature made for water that Luke knew all too well, the animal yawned with toothy jowls. It looked around warily until's gaze fell on Luke. It opened its mouth and squeaked. It closed its mouth. It opened its mouth again. It squeaked two more times. The creature seemed disconcerted now. It scratched behind one of its small twitching ears then paused. It turned to stare at the hind paw which was doing the ear-scratching. It's fore paw touched at the hind paw. It ended up staring at the forepaw, then feeling the forepaw to its face. It turned back to Luke.

"Wendal?"

The creature barked, loudly, as if saying, "Yeah?!" Actually, Luke /knew/ that's what the animal was saying.

"You...put on my sweatshirt, didn't you?"

The animal nodded rapidly.

"You read the inscription on the sleeve, didn't you?"

The animal nodded, slower this time.

"Well, I hope this doesn't put a strain on our roommate relationship or anything, but...at the moment, you are an...otter."

The otter stared blankly at Luke.

"Yes, you're an otter. I can explain, you see-"

Luke didn't have time to continue as the otter leapt at him with bared jaws and flailing paws. Thankfully, the otter had not become coordinated enough with the body, so he just ended up falling to the floor in a flailing ottery heap. Luke carefully picked the otter up, opened the hallway closet, placed the otter inside, and closed the door.

Luke listened to the sound of panicked scratching from within. "I know that Mrs. Henroy is very nice, but I don't think either of us want to explain why there are scratches on the inside of the closet door." The scratching stopped, but plaintive squeaks continued. "Wend, I just placed you in there because you are panicked, angry, and I'm sure you are struggling with some internal instincts at the moment. In all, I don't want you to bite me."

A growl came through the door.

"As a human, you are completely out of your depth, you are not used to dealing with changing into a new body."

A questioning bark.

"I'll try to explain, with you outside of the closet. So I can speak directly to your fuzzy mug. As long as you promise not to bite me."

A hesitant squeak.

"I'm opening the door." Luke cracked opened the door and looked down at the otter tangled in a multicolored scarf that must have been on the floor of the closet. He did not look like a happy otter, the bared teeth told that much, but at least Wend didn't lunge at him again. "I suppose you need some sort of explanation of why you are suddenly an otter."

Wend made an expression made a gesture with his paws that practically said, "Duh."

"Well, for one thing, I'm not technically human, for another, I'm not technically nineteen either. Long and short of it, I'm a selkie."

The otter squeaked.

"No, not like the seals who turn into woman. I'm impressed you know that much, Wendal. Those are actually saltwater selkies. I'm a freshwater selkie, so my neutral form is actually a river otter...as you might be able to guess...but, not to bore you with details...though, I guess you might want to know as many details as possible...considering the situation...that sweatshirt that I usually wear is my otter skin made to /look/ like a sweatshirt. It would look sorta strange if I came to college with a literal otter skin draped over my shoulders. Anyway, the sweatshirt is almost as comfy as and otter hide itself. Admit it, that fur you're wearing is cozy."

Wendal relented and gave a bark in the affirmative.

"Now...the issue is, you're not a selkie. You're not meant to change forms or switch back and forth between species. That is not your skin, and a human wearing a selkie skin is...tricky. That's why there's a certain word a selkie says to activate the skin, which you obviously found. And...you're not going to like this part..."

Wend leaned forward, motioning a paw for "And...?"

"I'm not sure I can change you back to a human," Luke said as quickly as possible, hoping it wouldn't sound as bad if he just blurted it out. He saw the fire alight in Wendal's eyes and he quickly closed the closet door again. He didn't think warnings of displeased landlords would deter the otter's frantic scratching this time.

Luke walked to the bathroom, hands on his face. Part of the reason he thought Wend had been a good choice for a roommate, besides the prime location near a fish pond behind the house, was Wend's lack of suspicion. Wend tended to be in odd moods and appeared to have issues with his father at the moment, but besides that, Wend had not asked why he ate so much sushi, why he went out late at night, or even about his general lack of knowledge about human conventions. Luke was certain that Wend had noticed these things, especially after the run-in last night, but Wend wasn't the sort of human to really poke his nose into business that wasn't his own.

Wend putting on a sweatshirt that wasn't his own did not logically count, Luke decided, he supposed that's just what roommates let other roommates do from time to time. Luke still hadn't gotten up the courage to test if the action of "glomp" was an acceptable roommate action. He'd read about that on the Internet. It sounded fun.

He filled the bathtub until the water lapped the top. He felt the temperature. Nice and cool. Perfect. Luke went to the kitchen and retrieved his stash of sushi from the fridge. He placed four rolls into a bowl, arranging them evenly. He knew if he were going to be around humans, that they frowned upon someone ripping out the juicy entrails of a trout at the dinner table. However, sushi was considered completely innocuous. It did not have the same texture or juices of a freshly caught fish, but it contained a nice flavor all its own that Luke found satisfying when his mouth was under human limitations. Fresh caught fish. The premise struck him and sunk into his stomach like a stone. If he couldn't fix this, would he even be able to catch fish in his own jaws again...

He shook himself. No need to worry about that. He was a selkie, not a human, he did not worry about those things on the horizon. He lived in the moment of now, where everything had a chance to get better just around the corner. He got back to the closet. The growling and scratching had stopped. Luke knocked lightly. "Wend. You alright?"

No response.

"I'm going to come in. I have something that might make you feel better." He slowly opened the door. Wend lay in the middle of the closet, rolled in a sleek fuzzy ball, face tucked under his tail. Luke smiled. He carefully placed the bowl near the otter, then backed away to watch. The otter slowly moved his head, peeking out over his tail at the bowl, obviously suspicious, sniffing the air. Wend unrolled himself and trotted to the bowl, sticking his muzzle in, sniffing a little more before giving the contents a cautionary lick. The otter shot a brief angry glance at Luke before taking a bite of the sushi. Luke could see at least a little of displeasure fade from the otter's demeanor as Wend continued to chew upon the raw fish delight.

Luke waited till Wend was nearly done with his meal before clearing his throat. "Would you mind following me to the bathroom? Or are you still getting used to having four paws?"

Wend barked, and scampered towards Luke.

"Ah, nice. Your instincts are kicking in." Hopefully not too much, Luke thought.

"I figured if there's anything that would get you into a better mood, it would be a nice swim," Luke said, motioning towards the bath when entering the bathroom, "True, I imagine part you may want to try the pup pool first..." he added, gesturing to the toilet, "but I think the bathtub would be more hygienic." The attempt at humor received a growl. Wend scampered over to the bath, balancing up on his hindpaws, he grasped the top of the bath with his forepaws, sticking his face over the edge to look at the water. This may not end well, Luke thought, just before he leaned down, placed his hands around the otter's middle, and heaved the creature over the edge, into the tub with a moderate splash. Wend bobbed to the surface, barking at Luke, then seemed to become aware he was floating with ease. "Feels nice, eh? It's not a pond, but it does the job in a bind. I'll be right back."

Luke retrieved his book bag and grabbed a little sushi for himself. By the time he returned, Wend was swooping through the limited bath area with the fluid movements and turns only an otter could accomplish. The instincts were catching up indeed. It took saying Wend's name three times before pulling the otter's attention from his new-found swimming talents. "Listen carefully Wend. I need to get to class."

The otter barked.

"I know, leaving you like this sounds callous. But I really can't afford to miss any classes. And there's two exam reviews and a chem lab today. We're making things with explosive reactions and...I guess that's not the point. Just..."

The otter sighed, and then nodded.

"You're alright with me going?"

The otter shrugged, and floated on his back in a circle.

"I have someone I can call to ask about this. Don't worry, I want you out of that skin as much as you want out of it. Trust me. After class, I'll get some answers and we can act like this never happened, alright?"

The otter stuck his tongue out for an obvious "Yeah, right." Sorta just came off as cute. Luke didn't state this.

"I'm going to close the door, you know, just in case someone stops by. I'll leave another bowl of sushi for you right here," Luke said placing a bowl on the floor, "I'll be back as soon as possible." He slowly backed out of the room and closed to the door. The sound of splashing water resumed when he was out of sight. Luke took a deep breath. He could fix this. Maybe. He pulled out his cell phone as he exited the house and dialed Dr. Griff's number. As he listened to the ring tone, he hoped Wend would be alright being alone for the day. What's the worse a river otter left in a house for an extended period could get up?

He knew from personal experience, yet wouldn't admit it to himself now, but the answer was "a lot."

O O O

"Fun" was not the primary word Wend suspected he would choose to describe this situation. At the moment however, it seemed to fit rather well. How else could he describe the sheer blissful sensation of slipping through the water, rolling, spinning, in a limited space, though no less enthralling. Oh, how he wondered what he would do with entire pool's worth of water to swim about in.

The effect of being an otter appeared to be infecting him, making his thoughts more fragmented and smooth and simple and generally…happy. As if he were taking a drug that completely fogged his mind and let his cares slip away (not that he had ever taken drugs to make such a comparison). As much as he wanted to, he couldn't get himself to properly worry about being an otter. Every time he tried to focus on that point, it eluded him, leaving him thinking about fish or swimming.

Only something as powerful as the term "calculus exam" managed to break through the otter hazed mental block. This served as the cold bucket of water for Wend's fading thought process. He slithered out of the bath then slipped across the linoleum floor for the door, before he realized even on his hind paws, the handle eluded his grasp. The calculus exam. How had he forgot?

OK, actually, he had every good reason to forget, being an otter and all, but the point was his grade practically hinged upon being at that exam. Without at least a sub-par grade on that exam, course grade was liable of falling into the black hole of flailing, and then his dad would use that tone to tell him he was "disappointed" and how "expensive" college was and that it required "responsibility" and…he could not put up with that again.

A swim would help make him feel better. He started trotting towards the bath again. No. He stopped. He tried to refocus to what Luke had been saying. Selkie. Otter skin. Not being able to turn back. Perhaps he wouldn't have to worry about college period. Perhaps he would be able to be donated to a zoo and just… No, he would not roll over like that. He would beat this. Wend concentrated. He needed to get to that exam. He needed to think big. He'd seen this sort of thing in the movies. He needed to think really hard about being a human. Human. Human. Human. Fish. Mmm…fish… No…human. Human.

Wend found himself chewing on the sushi. Mmm…but, wait…his muzzle hadn't filled the entire bowl before. He rose his head. Well, the concentrating had done /something/ at least. He stood up on his hind paws, a little easier this time. Wend now stood tall enough so he could reach the door knob. In fact, he stood tall enough to use the sink and reach the light switch. But he didn't appear to be that much more human than before. Just an over five foot tall otter. He looked into the mirror and patted his round streamlined muzzle and tweaked his black nose. "Hello there," he said. The voice sounded a little squeaky and his mouth looked strange trying to say the words, but at least he could speak now. He looked at one of his paws. Still webbed otter paws, though with something of an opposable thumb now. He glanced at himself in the mirror again. Last night came back to him, what had seemed so strange about Luke's suiloilette. It had the odd shape of an otter about it. That explained a little. Sorta...

Now what the heck was he supposed to do now? He looked at the bathroom clock. He had a little under a forty-five minutes to get to the exam.

Improvise.

One baggy pair of sweatpants, one baggy t-shirts, one baggy hooded sweatshirt, a scarf, a baseball cap, a trenchcoat, and some some sunglasses later, Wend looked over himself and realized something: he looked like an uncoordinated idiot.The fact his legs were half the size and his body torso was double the usual length were only a few of the issues this body had with human clothing. His hind paws were not going to be covered, period. Wend hoped they would be brushed off as unusual slippers or something. The fore paws he could cover with the over-extended sleeves. The muzzle was covered by the scarf.

All he could do now was go out and hope no one would dare ask if anything was wrong. Thankfully, the usual brand of college student had about as much reaction to the unusual as a zombie, without any of the motivation of brains (so perhaps a little less possible reaction). This theory held true rather well as he walked in his bow-legged way across campus. Students on the route may have chanced a glance, but besides eye-rolls, little notice was given to his oddly shaped form. He wondered if it would have been better if he had just went without anything on. His tail felt exceptionally uncomfortable stuffed down a leg of the pants.

With minutes to spare, he waddled into the exam room, slipping into a seat in the back. He had underestimated how hard it would be to actually sit down. Otter had the rudder like tail behind them, and as Wend tried to sit, he slipped right off. Growling, he got back up and looked over the class. Everyone was staring at notes or checking calculators, distracted by this exam barreling down at them. The professor entered with a mound of papers in his arms. All focus fell on him.

Quickly, Wend reached into his sweatpants, fished the tail out so it hung over the back of the pants, stuck the tail through the hole of the seat back, and sat down. He carefully took out his pencil and calculator. He then saw the girl, two seats down (every other seat empty, on account of the exam), staring at him strangely.

"You know if you keep staring, Prof Doom might think you're cheating," Wend whispered.

She appeared not to want to take the risk, and turned away. Professor Dominic passed the exams down their row. The exam had begun.

Wend didn't think the exam was too bad. Besides his odd form and limited digit dexterity, he was able to press through most of the problems. His speed was slower than usual, but he thought this actually helped him consider each set of numbers more carefully before getting to a solution. By the time he had finished the last story problem and headed to the front with his test, he was one of the last students left. With only a few minutes to go, he thought, setting the exam on the table where the professor sat.

"Wait right there," Professor Dominic snapped. Wend froze. "Sit in the front there." Wend slowly backed to the front row, his tail feeling suddenly exposed as he remembered he hadn't tucked it back in his pants. He sat down awkwardly, twiddling his paws inside his sleeves. After the last student had finished and left, the professor rose. "You, come with me to my office."

Wend felt his tail twitch at the tone of the voice. He followed warily behind Professor Dominic, out of the building, across the Memorial Building courtyard, into another building, up an elevator, into a hall, into a small cramped office with mountains of papers on both sides, a desk in the valley in between. He had not said a word the entire way. Wend wondered if he should have ran.

"I know exactly what you're up to," Professor Dominic hissed.

"You do?"

"Yes, I run into one of you little snots every semester."

"...really?"

"And you try this same game. Putting on a ridiculous outfit, taking the exam, and then leave, acting as if nobody is the wiser. Well, I'm not buying this rubbish. Take off the scarf."

"...why?"

"I'll tell you, Mr. Keith." Professor Dominic opened up his laptop and jabbed a finger at a photograph, Wend noticed it from his student ID. "I took the liberty to check up on you after you turned in your test. You're not Mr. Keith, are you? You're one of his friends. He /paid/ you to take the test for him. Do you realize how serious an offense this is at this college?"

The pieces fell into place. "Oh! No. Wait, I'm Wendal Keith. This is just a misunderstanding."

"Then take off that getup and prove it."

"I...I..." Wend fumbled for a proper excuse. "I have a horrible rash."

"Then prove it, or I will call the Dean and have both you and Mr. Keith suspended from this university." Professor Dominic's hand hovered over his phone.

Wend felt himself getting very warm. Lightening hit outside, followed by thunder that rattled the room. Rain started pounding against the window. In the sudden fall of shadows, Professor Dominic's feature grew demonic. A sudden storm, like that morning's, and again, Wend could almost feel the energy of the turmoil flowing from his soul, his defense embodying itself. He noticed the mounds of paper on both sides of the office stir. He slowly pulled off the scarf. Drops of water splattered onto the desk's notes, ink blurring upon impact. The electricity in the air seemed to cause Professor Dominic's hair to stand on end. His expression fell as he noticed strange occurrences.

Above, a swirling mass of storm cloud had formed, sparking at the edges. The wind picked up, throwing the papers into waves of rustling white. The rain stared sheeting down on them. Wend threw down his hood and shed the trenchcoat and baseball cap. He rose to his full height and leaned over the desk to the now cowering Professor Dominic. "I. Did. Not. Cheat," Wend growled, in a deep soul-shaking voice from the darkness.

Professor Dominic screamed, jumped to his feet, swam through the cyclone of papers, and made it to the door, before someone else entered. A man in a tweed suit, who looked about at the office storm, as if it were some minor if amusing event. Professor Dominic yelled, "Doctor Griff! The student! The student. A monster. He...he!" he gestured wildly at Wend. "Call the police! Get someone! A STORM!"

The man looked Professor Dominic over. "You seem to be over-reacting."

"ARE YOU INSANE?"

"No. Just appears your student is a selkie," the man waved at Wend. The storm abated as Wend waved back, becoming aware again. wondering who the man was.

"A WHAT? LET ME GET PAST I NEED...!"

The man clicked his fingers. Suddenly, his features shifted, until a large beak graced his face, feathers covered the rest of his head, and his hands looked very much like talons.

Professor Dominic fainted.

"Ah. Much better," Doctor Griff said, turning his attention to the large otter, "Now, you must be Wendal."

O O O

Luke slurped his over-sweet coffee beverage nervously as he paced the fish pond. Dr. Griff had said he would meet him here at four and now it was half past. He looked up at the overcast sky. He'd swore he'd heard thunder in the distance, but had yet to see storm clouds. This made him think of Wend. Perhaps he should have checked up on him. This was all very bad. Why did he have to be a selkie? Why did he have to deal with loosing his skin? Why couldn't he be like a normal shapeshifter, who didn't have that absurd restriction. Tanukis did not have to deal with this. He kicked a stone into the pond.

"Good afternoon, Luke," a familiar voice said. Luke turned to see Dr. Griff walking through the woods.

"Thank you for coming."

"My pleasure, Luke. I am your college advisor, after all. If there is any issues you have with your college experience, I am the one to turn to. For mythical issues at least," he said, with a wink at the end. "You have a breach in your skin's security?"

Luke rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeeeeeah. It's not my roommate's fault, really. He had no idea."

"I did say you could room with another mythic on campus. That kitsune fellow had an opening."

"I know," Luke grumbled, "But...I wanted to get the full college experience."

Dr. Griff chuckled, letting his human form slip away, beak, feathers, grand wings, until there stood a full grown griffin, eagle front, lion back, golden eyes staring down with bemusement. The glasses, his tweed coat, and his messenger bag remained on his visage. "Oh, I can't tell you how much I've heard that line, from both mythic /and/ mortal. The 'full experience' is what is sought when in reality, the full experience is whatever you do in life. There is no easy way through and no water down adventures. Life is life, no matter how you play it."

"I know," Luke sighed, "I really feel horrible what happened to Wend though. I really wanted to be his...friend." He looked over the pond, which reflected the gray mood of the sky and Luke. "I tired to be nice to him, but he just seemed to be so...sad."

"Humans are fickle creatures, and college is tough. That's the short version. The long version is much more complicated and riddled with swearing," Dr. Griff said. "But I'm sure Wend didn't really think badly of you. Just didn't know how to react to you. You are a strong personality in a closed in space, Luke."

"Do you think he'll forgive me? Even if this can't be fixed?"

"Why don't you ask him that yourself?"

Luke turned back to Dr. Griff. "What?"

An otter head popped out of the messenger bag and barked.

"I found Wend in the Math Department today. It appears his calculus teacher Dr. Dominic, you may have heard him by the nickname Professor Doom, awakened a storm within him."

"He didn't. How...?"

"Wend apparently discovered a way to get into mid-form after you left him. Appears the motivation to not fail calculus is an untapped energy to be reckoned with," Dr. Griff said, rubbing Wend under the chin with a talon. Wend squeaked in pleasure.

Luke slapped a hand to his face, "You've got to be...I'm so screwed."

"No, don't fret about it. Professor Dominic will never explain what happened and I don't think Wend caused too much stir otherwise. Much stranger occurrences have happened on campus. Trust me. Anyway, the storm drained a lot of energy, obviously, and he reverted back to his current default form."

"Is there a way we can...you know...remove the selkie skin?"

The griffin rubbed the underside of his beak. "This case is unusual. Selkie skins being stolen and kept is common enough. Being worn and activated, is frankly unheard of. You mentioned what you were told as a pup about the dangers. Most of that is just heresy and stories told by selkie parents to keep them from trusting humans so much. Which is in itself interesting, considering selkies willingly give their skins to humans they love..."

The griffin laughed, deep, beak clacking. This not the time or place to discuss that tangent of selkie lore," he said, using a talon to ruffle Luke's hair. "All myths have their dark and light sides. This case is in the middle, and I've called in a few favors. I have a fellow coming down through the wormhole messenger byways to meet us here. Should be here before nightfall. Why don't you grab some food from your house, I'll make a fire and protective barrier. As for Wend, I will let him have a little swim." Dr. Griff winked at Luke.

Luke smiled back, knowing the full meaning of "a little swim."

"I think Wend would like that."

O O O

Dr. Griff picked the otter out of his bag, like an owl would pick up a rodent, though, thankfully, not with the intent to kill and with less of the element of surprise. Wend, at a nice calm mood now, let his body go limp in the grasp of the talon. In any other situation, he would run at the sight of this massive bird-lion creature, though now, he could look into the golden gaze of this fearsome creature with a quiet amazement.

The griffin's brown flecked feathers glittered in the sun beams and the sharpness of its beak accentuated in the shadows. He let the details settle in, until the griffin tossed him at the fish pond.

He managed a surprised bark before he hit the water.

Except, he didn't quite hit the water. Wend flowed into it without a splash, diving under the surface of the murky water. And then the details all changed. The bath had nothing on this. In the bath, he had received a brief taste of what magic water could hold. And the bath in comparison, was just a flash, a tiny spark, of what wonders water could hold. In all Wend's time of swimming lessons and brief fleeting visits to the ocean, he could not have imagined /this/.

Underwater was another planet. His entire body moved through the murky waterscape, slipping through with no resistance, his very movements made for speed and fluid dexterity. Wend did not use his webbed paws as much as he thought he would, perhaps to claw through the water to get speed. No, it was his spine that moved, from head to this tip of his apply-described rudder-like tail that propelled him. He skirted the muddy bottom of the pond, seeing vague shapes of reeds and rocks with his eyes, seeing these same details in shimmering clarity with his whiskers. He stuffed about his snout in the mud, seeking something he couldn't quite compute at the edges of his instincts.

He rose up, surfaced, to replenish his air supply. He idlely floated on his back, looking at the golden hues of the evening sky, which profiled the flying griffin. Dr. Griff waved as he made a lazy circuit of the pond's perimeter. Tendrils of sparking light played off his hide. They arched over the pond, and Wend vaguely remembered the speak of a barrier. His instincts pulled him under and he dove again.

On the way down, his whiskers detected a target. He pulled his forepaws closer to his body and pointed his snout like a laser sight. He spun and banked this way and that, looping and careening, always keeping focus on the target, trying to predict its next move, coming ever closer, closing the gap. His jaws reacted as his snout made contact and his paws came into play. His entire body wrapped around the target as it struggled in his grasp. He broke the surface, splashing, holding down tighter with his jaws, trying to make purchase on the silvery scales. He got the proper grip and bit, hearing the crack of the fish's spine and tasting the flavor on his tongue. The fish stopped thrashing. He was a the master of this pond. A predator. No fish could out swim him. Wend swam slowly to the shore, fish still gripped in his teeth.

Dr. Griff and Luke were waiting there, sitting around a small fire. Dr. Griff clacked his beak. "Ah, a trout. On your first try too. Of course, this pond is populated with a good supply of such fish for the local fishes so you had a perhaps a higher probability of catching such a big specimen...still, brilliant show. Looks like a good meal." His pointed tongue licked poked out of his beak.

Wend growled and hugged the trout to his body.

"You should know better then to threaten a selkie's meal, Dr. Griff," Luke said, rolling his eyes.

"I do, which makes it so much fun to mess with them," Dr. Griff countered.

"Somebeast say something about messing with people?" a new voice said.

"Ah, Noone, you're here."

Wend cautiously lightened his grip on the fish and tried to see the source of the new voice. A figure wearing a crooked pointed cap emerged from the shadows. As it turned out, the odd pointed cap was the most normal part about the figure. It could almost be described as a wolverine, though walking on its hind legs, wearing a light vest and carrying a pack, what appeared to be scrolls sticking out of the edges. He also wore a tall pointed blue cap, somewhat like a dunce cap, but it bent to the side halfway up.

"Luke and Wend, meet Noone. He is a gnome."

"Don't give me that look," Noone growled, pointing at Wend, who didn't know he'd been giving a look, "You were expecting a little human guy with a beard. That was an image propagated by the gardening community. Humans have never properly /seen/ a gnome, only seen our hats, and..."

Dr. Griff cleared his throat. "Noone. Do I need to hear this rant every time you meet someone?"

"It's not a rant! I'm stating truths!"

Dr. Griff rubbed the bridge of his beak. "Noone...please. Anyway, Luke, you know the basic facts about gnomes. As for you Wend, I will give you a brief crash course. Gnomes are basically protectors of the forest and what things it contains. They keep the cycle of life balanced as best they can. Their responsibility in the last few thousand years as been regulating human forest activity..."

"Griff! Why are you giving the spiel. I can do my own introduction, thank you very much," the gnome snapped. He stalked up to Wend and took him by the cheeks. "I make sure humans don't do anything stupid in the forest. Big job, I can tell you. Do you know how many forest laws any given human can break on a single picnic? There is a list as long as your body. So I teach them a lesson or two so they learn if they break some laws..."

"I still don't understand how turning someone into a badger over a thrown away piece of gum is fair retribution," Dr. Griff inserted.

"Do you know how long it takes for gum to break down? Let along how difficult it is to get out of fur?!" Noone yelled, hackles raised. "The forest laws are very complicated!"

"I'm sorry. You're the expert, continue," Dr. Griff said. Wend got the sense that the griffin enjoyed prodding the gnome.

"To cut to the chase," Noone grumbled, "I've been told of your situation. And I'm an expert in the transfiguration from human and animal and back again. Speaking of which, remind me that there's a few squirrels I need to find on this campus. I think I'm overdue at getting them off their sentence...by perhaps a few...days."

"It's more like a few years, isn't it?" Dr. Griff said under his breath.

"I need a proper organizer!" Noone half-growled, "Doesn't matter anyway. With the wards and the reality tangents, no harm, no foul. Perhaps the side-effects of nut obsessions and hoarding and...NEVERMIND. Point is, let me take a good look at you. Lay on your back."

Wend, though nervous, obliged. The gnome felt its claws across Wend's stomach, under his neck, around his face, looked into his mouth, pulled at the tail. "Tricky. Tricky. Though not hopeless. I've never done a hide removal before. At least, not officially, but I think I can manage this one. Just might be a little...messy." He cracked his paws.

"What do you mean by that?" Luke said, "You'll wreck the skin?"

Wend barked what he hoped translated to "Yeah, thanks a lot."

"Oh, sorry."

"No, no, no. Not messy as in bloody. Nooo. More messy as in mentally jarring. Can already feel that in the mental some selkie elements have burrowed in. I bet you're feeling a little drained, as if you're forgetting some things? Eh?"

Luke stared at the fire. "A little," he said, just a bit over a whisper.

"Now, pulling that away from this fellow is not like pulling off a velcro strap, this is more like...you know that wax human's use to remove hair?"

Uncomfortable silence and shuffling.

"I'll take that as a yes. Pulling this hide off might do that. How it might do that, I have no idea. He might forget who he is, his personality might change, he might think his name is Frank. I just don't know. What I do know, is the hide needs to come off now, rather than later, or you might not get your skin back period."

"I...think that's up to Wend."

"Really? The human?" Noone eyed the Wend. Wend rolled into a ball, tucking his face under his tail. This felt more comfortable. He didn't want to think about everything that was said. He just wanted to enjoy his fish. He wanted to swim. He didn't want to go back to college. And he didn't even know if that was what he really wanted. He couldn't remember what his father had yelled over the phone. He couldn't remember why he was so worried about college. The memories were fleeting as he tried to focus and his recognition of the faces around him and himself were fading.

"Wend. Do you want to go through with this?"

Did he? He didn't really know now. Perhaps he could get another fish. Then he would know. Just one more fish.

Luke knelt next to him and rubbed Wend's back. He looked up at Luke. He saw the expression. Luke knew how this all felt. He was giving Wend the choice. How could he give him the choice? He knew how being an otter felt. He knew everything. He could see it. And he thought, in a moment of clarity, if he stayed like this, it would pull away Luke's very lifeblood, his entire world.

He'd experienced this for these fleeting moments, to have this experience taken from someone who'd lived as this?

Wend barked.

Noone came forward. He placed a paw on Wend's chest. "This might sting, like taking off a bandaid," he said.

And it did.

If magnified a few thousand times at least.

Thankfully, afterwards, Wend didn't remember a thing.

O O O

Two Months Later

Wend hung up his phone and wandered into the kitchen.

"Was that your dad?" Luke asked through a mouthful of something.

"Yeeeeeah. He'd doing...better. Not sure if he agrees with my choice of degree."

"Awwwww, what's wrong with forestry? They have those awesome hats."

"I think you're thinking of park rangers."

"They have the hats with the built in ear muffs?"

"I think those are Canadians. Which is to say, close enough," Wend said, snickering. "What's for breakfast? Widening your pallet yet?"

"I made an omelet."

"Are those...sardines in that?"

"Yep. Want some? I made enough"

"I suppose it can't hurt," he said, pulling out a chair. Luke pushed an over-full plate of fishy egg mass towards him.

"How goes classes? Are they fun?"

"Oddly enough, not too bad. Calculus has been much better since Prof Doom took a sabbatical. Yeah, really wish I knew /that/ full story. There's a rumors flying everywhere. He may have had a nervous breakdown. I dare not consider the student that'd be able to give Prof Doom a breakdown." He took a bite of the omelet. "This is oddly good."

"How is the new teacher?"

"Dr. Griff? Really good actually, though he really can make you squirm with that gaze of his, he literally must have eagle eyes. I hedge all bets and just sit in the front row. Ya know, almost seems like he knows me. I've went in for help in his office a few times. Though...he does have dead rats in his mini-fridge...don't spread that around. A good calc prof is a good calc prof."

"My maw is sealed. By the way, you got a package in the mail. Looks important."

"Really? Mmm..." he glanced at the counter, a wrinkled package sat there. He took a final bite of omelet, crunching on a sardine, before getting up to investigate. "No return address. No postage either. Someone drop this off? See who?"

"Nope, just found it in the mailbox."

Wend brought it to his room.

Luke stared at the bedroom door. Wend would open the package, he would find a piece of paper, he would read it, confused, then he would open the door again.

The door opened, "Hey, Luke, did you apply me for something?"

Luke shrugged. "Why?"

"This says your the..." Wend looked down at a paper in his hand, "What am I candidate for?"

"Ooo, there was this contest for a fishing boat that I wanted another chance to win and I put your name in could that...?"

"No. That's not. Just a moment."

Luke took another bite of omelet. Ah, the application had went through. With the help of Dr. Griff, of course. He didn't know if the Mythos Council would let it pass, but after they'd heard the circumstances and some testimony from Noone... Wend would return to the package. Find a sweatshirt with the logo of the college. He would look at it a moment, he would shrug and pull it over his head. He would exit the bedroom.

Wend emerged from the room. "You got me a sweatshirt? That's really nice, Luke. Thanks. I'm sorry about being snippy a month ago. I really feel bad about that still. After that...what was it, fishing trip you brought me on? Really turned stuff around. Wish I could remember it actually..." He hugged himself. "This sweatshirt is really nice. I best get ready for class."

Luke smiled as Wend entered the bathroom. Wend would have a feeling of de ja vu. He would look at the sleeve. He would see an inscription. He would read the inscription aloud.

Luke heard the startled bark.

Luke got up, walked into the bathroom, picked up the confused otter, went out, placed the otter in the closet, and closed the door.

"Don't worry Wend, I've done this before."

Luke went to start the bath, smiling.
[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Otter]] [[Category:Animal]] [[Category:Mythical]] {{fiction}}

In the Cards

2011-01-10T01:25:03Z

Jonas: Reposted

{{byline|user=Posti}}Lloyd almost threw the envelope away by accident – it was mixed with a wad of the advertising flyers that seemed to dominate the mail for weeks before Christmas. The bright red paper caught his eye just before he crumpled the lot up to toss in the trash, and he pulled it from the garish Holiday sale announcements. The address consisted of one word so blurred that he couldn’t make it out, and he blinked and pulled his glasses off to see if there was something on them. As soon as he did, the scrawled letters popped into clear focus – ‘JONAS.’

He blinked and put his glasses back on, only to have the writing blur and everything else sharpen. OK. This was different. And it was for him. Jonas was an alter-ego he often used online, though few of his local friends knew it. Curious, he settled in a chair and tore the flap open.

There were two cards inside. He instantly recognized one as a Yu-Gi-Oh game card - Fox Fire, depicting a cartoon fox with fire on the tip of its tail. Given his interest in both vulpines and Yu-Gi-Oh, it was a logical choice for someone to send. However, the card itself was pretty common and this one had been ruined. The flame had been crudely obliterated by an ink pen, and the word ‘Fire’ had been scribbled out.

There was also a business card which turned out to be from a local Karaoke bar called the Fox and Fiddle. He knew of the place, not far from the University. Someone had written on the back, and as with the envelope, he had to remove his glasses to read ‘TONIGHT - 11 PM – BRING CARDS’.

Lloyd frowned. Who could have dropped this off? The handwriting was no clue – if anything, it only deepened the mystery. He looked at the envelope again and then shook his head. Some kind of optical illusion, obviously. Then he grinned and shrugged. Easy enough to solve the mystery – all he had to do was be at the Fox and Fiddle tonight at eleven. Somebody had gone to a lot of trouble to pique his interest.

Or maybe they’d just wanted to subject him to torture. Tonight was Ladies Karaoke Night, and it seemed that the goal was to find the person who could sing the most off-key. Lloyd cringed as a girl with orange hair and a voice that rivaled fingernails on a blackboard thoroughly destroyed Olivia Newton John’s ‘Xanadu.’. He’d made the mistake of coming early, and between the bad singing and the monster TVs blaring sports events from every wall he was getting a headache. A quick check of the time confirmed that it was now ten past eleven, and he hadn’t seen anyone he recognized. Sighing, he fished out the business card out of his wallet to make sure he’d read the time right, lifting his glasses.

TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH – FOLLOW THE FOX

He stared at the card a moment, trying to come up with any opportunity someone could have had to switch cards. The Yu-Gi-Oh card would have been easy, since he’d had it laying on the bar in front of him since he got here. But this one had been in his wallet. He verified that his money and cards were still in place, then frowned as he looked at the card again. Some kind of trick ink?
FOLLOW THE FOX, JONAS

This time he dropped the card as if it had bitten him. What the Hell? Follow the fox? What fox? He glanced around, but the only vulpine shape he could find was the Fox and Fiddle animal caricature hanging over the bar. It wasn’t pointing in any particular direction, just grinning out at the patrons as it bowed a violin. Lloyd felt the hairs on his neck prickle as an idea popped into his head. Removing his glasses blurred the bar and the wall behind it, but the fiddling fox not only remained sharp, but grinned directly at him and pointed his bow towards the back. Then the caricature seemed to back out of the wall as if looking through a window and vanished.

A growing ache in Lloyd’s chest reminded him to breathe. Swallowing hard, he looked around. No one else seemed to have noticed the missing mascot. This made sense, when he replaced his glasses and saw the painted logo still in place. He wasn’t drunk, and hopefully he hadn’t gone crazy. So he could either ignore what he thought he was seeing and go home, probably to hide under the covers of his bed for a week. Or follow the directions on the card.

Well, he had to go to the bathroom, anyway. Lloyd stood up and stuck his wallet back in his pocket, then pushed his way through the crowd. There was a short hallway in the back that had doors to the men’s and ladies rooms, and a smaller version of the club’s logo hanging on the rear wall. He stared at the cartoon image, looked around to make sure no one was watching, and then pulled off his glasses.The fox remained still a moment, then grinned and winked at him, extending a paw out from the painted image. An arm followed, looking like a cutout from a comic book. “Ticket, please.” Its voice was deep and carried a British accent.

“Ticket?” Lloyd repeated the word dully, his mind working overtime to process what he was seeing. The fox nodded and gestured at his right hand. Looking down, Lloyd realized that he was holding the Fox Fire card. Still dazed, he automatically held the card up, and the flat digits folded literally around it and yanked it back into the picture. The fox flipped it over to examine both sides, and then nodded its head. “Just had to make sure. Hate to do this to the wrong person.”

Lloyd blinked. “Do what?”

Grinning broadly, the fox pulled a comically long old-fashioned nib pen from his coat pocket and held the violin vertically. As he fitted the writing tool against the instrument’s strings and pulled it back, Lloyd suddenly realized that the pen now pointed at him would make a very effective arrow. Giving a yelp, he stumbled back and spun around to run. Only to cry out at a sharp pain in his right butt cheek.

Lloyd gasped and twisted around to see the cartoon pen sticking comically out of his rear end. Well, it would have been comical if it wasn’t HIS rear end. He grabbed at it, but the tip seemed to be caught on something and he couldn’t pull it out. Curiously, the pain had vanished after the initial impact, and even tugging on the makeshift arrow produced nothing more than a pulling sensation.

“Allow me.” A flat paw wrapped around the barrel of the pen and jerked it out suddenly, creating a splatter of liquid that Lloyd was sure had to be his blood. Crying out, he stumbled away from the cartoon animal that was now a full figure standing in front of the empty painting. The fox twirled the pen in his paw, and then stuck it back into his coat pocket with a grin. “No use crying over spilled ink.”

By this time Lloyd had already been frantically examining the wounded area as best he could, and came to the same conclusion when he saw the reddish-brown stain on his hands. “Ink? Are you crazy? You shot ink into me? It could be poisonous! It…” The young man blinked, realizing he was chastising a cartoon character. Come to think of it, the stains looked wrong. Not just because they had already lost the gloss of wetness, but the stained area was perfectly smooth and unblemished. He lifted his hans up – the palm and fingers could have been sculpted from russet-colored latex, with no indication of pores, blood vessels, or hair. And then they started to change shape! His fingers shrank in, palm swelling out with rough pads, leaving him with a large paw that bore a close resemblance to those of his attacker. As he gaped at the cartoony appendage, muscles in his back and legs cramped enough to throw him forward and he nearly did a face-plant on the hallway floor.

“What’s happening to me!?” Lloyd’s body jerked as his arms and legs went into painless but very disconcerting convulsions. He gasped at a sudden flash of intense heat that didn’t seem to injure him at all – except for apparently burning away all of his clothing. “I’m naked!” His voice cracked, something that hadn’t happened since puberty, and stayed in the higher pitch. “What’s going on?”

The fox grinned and leaned against the wall with its forelegs folded casually over its chest. He was completely flat, like a paper cutout. “I’ve put you in touch with your inner ‘toon. And don’t worry – there’s nothing left to see down there anyway.”

Huh? Twisting around Lloyd stared back at himself, and had to agree. From the waist down, he appeared to be as featureless as, well, a cartoon. His legs continued to change shape, reforming quickly into recognizable animal hindquarters. This included a tail that he realized he could both feel and move, and which also lost color at the tip until it turned pure white. The configuration was quite familiar, and when he looked down at his hands, now matching forepaws, they had also turned white.

“I’m turning into Jonas?” It was a statement more than a question. Jonas was a reddish-brown, non-morphic cartoon fox. As he stared down, he could see a hard edge form, darkening into sharp, clear black lines. Thinner lines appeared where different colors met, giving him the look of a 3-dimensional drawing. “But he’s not real! He’s just a cartoon!”

The other cartoon fox grinned and reached out to grab Lloyd’s nose, yanking it hard. “Hey!” Lloyd shook his head, feeling a lot of things suddenly shift around. His voice was now high and cute, almost a boy’s but not quite. Curiously, his glasses remained steady even though his ears were now triangles at the top of his head and his nose and mouth jutted out in a full muzzle. The reddish-brown color flowed down to the solid black nose at its tip, with lines along the top and white sides that swept down his neck. “You can’t do this to me! I’m a human!” Lloyd felt a mix of horror and fascination, not sure if he was more scared that this was real, or that it was a mental breakdown in progress.

The fox chuckled and shook his head. “Oh, not human any more, that’s for sure. You just need to lose some weight.” And with that he stepped forward and grabbed Lloyd’s head with both of his flat paws and began to roll him up! Lloyd gasped and tried to pull away, but his body was flattening out into two dimensions too quickly to make much of a struggle. Everything went dark, and then he felt a twisting sensation followed by a sudden release of pressure. The room snapped back into focus around him rather literally as the fox shook him out like a towel and then let go.

Lloyd’s very existence was rocked to the core, and it took him a minute to grasp several basic changes. He felt weightless, yet full of energy. He didn’t feel hot or cold, nor the pressure of his paws against the carpeted floor. But he wasn’t numb – there was sensation of being that went far beyond simple touch and temperature. Twisting his head around, he was both shocked and yet expecting to see the paper cutout body of a cartoon fox, a pen and ink animation drawn in midair. How could he be flat? Looking forward he could make out his muzzle, and looking down brought forepaws into view. But when he turned them sideways, they vanished behind a hard black edge.

The other fox grinned and then jumped back into the picture frame, turning to extend a paw back through. “Come on! You belong in a place where rules and expectations don’t apply, where you can do or be anything you can imagine!”

Lloyd stared at the offered paw and then back towards the bar just outside the hallway. Sounds of people and music were muffled now, and the three-dimensional figures that crowded the room beyond looked like parade floats, balloon figures that drifted about, bumping into one another as they made empty conversation. Could he really have been part of that world just minutes ago? Then Jonas gave a happy yip and grabbed his new friend’s paw, leaping into the frame and the new world beyond.
[[Category:Posti]] [[Category:Toon]] [[Category:Animal]] [[Category:Fox]] [[Category:Story]] {{fiction}}

The Potion Maker's Result

2011-01-10T01:19:21Z

Jonas:

{{byline|user=Jonas}}Kenku was a fox of many talents, one of which was alchemy. He loved to brew up new potions and try them out, for each was always different than any other. He had a passion for transformations, and each new soda he brewed was a new shape for someone to take. His friends had fun with these drinks, often tricking each other into taking a sip or simply downing one themselves in a fit of boredom. But there was one of Kenku’s companions who he was determined to find a way to change.

Virmir was a fox, like Kenku, and a gray, also like Kenku, and a cartoon, unlike Kenku. Virmir was perfectly fine being who he was and enjoyed the fun he could have as a fox and the silliness he could have as a toon. He would pop into the room shared by his friends and announce himself dramatically, and then they would all chat, or sleep, or tackle someone unsuspectingly, or some combination of the above and many other interesting activities. Virmir liked himself as a cartoon fox and saw no reason to change, even for the most short of durations. As such, Kenku’s elixirs and sodas never worked on him. The furry alchemist could concoct a drink that gave the imbiber bunny ears, and all Virmir would do was take a sip, remark how it tasted like carrots mixed with Coke, and then stroke his antennae-shaped hair fondly.

It was from this strange stalemate that a contest arose between the friends. Kenku refused to believe that none of his sodas would work on Virmir, and Virmir believed that none of them would. The gray fox in pirate garb would craft and concoct and the gray toon in a black cape would drink and remain foxy. This cycle went on and on until one day, Kenku was struck upside the head by inspiration. He did not fully understand the idea when it came to him, but he knew what it would allow him to do. Taking just enough time to straighten his feathered hat, Kenku ran off to his workshop and began the creation of his most brilliant soda yet.

It was on a shining morning of July that Kenku beheld the accomplishment of his toils. With an anticipation that was almost palpable, the fox collected the instruments of change around him so that he might infuse a spark of success into the concoction that lay before him. It was already one in the afternoon; the sunlight shone brilliantly through the panes, and his lunch was almost done cooking when, by the glimmer of the half-finished microwave timer, he saw the dull yellow fill the soda. It bubbled hard, and a convulsive fizz agitated its surface.

A great yelp of joy filled the workshop as the soda became finished and Kenku dashed out to find his form-locked friend. It did not take long, for Virmir was relaxing lazily on a tree in the park. A swift kick to the tree jostled him loose, and the toon bounced onto his feet. He took the offered soda and sniffed it curiously, eyeing the eager look on Kenku’s face. Virmir shrugged, and then downed the drink in a single gulp. The two friends looked at each other, each grinning with the assurance of their own believed outcome, and they waited.

One minute passed.

Two minutes passed.

Three minutes passed.

Virmir hiccupped.

Five minutes passed.

Six minutes passed.

Kenku sighed, and turned his back to return home, when a massive '''*CRASH*''' made him spin back round. Virmir had changed, but not in any way Kenku had expected. In fact, Kenku had thrown so many ingredients together and mixed them in such strange ways in his eagerness that he wasn’t quite sure what the soda was actually supposed to do. But whatever that unknown purpose was, it had apparently worked. Virmir’s size had grown dramatically within the split second Kenku’s back was turned, and the fox found himself staring at a giant white footpaw. Craning his neck, he saw the rest of his gray friend towering over him and looking down curiously at the tree his impossibly large tail had knocked over.

There was something else, though. Virmir had four massive paws on the ground, but still had his arms at his sides as he looked around at the to-him-tiny city with interest. Kenku realized at once that Virmir had been taurified as well as grown, and the sudden knowledge made him very aware of one very important fact. Virmir was now a giant cartoon foxtaur, and there was one thing that any giant toon worth his ink would do. Kenku fled as Virmir wagged his giant tail, snickering as it knocked over trees like they were simple sticks. Virmir flipped his cape dramatically, his massive motions breaking buildings and stomping cars. He made his way through the city, leaving a trail of foxish destruction in his wake. Like any self-respecting giant cartoon, Virmir was on a rampage. He reared back and let out the fiercest cry ever heard—the one the city of Reynburg would forever equate to its destruction:

“Yiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip!”

And Kenku could do nothing but turn sheepishly with his tail tucked beneath his legs, and face the indignant citizens approaching.
[[Category:Jonas]] [[Category:Story]] [[Category:Fox]] [[Category:Toon]] [[Category:Comedy]] {{fiction}}

User:Jonas

2011-01-10T01:18:31Z

Jonas:

{{DEFAULTSORT: Jonas}} {{author page}}
For those who are/were familiar with Lloyd Brunnel, this is him. When I first created my shifti account I was still new to the furry scene and therfore used my generic online name. Now that I've developed a fursona though, I've decided that its time to re-organize all of my furry/transformation writings under his name.

==About Me==
I'm in second year university, living on residence. I like sleeping in, warm blankets, and stories that leave you feeling nice and fuzzy at the end. I've recently gotten into reading Agatha Christie's works, and heartily reccomend The Murder of Roger Ackroyd to anyone who has no read it. I'm Canadian, and proud of it, and I love maple fudge in all its tasty, tasty forms. In my spare time, I like to play World of Warcraft or hang out at the Crimson Flag chatroom and forum. Once a week I go out to a card store and play Yugioh or the Warcraft Trading Card Game, and I think I'm fairly good at both. My current goal is to get a job and earn enough money to buy a new laptop, since my current one is sad and gets beat up by morning breezes.

Here's a link to [[Lloyd's Favorites|some of my favorite stories on Shifti.]]

==Notes On My Writing==

I recycle names in most of my stories, so don't be suprised to find the same ones poping up as I add more stuff to Shifti. I also procrastinate ''alot'' when writing and have trouble committing to a single story idea, which dramatically inflates the time it takes me to write. Oh, and I tend to mention food more often than would be normal since I usually write while hungry for some reason.

==Shameless Self-Promotion==

[[Lost World]]: Set in the Blind Pig universe for pure laziness reasons (I don't like explaining things) this is a furry => human TF. My thanks to Cubist both for editing, and for publishing it on his anthrozine site.

[[Bureaucracy in Action]]: When a fun-loving force meets a literal-minded object.

[[Convoluted Quality]]: There is something known as the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, a competition to write the worst opening sentence to the worst possible novel. Out of boredom, I made an attempt to write the worst opening sentence to the worst possible TF story. If you think you can do worse, please add to the page.

[[The Fool in the Fox]]: My first foray into the [[Pig and Whistle]] setting introduces [[PAW Timelines/Character Timeline|Jonas]], a fox about to make a very entertaining delivery.

[[The Runaway in the Raccoon]]: This story introduces Daniel, a character of my friend Kiba, to the Pig and Whistle world.

[[The Strength in the Shark]]: This is a follow-up to Zach's Within and Without story (see below). I mainly use this to create a friendship between our two characters and to explore a bit on some of the beliefs people might have regarding fullmorphs.

[[Unexpected Consequences]]: Extremely short story meant to highlight one of the unexpected downsides to being a teefer...

[[King's Pride]]: This idea has actually been bouncing around my head for almost four years. When it came time to write though, I had a surprisingly large amount of difficulty. Takes place in the PAW setting.

[[Case Briefing: Leon v. Stewart]]: The main problem with handling teefers came from how to define them in a legal system designed for humans. This case and the subsequent ruling provided the landmark precedent that shaped the NAR's courts.

[[Daniel's Christmas Story]]: Written for Kiba as a Christmas present, this story takes place in the PAW universe. It is, however, non-canon due to the mechanics involved.

[[Hunting]]: Ever wonder why Jonas doesn't act more...foxish? It's because he does stuff like this.

[[Meeting]]: Written on the spur of an idea following Hunting.

[[Interview in the Fields]]: Since I lack the stamina to write a full story about the Leon/Stewart lawsuit, I'm going to cheat and instead write about Leon being interviewed about the case twenty years later.

[[I Regret Nothing!]]: I really don't!

[[PAW Musings]]: Not so much a story as a general list/rant of my various thoughts or questions about the Pig and Whistle setting. Respond to them if you want but this mainly exists so I can get the questions off my chest.
==Written For Others==
These are stories that I have either written at another's request, or done as part of a comission.

[[Comic Genesis]]: Written as a request from Virmir. In it, he finds the true extent of his artistic abilities. This story contains what is possible my favourite line out of anything I have written so far.

[[Jingle Bells]]: Written for Posti as part of the 2009 Christmas Story Exchange. See if you can spot the reference!

[[Muhmorpaguh]]: Written for Kris Schnee as part of the 2010 Christmas Story Exchange. Please insert the obligatory "video games are addictive" joke here =>

[[Refreshment]]: Written as part of a trade with Kenku. I'm not sure if it counts as a setting, but William's Soda Shoppe is a recurrent element in many of Kenku's stories. All in all, this is a pure TF fluff piece, but we've all got a soft spot for those somewhere, right?

[[Research]]: Written as a comission for someone named Modmyths. This details a researcher's attempt to study a centaur herd. This was my first time writing about centaurs, which I'm still unsure about.

[[Testing Tastes]]: One day on Crimson Flag chat, Traxer and I were talking about writing ideas. The conversation turned to fursuits and we both mentioned how it's very hard to find a fursuit TF story, let alone one with a positive tone or ending. We each decided to try and write such a story. This is the one I wrote, and Traxer's is posted below. This piece uses the William's Soda Shoppe "setting".

[[The Potion Maker's Result]]: Written for Kenku on the Crimson Flag forum. This story is meant to accompany a picture drawn by Virmir (http://www.furaffinity.net/view/4098942/). It is, like most things that come out of the Flag, utterly insane. Also, you'd be surprised at how satisfying it is to put a ''Frankenstein'' reference in something so silly.
==Stuff by Others==
I did not write anything in this section. In here are stories written by others that I have recieved permission to repost here. Enjoy!

[[In the Cards]]: Posti wrote this for me as part of the 2009 Christmas Story Exchange. While my taste in card games have changed since then, itis still a very nice piece. This was posted on Shifti back before the server failed.

[[Mind Over Matter]]: Arto "FoxOfWar" Mässeli wrote this as part of the Xmas Xchange a while back. He thinks it's good, but his brain seems to disagree. The title is not the one used in the original story, because I can't find out what the original title was.

[[Nothing Otter]]: A story by Traxer. While not my favourite of his works, it is a perfectly fun and quirky tail involving two roommates and a great love for fish. Mmm...fish.

[[Nothing Up My Sleeve]]: Written by Traxer as mentioned in the above section. While my Testing Tastes is nothing but a fluff piece, this story is an awesome little tale that catapulted Trax from a fellow writer to one of my idols.

[[Within and Without]]: My friend Zach Fox has written this PAW story featuring the setting's first shark morph. I think it's good, but I helped edit it so I'm obviously biased. Read it!
==Comissions==
I like money, and I like other people thinking of things for me to write about. If you're interested in comissioning a story from me, please send me an email at jonasbelford@live.ca. I operate on a pay-what-you-like format, but payment is required before I begin writing.
==Random Thought==

Wheee!

The Potion Maker's Result

2011-01-10T01:17:29Z

Jonas: New story!

Kenku was a fox of many talents, one of which was alchemy. He loved to brew up new potions and try them out, for each was always different than any other. He had a passion for transformations, and each new soda he brewed was a new shape for someone to take. His friends had fun with these drinks, often tricking each other into taking a sip or simply downing one themselves in a fit of boredom. But there was one of Kenku’s companions who he was determined to find a way to change.

Virmir was a fox, like Kenku, and a gray, also like Kenku, and a cartoon, unlike Kenku. Virmir was perfectly fine being who he was and enjoyed the fun he could have as a fox and the silliness he could have as a toon. He would pop into the room shared by his friends and announce himself dramatically, and then they would all chat, or sleep, or tackle someone unsuspectingly, or some combination of the above and many other interesting activities. Virmir liked himself as a cartoon fox and saw no reason to change, even for the most short of durations. As such, Kenku’s elixirs and sodas never worked on him. The furry alchemist could concoct a drink that gave the imbiber bunny ears, and all Virmir would do was take a sip, remark how it tasted like carrots mixed with Coke, and then stroke his antennae-shaped hair fondly.

It was from this strange stalemate that a contest arose between the friends. Kenku refused to believe that none of his sodas would work on Virmir, and Virmir believed that none of them would. The gray fox in pirate garb would craft and concoct and the gray toon in a black cape would drink and remain foxy. This cycle went on and on until one day, Kenku was struck upside the head by inspiration. He did not fully understand the idea when it came to him, but he knew what it would allow him to do. Taking just enough time to straighten his feathered hat, Kenku ran off to his workshop and began the creation of his most brilliant soda yet.

It was on a shining morning of July that Kenku beheld the accomplishment of his toils. With an anticipation that was almost palpable, the fox collected the instruments of change around him so that he might infuse a spark of success into the concoction that lay before him. It was already one in the afternoon; the sunlight shone brilliantly through the panes, and his lunch was almost done cooking when, by the glimmer of the half-finished microwave timer, he saw the dull yellow fill the soda. It bubbled hard, and a convulsive fizz agitated its surface.

A great yelp of joy filled the workshop as the soda became finished and Kenku dashed out to find his form-locked friend. It did not take long, for Virmir was relaxing lazily on a tree in the park. A swift kick to the tree jostled him loose, and the toon bounced onto his feet. He took the offered soda and sniffed it curiously, eyeing the eager look on Kenku’s face. Virmir shrugged, and then downed the drink in a single gulp. The two friends looked at each other, each grinning with the assurance of their own believed outcome, and they waited.

One minute passed.

Two minutes passed.

Three minutes passed.

Virmir hiccupped.

Five minutes passed.

Six minutes passed.

Kenku sighed, and turned his back to return home, when a massive '''*CRASH*''' made him spin back round. Virmir had changed, but not in any way Kenku had expected. In fact, Kenku had thrown so many ingredients together and mixed them in such strange ways in his eagerness that he wasn’t quite sure what the soda was actually supposed to do. But whatever that unknown purpose was, it had apparently worked. Virmir’s size had grown dramatically within the split second Kenku’s back was turned, and the fox found himself staring at a giant white footpaw. Craning his neck, he saw the rest of his gray friend towering over him and looking down curiously at the tree his impossibly large tail had knocked over.

There was something else, though. Virmir had four massive paws on the ground, but still had his arms at his sides as he looked around at the to-him-tiny city with interest. Kenku realized at once that Virmir had been taurified as well as grown, and the sudden knowledge made him very aware of one very important fact. Virmir was now a giant cartoon foxtaur, and there was one thing that any giant toon worth his ink would do. Kenku fled as Virmir wagged his giant tail, snickering as it knocked over trees like they were simple sticks. Virmir flipped his cape dramatically, his massive motions breaking buildings and stomping cars. He made his way through the city, leaving a trail of foxish destruction in his wake. Like any self-respecting giant cartoon, Virmir was on a rampage. He reared back and let out the fiercest cry ever heard—the one the city of Reynburg would forever equate to its destruction:

“Yiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip!”

And Kenku could do nothing but turn sheepishly with his tail tucked beneath his legs, and face the indignant citizens approaching.
[[Category:Jonas]] [[Category:Story]] [[Category:Fox]] [[Category:Toon]] [[Category:Comedy]] {{fiction}}

Testing Tastes

2011-01-10T01:13:20Z

Jonas: New story! Wheee!

{{byline|user=Jonas}}It was half-past two and William’s Wonder Drinks had not seen a single customer. Oh sure, people had stopped by, but they had all just looked around and left—more often than not right after snickering at one of his soda names. What all of this added up to was a very bored owner lying back in his chair with his boots on the counter and paws on his chest trying to see if he could blow his hat’s feather all the way around his head. This riveting activity was only disrupted by the tinkling of the door chime.

“Hey’lo,” he said dully, expecting another browser as he raised his head. His ears perked instantly when he saw a familiar gray face come through the door.

“Sennel! Great! Good to see ya, wolfy!” he enthused, scrambling to get his feet off the counter. After almost falling out of his chair and readjusting his hat he added, “Having a good day?”

Sennel tilted an ear as he shrugged. “Eh, been better. Not much going on today for me. Guess the same goes for you, William? Not many customers today it seems.”

“Not one! And I just made a new batch of Hopsters, too!”

A frown crossed Sennel’s muzzle. “Hmm, don’t think that’s my taste today. In the mood for something new.” He rested his paws beneath his chin as he looked up at the large menu hanging from the wall. William waited patiently as he watched his friend’s eyes scan the extensive list. Finally...

“Eh.”

William blinked. “Eh?”

“There’s just...nothing that really catches my eye up there, y’know?”

“But there’s plenty you haven’t tried!”

Another shrug. “Yea...but nothing I really feel an interest in ordering. Been a real drab day, lookin’ for something with a bit of pep.”

William stroked his chin-fur thoughtfully. “Hmm, pep...well, I have been working on a new Volp! formula. Been trying to give it some more perk—that might do the trick.”

“How new?” Sennel asked suspiciously. The wolf’s eyes narrowed.

“I whipped it up over lunch. Have a test sip on the house?” William grinned slyly as he asked, working the old foxish charm.

“What the hay—got nothing better to do and the days been a long bore-fest. I’ll give it a whirl for you but, uhh—” Sennel leaned in closer “—it’s not gonna make me a pup again, is it? ‘Cause the last time I tested something for you...”

William placed a paw over his breast. “Sen, I give you my word as an alchemist of sodas that will not be the case this time.” He vanished into the back room and returned with a bottle of a deep red liquid that he slid across the counter. “Enjoy!”

“Volp!: Because reds have more fun.” Sennel read from the label. He popped the cap and took a swig, swishing the drink in his mouth a few times before swallowing.

“Well...?” William asked.

“Hmm, bit of a tangy cherry flavour.” Answered Sennel thoughtfully. “Very sweet aftertaste. Really bubbly though—what species is this anyway?”

“Red Fox. They seem to work better when I do extra carbonation, no idea why.”

Sennel took another drink as his fur darkened. “May have overdone it on this one—bit too airy. Starting to feel light in the chest. This isn’t diet, is it?”

William scoffed. “How the devil would I make a diet transformation drink? Calories don’t stick through the changes and neither does any vitamins.”

The once-gray wolf was now brown and lightening to red as he amused himself by watching his paws turn black and puffy. “All I know is I feel a lot more energized now. This thing’s definitely got some pep to it!” He chuckled and hopped up onto a stool before spinning around on it like an excited child.

“Well... you definitely seem perkier, I’ll give you that.” William nodded. “Odd though, you should have started to shrink by now.” He tilted his head curiously. Sennel’s size was unchanged...but he looked bigger all the same. Like his proportions had increased. He also seemed...rounder?

“Aww! Smaller’s no fun, Willy.” Sennel said playfully. His tail became poofier as it wagged. “Makes you more cuddly, but you can’t do nearly as much! Gotta be big if you wanna play big!” He grinned widely, but it wasn’t the sly grin of a fox. It was a silly grin, like from a cartoon character or a mas...cot....

It clicked into place just as Sennel’s eyes started to grow larger and acquire a plastic sheen. “Uhh, Sen...” began William awkwardly. “You still feel lighter in the chest? Maybe anywhere else?”

Sennel nodded exuberantly. “Oh yea, all over really, but it’s not bad. Feels neat, heehee! Plus everywhere is nice and comfy so I’m not going to let a little lightness bring me down!” His foam-and-fabric head didn’t move as he spoke, but William was still getting the impression of being winked at.

“Wellpers, I’m off for now!” Sennel exclaimed as he slid off the stool. “Thanks a bunch for the drink, Willy. Real good pick-me-up! I think I’m gonna go have some fun at the park, catch ya ‘round!”

He gave a spin on a footpaw before bouncing out of the store, leaving a very bewildered William behind. Closing early suddenly seemed a very good idea.
[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Anthropomorphic]] [[Category:Inanimate]] [[Category:Fox]] [[Category:Jonas]] {{fiction}}

Research

2011-01-10T01:07:50Z

Jonas: Reposted

{{byline|user=Jonas}}The Verdland Fields were abundant with life. Rich plains of lush grass covered rolling hills and teemed with abundant wildlife. There were rabbits and voles, mice and moles, even a wolf or two if you got near the forest border. There was also the centaur. Powerful, large, but somehow graceful, it was a common sight to see herds of these beings galloping across the plains. A far less common sight, however, was to see a long-haired woman chasing after them, breathless from trying to keep up.

“We should probably slow down, Lairs.” said one of the centaurs to his friend as they galloped. “It looks like Olivia’s going to pass out for real this time.”

Lairs turned to see the human-shaped figure in the distance behind them. “Hmm, you’re probably right, Nils.” He agreed, squinting to better make out their pursuer.

They slowed down and turned around, trotting back to meet Olivia. She was red-faced and huffing from having run so hard and her hair was matted with sweat. How she had managed to hold onto her clipboard when she was too tired to barely stand was anyone’s guess.

“You ok?” asked Nils with a grin as he looked down at the woman.

“I’m... *wheeze*...fine....” Olivia said, doubling over to try and catch her breath. “Don’t... *wheeze* worry *wheeze* about me...”

Lairs chuckled. “Yes, because cherry-red is such a natural colour for you humans. C’mon, we’ll take you back to the herd so you can rest.”

“No! Please... *wheeze* carry on!” Olivia protested, waving her hands. “First rule *wheeze* of anthropology *wheeze* is not to interfere *wheeze* with the subjects’ activities.”

Nils rolled his eyes. “Yea well OUR first rule is to not let people kill themselves from exhaustion.”

“Yup,” chimed in Lairs. “Call it one of our ‘cultural mores’.”

He leaned down to pick up the protesting Olivia and lifted her onto his back. After making sure she was securely saddled on his horse-like lower half, he nodded to Nils and they set off again at a gallop, returning to their herd’s settlement.

When Olivia woke up it was late at night. She was lying on a makeshift ‘bed’ of matted grass amidst a herd of sleeping centaurs.

“What the... how did I...?” She began, before being cut off.

“You were more exhausted than you thought.” explained someone from behind her. Olivia turned to see a centauress looking down at her, holding a bowl of water. “You fell asleep while Nils was carrying you.”

Olivia blinked. “I did? Oh, I’ll have to thank him then but—oh no! It’s very insulting to ride a centaur!”

“I think it’s safe to assume there’s an exception to that when the centaur in question places you on his back himself.”

“Oh, right.”

Olivia took the bowl of water and sipped from it. “Thank you, Flair.”

“No problem.” Flair replied with a smile. “Just keep your limits in mind.” She yawned. “Well, I’m off to sleep now. See you in the morning—oh, and that red stone in your jacket’s been beeping for the past three hours. G’night!”

It took several moments after Flair turned away and trotted off to her night spot for Olivia to register her last comment. Fishing her jacket out of the storage mound, she ruffled around it for the beeping stone. Holding it up to the moonlight, she squeezed it and spoke the trigger phrase to turn on the scry-stone. At once the familiar image of her mentor came into view.

“Ah!” The image said. “So good of you to finally respond, Olivia, I was starting to get worried. What kept you?”

“Just my work, Professor Aldsbran.”

“You passed out trying to keep up with those centaurs again, didn’t you?”

“Of course not! No! Not after the third ti—well, yes.” Olivia admitted.

Aldsbran sighed. “My dear, how do you expect to study the centaurs’ culture if you keep literally running yourself ragged?”

“How can I not?” Olivia countered. “In case you hadn’t noticed, they’re very fast! I can’t observe them if I’m not near them, and in order to do that I have to try and keep up with them!”

The image stroked its chin. “Hmm, true, true... you’ve got yourself quite the quandary then, don’t you? Any spells capable of boosting your speed that much have some rather nasty side-effects.”

“Well, I could always just follow them around on horseback.” said Olivia with a smirk. “But I think that would be a bit too disruptive.”

Aldsbran’s eyes lit up. “That’s not a bad idea.”

Olivia stared at the stone. “What? Of course it’s a bad idea! Centaurs hate horses!”

“No no, I don’t mean that! I mean you should do the next best thing. If you need to keep a centaur’s pace, why not do it with their own pace?”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Transmutation, Olivia! I’m talking about transmutation! If you want to be able to keep up with the centaurs then why not grow some hooves of your own? I can throw the spell together myself and send it through the scry-stone if you need me to.”

It was an interesting proposition. Transmuting herself into a centaur would definitely solve Olivia’s pacing issue, and it could even integrate her more into the herd. Plus it would give her some better insight into how they lived...

“Ok, Professor. That sounds like a good idea.”

“Marvellous!” beamed Aldsbran’s image. “I’ll have the spell ready by morning. Just contact me when you’re ready, and have a good night, Olivia!”

The scry-stone went blank. Olivia put it back into her pocket before lying back down on the soft ground. Wrapping her jacket around herself like a blanket, she went over in her head how to broach the subject with the centaurs in the morning.

“Well, that’s certainly a unique solution to your problem.” commented Nils once Olivia had finished explaining her plan.

“So it’s ok?” Olivia asked as she turned from Nils to Lairs and back again. “I’m not going to offend you or anything?”

The two let out braying laughs and stomped the ground with their hooves.

“Heavens no!” exclaimed Nils.

“If anything we’re flattered.” added Lairs. “There are just a few technicalities we’ll probably have to take care of with the rest of the herd. But those aren’t anything to worry about.”

Olivia nodded, “thanks” before taking the scry-stone out of her jacket. One trigger-phrase later she was speaking with her professor’s image.

“I take it they agreed, judging from that grin you’re wearing?” Aldsbran asked.

“Yup! Lairs even said it was flattering.”

“Well that’s good to know. Just clear some space around you and I’ll send the spell through.”

Olivia looked around. The rest of the herd were off in the distance by a large pond, well out of range. She backed a few feet away from Nils and Lairs before saying, “Ready!”

Nils and Lairs watched with interest and the scry-stone started to vibrate as Aldsbran began the spell. The tiny red gem emitted a low hum as white tendrils emerged and wrapped around Olivia’s legs. They formed the shape of hooves over her feet, and extended behind her into the shape of a horse’s lower body. They extended upwards, tracing the image of Olivia’s torso, arms, and head. The hum turned into a chime as a white glow washed over Olivia, consuming her and expanding to fill the outline. The glow subsided, revealing a centaur where a human once stood.

“Well that was an impressive display.” commented Nils.

Olivia blinked, temporarily disoriented from the shift in perspective when she increased in height. She turned around and marvelled at the strong, powerful frame of a horse that now made up her lower body.

“You’re not going to fall over or anything, are you?” Lairs asked warily.

“What?” Olivia’s attention snapped back to her two watchers. It was strange to be eye-level with them for once. “Oh, no, I won’t. Transmute spells make sure the subject can move naturally in their new form. Which is very convenient considering I probably ''would'' fall over otherwise...”

Nils snickered. “Fair enough. I’m going to go tell the rest of the herd about this to avoid and raised eyebrows when they see you.” He turned and galloped off towards the pond.

Olivia turned to Lairs. “By the way,” she asked, “what was that ‘technicality’ you two mentioned.”

“Oh, that. Nothing big, but since you’re a centaur now we can’t let you stay with the herd unless we formally induct you. I guess you could say it’s an upgrade from free-trial to membership status, to use human parlance.”

Olivia laughed. “Nice comparison. So, what does induction consist of?”

“Three things.” Lairs said, counting them off on his fingers. “The first is that you eat with us, which you already have. The second is that you laugh with us—again, something you have already done. The third is that you run with us.”

“Run...with...you?”

“Of course! That was the whole point behind this little plan of yours after all, wasn’t it?” Lairs grinned as he began to walk away. “Though if you’re still just as slow on four legs as you are on two...”

He set off at a run before finishing. Olivia looked down at her new hooves, then looked up at the figure of Lairs moving further and further away. Well, it was now or never, she told herself. Olivia took a single step, but it was all she needed. The moment her legs pressed into the soft-yet-distant ground, she was off.

The wind whipped at Olivia’s hair as she ran, her hooves pounding the ground in a swift gallop as she chased after Lairs. There was more to it, though, then just plain speed. As she chased after Lairs, Olivia felt an energy course through her that she had never felt before. It was the strength of the earth beneath her hooves supporting her, the grace of the air rushing past her—it was existing as someone connected to a force bigger than herself. She had reached Lairs without realizing it. As she turned to him he grinned wildly and reached out a hand. She took it, fingers closing around each other.

“Welcome to our life, Olivia.”
[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Jonas]] {{fiction}} [[Category:Mythical]]

Refreshment

2011-01-10T01:02:57Z

Jonas: New story!

{{byline|user=Jonas}}
Hot... so... very... hot...

Lloyd squinted and raised his hand to shield himself from the sunlight beating down on him. Of all the days for there to be a heat wave, why did it have to be the one when his air-conditioning broke? Lloyd’s apartment may have been shaded, but with the AC out it seemed more like a pressure cooker. Wandering the streets, the young man had gone to every ice cream parlour and convenience store he could find, desperate to cool off. At each one he’d make a small purchase, and then slowly enjoy it in the air-conditioned store along with about five to ten other people who had the same idea. Eventually the person at the counter would catch on and shoo him out, making him wander once more into the searing heat looking for relief.

Meandering around the street corner, Lloyd was considering seeing how long he could stay on a bus before getting kicked off when he saw the most wonderful sight of his life: A storefront with a hand painted sign identifying it as William’s Soda Shoppe and promising Free Refills With Every Purchase! Lloyd had never seen anything so beautiful.

A blast of cool AC hit his sweat drenched face as he opened the door and stepped inside. The soda shack was empty apart from Lloyd and the man at the counter, who was wearing what looked like a pirate costume—probably wanted his store to have an old-timey feel. The storeowner didn’t look up as Lloyd approached.

“Uhh, you open?” He asked. The man nodded. “Great!” Lloyd said, beaming. “I’ll have...” His eyes scanned the enormous list of sodas on the wall. “Oh, wow—you’ve got a lot of stuff to choose from.”

The man nodded again at this. “I’ve been in business a long time. Every time I find something new, I add it to the menu.” He still didn’t look up, and continued to clean the glass he was holding.

“I see... well, I don’t recognize anything on here. Why don’t you pick for me?”

The man stopped cleaning his glass. “You sure?”

Lloyd shrugged. “Yea, you know your selection better than I do. Just don’t give me something expensive, heh.”

A chortle came from beneath the man’s large hat and he rummaged around below the counter before bringing up a tall glass filled with a fizzy green drink. It looked like a darker version of Mountain Dew.

“Oooh, that looks good!” Exclaimed Lloyd as he licked his lips. “How much?”

“No charge,” Said the storeowner with a wave of his hand. “Not gonna make you pay for something you might not like.”
“Thanks a bunch mister....”

“You can call me Kenku. William Kenku.”

Lloyd smiled and picked up the glass as he sat down on a stool next to the counter. “All right then. Cheers, Kenku.” He raised the glass to the storeowner before downing the soda. A crisp lime-watermelon flavour washed over the young man as the ice cold drink cooled his insides and the fizz bubbled along his tongue. Kenku resumed his glass-cleaning as Lloyd gulped down the drink.

“Ah! Now that was refreshing!” He exclaimed, setting the now-empty glass down on the counter and wiping off his mouth. “I’ve never tasted anything like it either.”

Kenku shrugged. “My drinks are pretty unique.”

Lloyd nodded, absently scratching the back of his peaked ears, careful to sheathe his claws first. “I’ll bet. No clue why this place is so empty though. You’ve got a sign offering free refills on the hottest day on record. Speaking of which by the way...” he tapped the empty glass.

Kenku shrugged again as he refilled the drink. “I cater to a pretty specific clientele. My drinks have a fairly niche market.”

“Hmm, I guess that would be true.” Lloyd said, gulping down the newly filled glass. His whiskers twitched at the tickle of the bubbly soda. “Most people prefer to stick to stuff like Coca-Cola or Sprite.” He rubbed the fur on his chin thoughtfully. “Although, I guess it doesn’t help that you don’t try and be visible. I mean, this store is on a downtown street and no one else seems to notice it.”

He tugged at his shirt collar. “Is it all right if I take this off?” Kenku nodded and Lloyd eagerly pulled his shirt over his head, revealing a chest covered in tawny fur punctuated by large black patterns. “Oh that’s better—thanks a bunch. Sucks having to wear a shirt in this weather, of course it probably doesn’t help that I’ve got this—” he flicked a stubby finger at the lion-like ruff around his neck, “—bushy thing. But people are pretty sensitive about that these days. Oh, mind if I have another refill?”

As Kenku poured more soda into the glass, Lloyd began to fidget in his seat. He unbuttoned his shorts and kicked them off to free his feline tail. A frown crossed Lloyd’s muzzle when he looked down at the fallen shorts as they lay on top of a heap of socks and shoes, trying to remember why on earth he had bothered to wear clothing that was far too large for him. He must have looked like a complete idiot—no wonder he got thrown out of those ice cream parlours and convenience stores.When Kenku presented Lloyd with his refilled drink, it was inside a bowl. For a brief moment, Lloyd wondered why it wasn’t in a glass, but then he mentally slapped himself for thinking something so silly and began to lap up the soda. Glasses were too wide for his paws to get a grip on after all; and it wasn’t as if his muzzle could make a decent seal. Lloyd made a mental note to stay indoors next time there was a heat wave—clearly the temperature was messing with him.

Lloyd climbed onto the counter to drink his last refill—it was far easier than trying to do it from the stool with how small his body was. Besides, Kenku didn’t seem to mind it; the storeowner had finally looked up and wasn’t voicing any objections to the Maine Coon on his counter. Reaching out with his own furred hand, the foxish drink-maker scratched the cat behind the ears. Lloyd purred pleasantly at this before finishing his last drink.

“All done, eh?” Kenku asked. Lloyd mewed an affirmative.

“To be honest, I’ve never tested that soda before.” Kenku said absently as he took out a notepad and made a few notes. “But testing like this is what makes my job interesting.” He chuckled and looked down at the cat. “Well, I daresay you must be sick of sugary sodas by now. What say we head home and get you some fish and a proper saucer of milk? I’m sure you wouldn’t mind a few lazy cat days until this heat wave is over. I’ll change you back afterwards though, promise.”

The cat tilted its head, unsure of what its master was talking about. Change back? Back to what? After all, Lloyd was just a pet, and he loved it when Kenku made him fish. Mewing happily and jumping into his master’s arms, the only problem the cat could think of was Kenku burning his meal.
[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Feline]] [[Category:Mental change]] [[Category:Animal]] [[Category:Jonas]] {{fiction}}

Muhmorpaguh

2011-01-10T00:57:18Z

Jonas: New story! Wheee!

{{byline|user=Jonas}}Kris’s computer made the familiar *da-dunk* noise that told him he had received an IM. This was unexpected, not because Kris didn’t know anyone online, but because it was 8AM on Christmas day and he assumed everyone he knew were either asleep or opening presents.

'''Dook51: Hiya Kris! Merry Krismas'''!

Ah, Dook, he should have known. Of all Kris’s online friends, Dook was almost always online. They had met through an online RPG and had exchanged emails a month later. Ever since, Kris could only remember a handful of times when he had seen Dook listed as offline.

'''Schnee: You’d think one day off from your puns would be a good present >>''' Kris typed.

'''Dook51: Ah, such words have wounded my dignified pride. I guess I shall have to take back the present I gave you D:'''

'''Schnee: Present?'''

'''Dook51: Check your email :D'''

Kris alt-tabbed to open his browser; sure enough, there was an email from Dook waiting for him. There was no message text, but the attachment was enormous—300MB! He tabbed back to the messenger.

'''Schnee: The hell’d you manage to send this? Even with my comp it’ll take forever to download'''

'''Dook51: It won’t take long, I swear! Don’t you want your present? ;)'''

Kris, admittedly, did want to see what his friend had gotten him. He obliged and was surprised to find that Dook was correct. The file loaded within three minutes.

'''Schnee: How in the...?'''

'''Dook51: Fear mah leet internet powahz!'''

'''Schnee: No'''

'''Dook51: D: please?'''

The file came with a loader that Kris launched. Instantly the familiar six-sigil logo of Seal of Rin filled the screen. It was the online game that Kris had met Dook on.

'''Schnee: It’s loading S.R'''

'''Dook51: That means the pack is working :D'''

'''Schnee: Pack?'''

'''Dook51: Mod pack! Kris, buddy, enjoy the biggest compilation of Rin mods ever assembled! Easy to install, easy to activate, easy to play!'''

The game finished loading and Kris logged in. Immediately he moused down to the add-on menu to look at Dook’s pack. He wasn’t kidding when he said it was big. The list of categories alone took up an entire page in the menu! All the big-name mods were included, along with countless others Kris had never heard of.

'''Schnee: This thing is...incredible! I didn’t even know Rin had this many mods.'''

'''Dook51: And thus the gift serves its purpose  you gonna log on or what?'''

'''Schnee: Eh... I think I’ll make a new character instead. Don’t wanna mess things up my main.'''

'''Dook51: K, I’ll meet you at the start zone.'''

Kris entered the character creator. Choosing a race was easy. Among the ten options Seal of Rin provided, only the Lutrin had ever appealed to Kris. This race of anthro-otters was portrayed in the game’s lore as plucky underdogs, and had an energetic spirit Kris couldn’t help but admire. Plus they were cute, but he wasn’t going to say that out loud. Kris picked the arcanist for his class and the game loaded an image of a brown-furred, humanoid otter draped in a thick, billowing robe. Kris frowned. Lutrin were energetic, tropical creatures who would never wear something so heavy or cumbersome. This contradiction was one of the few things in the game that irked Kris—limited customization leading to limited immersion. But all of his characters shared the same issues, so this one wasn’t going to be any different. Unless....

Kris moused over to the dropdown menu that displayed available add-ons. He scrolled down to a mod labelled ‘Enhanced Creation’ and hit ‘enable’. Once the screen reloaded, Kris started when he saw the new interface. Incredible, was the only true way to describe it. The trait list had expanded to include everything from degree of scruffiness to tail length, and the out-of-character clothes had been replaced by loose shorts and clan tattoos. Something had been done to the character model as well. Kris couldn’t put his finger on it, but it seemed to be more...vibrant than normal. Looking into that would have to wait—Kris spent a good half hour tweaking the plethora of options until he had created a character that felt right.

The result was the most satisfactory character Kris could imagine. His Lutrin stood at three-foot eight, slightly below average for the race. Fur was rough, but not scraggly, as if it had been messed up through some rough-and-tumble adventure rather than neglect. The face was what Kris was most proud of though. The Lutrin wore a grin that radiated a friendly certainty, a fun, eager resolve only enhanced by the peculiar shade of emerald in its eyes. All that remained was to give this character a name. This process was usually an exercise in frustration, with Kris struggling to find both a name that was both tolerable and not already taken. This time though...this time Kris could only think of one option for his character. As the Lutrin entered the game world, it bore Kris’s name as its own.

The moment that Kris’s screen loaded the sandy beaches that formed the Lutrin starting area, he opened the add-on menu once more. A mod named ‘Enhanced World’ stood out and was quickly enabled. Kris’s mouth dropped when the screen reloaded. Seal of Rin was no slouch in the graphics department, but it paled in comparison to what the game world looked like now. The mod had done...something...to the textures and colours of the game. The beach, normally shaded, now sparkled in sunlight as azure waves crested its shores. Shells and small crabs littered the sands, actually shifting as players ran past. There was no way Kris’s computer should have been able to handle something like this, but the frame-rate was just as smooth as it had ever been—in fact, it might have gotten better! Eager to try more, Kris reopened the add-on menu and grinned eagerly when he saw the mod labelled ‘Enhanced Immersion’. He enabled it without a second thought.

When the game reloaded for a final time, Kris raised an eyebrow when his character was nowhere to be found. It took a few seconds and a camera-turn to realize that the mod had swapped his view from the normal third-person to first. Made sense, he mused, it was an immersion mod after all. Right then, time to start playing! Kris turned and found the NPC, named Sier Claun, for his starting quest. It was impressive the way the camera bobbed and shifted while Sier explained that gulls had made off with some of the food stores and that he had to go clam-diving to restock them—an easy enough fetch-quest. Kris accepted and beelined for the water, thrilled at how seamless the movements were.

Kris could only stare transfixed when his character hit the water. Droplets flew through the air as Kris dived down into the ocean. The water was clear to his character’s eyes and easy to see through. It was all so vibrant that Kris even caught himself staring hungrily at a school of fish that swam by as he made his way to the quest target. Water flowed around Kris’s fur like air, salt tickling his whiskers as he dove down to his goal . The clams were too large to carry up to the surface, and too strong to force open conventionally. It took several minutes of tugging and straining at the lips of the shell before Kris remembered that he was an arcanist. A quick second to clear his mind and a moment to cast a force nudge spell were enough to make the clam give up its tasty, tasty meat. It was harder to swim back to the beach while carrying the meat, but not by much. Sunlight warmed Kris’s fur as he brought the meat back to Sier.

“Ah, Kris! Excellent!” Sier said happily as she took the clam meat from him. “This’ll go over great at tonight’s dinner. We’ll be fire-cookin’ tonight!”

There was a pause while both Sier and Kris recalled the deliciousness that had been previous fire-meals. Kris swayed with the thought of rich, succulent meat infused with both the salt of the ocean and the roast of flame.

“Oh! Right! I almost forgot!” Sier remembered suddenly. “There’s some guy at the rest-hut looking for you. A traveller, I think, haven’ seen him before.”

Kris tilted his head curiously but said nothing as he made his way to the reed-lined hut. The mystery was solved when he saw the familiar fluffy, lithe tail that could mean only one person.

“Heya Dook!” Kris exclaimed as he pounced his friend and nuzzled against his long, silky fur, noting mildly the scent of forest dirt.

The Ferrit turned his head a tad too late. “Hiya Kri—aaah! Wet fur! Wet fur!” Dook yelped. He tried to shake off the still-drying Lutrin.

Kris laughed as he let go. “Gotta get used to water if you’re going to keep showing up at the village. What brings you this way?”

“You, actually. I have a job to look into some strange thefts in one of the outlying towns and I could use a magical eye to help. Interested?”

Kris blanked. “Seriously? Me, go on an adventure?”

Dook shrugged. “Well I know you haven’t left the village before, but I figured I’d give it a shot. If you don’t want to I can—“

“HELL YES I WANT TO!”

“Oh...ok then. We can leave in an hour if that’s ok.”

Kris was literally bouncing with excitement. “An adventure! Me! I get to go on an adventure! Wheeee!”

“Calm down, calm down.” Dook chuckled. “It’s just a small investigation, nothing major.” He ruffled Kris’s headfur. “There’s a whole world out there after all, but if you want to see it, it would be my pleasure to help.”
[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Anthropomorphic]] [[Category:Otter]] [[Category:Jonas]] {{fiction}}

I Regret Nothing!

2011-01-10T00:49:40Z

Jonas: byline

{{byline|user=Jonas}}
He hadn’t kept the count. Too distracted by work, by his family visiting, by that hot new waitress at the cafe, he hadn’t remembered to track the cycle. By the time he realized what night it was it was almost too late—the clouds had parted and revealed the full moon just as he was ordering another round of drinks for his friends at the bar. Raising his glass in drunken revelry, his enthusiasm turned to terror as he saw the shaft of moonlight pierce through the window.

Glass shattered as he dropped his cup, dashing madly out the door and leaving behind bewildered friends and an unpaid bill. What was supposed to be an orderly, monthly affair had now become a frantic rush through the streets, desperately looking for a safe place. Not safe for him, though—safe for everyone else. Too much damage could be caused when he changed. He looked around, sweat dripping as he saw the innocents wandering about, unaware of the imminent danger they faced. None of them knew how close they were to being the next victims; the next crushed and broken bodies to be found in the morning—the next bloodstains on the walls. A convulsion wracked his spine and he doubled over in pain, eyes shut tight in a vain attempt to halt the changes already occurring within his skin.

There was only one place close enough, only one place where there was even a chance at avoiding more death. Half-running, half-staggering, he forced himself to stay human as he made his way to the construction site. It was empty-thank heavens, only machinery and girders. What surge of relief he might have felt was quickly subsumed by agony as the transformation escaped his restraint. Buckling over, he felt his innards squirm and shift. His skin darkened and his frame expanded. A rush of force smashed the girders and knocked a bulldozer into the street as the formerly diminutive man became over twice the size of an elephant within mere fractions of a second. An unearthly rumble rocked the earth as his form settled. Easing into the ground, what remained of the man’s mind shrunk into the singular existence of his new body. The same body he returned to every full moon—the body that would forever mark him, as a werehouse.

[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Jonas]] [[Category:Comedy]]

Jingle Bells

2011-01-10T00:49:34Z

Jonas: Reposted

{{byline|user=Jonas}}
A dull wind streaked across the clouded fields, gray skies brooded above families trying to treat their children to a festive holiday, and filthy slush dripped from the dreary sign welcoming people to Santa’s Village. Robert sighed heavily as he surveyed the pathetic scene. He had seen an advertisement and had come out on a whim, but it seemed highly unlikely that there was anything at this dreary place that could be of interest.

“Tragic, isn’t it.” Came a voice from behind him. Robert spun around and saw a man standing behind him.

“Come again?” Robert asked.

“This place, it’s tragic, no?” The main replied. He had a strangely boyish face that looked somehow out of place beneath a woollen hat and thick winter jacket.

Robert shrugged. “Not the word I’d use, but yea it’s tragic. These parents just want their kids to have a nice Christmas and all they’ve got here is some store-bought cookies and an old geezer in a moth-eaten suit.”

The man blinked. “What? No, I wasn’t talking about the village—I meant the owner, Fanny Bright.”

“What about her?”

“She really believes in this stuff.” The man answered with a sigh. “You should see her house this time of year—the lights on it could put Times Square to shame. Every year Fanny tries to set up this Village but every year it fails miserably. Not her fault too, the girl’s just got terrible luck. Last year for example one of the snack shops collapsed thanks to termites, and the year before that the guy who was supposed to play Santa got into a car accident on the way over. And this year, well, the economy’s sort of put a dent in her funds so she’s stuck with this cheesy mess.”

“You seem to know quite a bit about her.” Robert commented.

The man smiled. “I admire her spirit. Fanny’s a rare type of person and it’s tragic to see this happen to her every year.”

Robert frowned. “So why don’t you help her out if you feel so bad about it?”

“I’d love nothing more than to do just that, but my hands are tied. Christmas is the busiest time of year for me and I barely have time to come out and see how she’s doing.” He pulled back his sleeve and checked his watch before adding, “Speaking of which, I need to get back. If you see Fanny, tell her it’s not her fault.”

“Well, if you need a hand, I’d be happy to help.”

The man blinked. “Why on earth would you want to help someone you barely know?”

Robert shrugged. “I dunno, I just figured if there was something I could do to help brighten someone’s Christmas then I should do it.”

There was a silence as the man considered what Robert had just said. “You know what...” he began slowly. “You’re right. I know exactly how to help Fanny but I’ve just been too chicken to do it. But if Christmas is about anything, it’s making sure everyone can have a happy holiday.”

“That’s the spirit!” Robert said, grinning. “And hey, like I said, if you need a hand—“

“Oh I’m going to need more than a hand!” The man enthused, suddenly energized by whatever his idea was. “Come on!”

Without giving him a chance to respond, the man grabbed Robert arm and dragged him away from the Village and towards the surrounding woods. “H-hey! What’re you doing?” Robert cried out. He tried tugging his arm free but the man had a surprisingly strong grip.

“Just getting us out of sight.” The man answered. “Don’t want anyone to see—and besides, I get nervous trying to do it in front of a crowd.”

Robert had no idea what ‘it’ was, but he was beginning to have some very serious doubts about offering to help this person. Even so... the man did seem sincere when he was talking about that Bright woman; maybe he was just excited about finally helping her? The man finally released his grip once they had reached a small clearing a few feet into the woods. Robert could just make out the Christmas songs being played over the crackling speakers back at the Village.

“Ok, no one should see us here.” The man said. “Normally I’m not supposed to do this with a human but it’s for a good cause and it isn’t like you’d tell anyone.”

Robert took a tentative step back. “Do what? And what do you mean ‘with a human’?” He asked nervously, but the man didn’t seem to be listening.

“Course... the big guy will get mad when he finds out but it isn’t like he hasn’t pulled this stuff before so I should be fine...” The man sounded like he was talking himself into something. Even though he hadn’t the foggiest idea what it was, Robert was now positive he didn’t want to find out. He was about to turn away when the man suddenly clapped his hands together and looked up. “All right! Let’s get started, shall we?”

Robert stumbled as he felt a sudden weight come down on his back. He turned his head and saw an open sleigh harnessed to...to...
It took several seconds for Robert to register that he had the hindquarters of a large horse, and that the sleigh was harnessed to him. Startled, Robert looked down to find he was standing far higher off the ground than he should have been, and that his hands had suddenly become thick hooves. There was also the matter of his neck being longer and the suspiciously horse-like muzzle projecting from his face.

A smile spread across the man’s face as he approached the Shire horse that was now Robert. “I suppose I owe you a more... specific explanation.” He said, pulling off his cap to reveal pointed, elfish ears. “As you have probably guessed, I’m not human. I’m a worker, see, up north with Santa and the rest of the gang. I’ve also got a bit of power in me—as you have also probably guessed—and while it would be a very simple matter to give Fanny Bright the Christmas miracle she needs, the rules just won’t let me interfere on that level. That’s where you come in—my man on the inside. Right now you’re overloaded with Christmas magic and soon it’s gonna start seeping off into the surrounding area, and I need that area to be Santa’s Village.”

“Well, it’s not like I have a choice...” Robert said solemnly, or tried to say, anyway. All that came out was a low bray.

“Of course you have a choice!” The elf cried out suddenly, “And yes, I can understand you. Just tell me you want out and I’ll drop you off at home like you never even left—but please just hear me out! All I need is for you to hang around the village giving sleigh rides and let the magic just do its thing. I can guarantee that Fanny’ll take good care of you. Come December 24th I take you back, get your body back to normal, and send you wherever you need to go. Heck, I’ll do your Christmas shopping for you—I happen to know a very good distributor!”

Robert was prepared to say (or bray, he supposed) “Turn me back” right then and there, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The elf just seemed so...desperate to help this Fanny person have a good Christmas for once. He couldn’t believe it, but Robert found that he was willing to go along with the plan.

“Fine, I’ll help.” He said.

The elf’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

Robert tried to shrug, but only ended up shuffling his front hooves a bit. “Sure, it isn’t like I have any other plans.”

“You won’t regret this—I promise!”

The elf took a hold of Robert reins and gently led him back to the entrance of the Village. The ground felt strangely distant beneath Robert hooves and it felt very odd to feel his ears flick back and forth. Stranger still was the sleigh he pulled behind him. Despite being large enough to hold at least seven people, it was unnaturally light—more magic, perhaps? Robert wasn’t really sure what to make of the situation—other than that he was definitely going to have a very interesting holiday.They stopped a few feet from the welcome sign. The door to one of the ‘gingerbread’ houses opened and a woman in a Mrs. Claus outfit came running up to them.

“What on earth is all this?” She demanded of the elf.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Bright!” He replied cheerfully. “My friend and I,” he patted Robert, “were wondering if you’d consider adding sleigh rides to the attractions here.”

Fanny looked from the elf to Robert, and then sighed. “You have a lovely horse, sir, and I would love to be able to rent it, but I doubt I could afford the price or even the upkeep.”

“My dear, you misunderstand, I’m not renting—I’m giving!”

“Giving...?”

“Just for the holidays of course, I’ll need to get the ol’ fella back on the 24th, but consider it an early Christmas present. I can have all the food and supplies you’d need delivered in a snap!” The elf snapped his fingers for emphasis. Robert was surprised a bale of hay didn’t fall from the sky then and there.

Fanny looked conflicted. “That’s a wonderful offer, but I don’t think it would be appropriate to—” She was cut off by the excited squeal of a passing child.

“Oh, look! Sleigh rides!” Exclaimed the little girl, hopping and pointing at Robert. “Can we go on one?”

“I don’t see why not.” Remarked the girl’s mother. Approaching Fanny she asked, “How much for a ride for two?”

“Err...” Fanny began. She glanced at the elf, who gave her a ‘thumbs up’. “No charge, just have a good time.” She said.

The mother beamed and helped her daughter into the sleigh. When they were both on board, the elf cheerfully patted Robert on the side and he set off obediently. It was strange, but as he pulled the mother and child around the field, a warm glow began to grow inside him. Maybe it was the fresh snow now falling on the ground, maybe it was the sweet smell of cinnamon and apple cider that had started to come out of the snack huts, or maybe it was the joyously laughing child in the sleigh. Whatever it was though, it made Robert glad to be a sleigh horse and helping to bring just a bit more Christmas cheer into the world.
[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Animal]] [[Category:Equine]] [[Category:Jonas]]

Comic Genesis

2011-01-10T00:44:14Z

Jonas:

{{byline|user=Jonas}}
Virmir grinned to himself as he finished the final touches on his latest comic. Setting the stylus down, he leaned back and stretched, an audible crack filling the otherwise silent room as kinks were worked out of his muscles. It had been a long project, the penultimate moment of battle between the Crimson Flags and the Black Tails, but it was well worth it. Getting up to get a glass of water, Virmir returned to the desk and looked over the image, checking to see if he missed anything. He sipped his water as his eyes swept over the brave fighters; the gray foxes of the Crimson Flag that were beginning their final charge and the fennecs of the Black Tail that stood before their assault. It had been a bit of a challenge to show how the Tails were defending themselves while still making them seem confident, but Virmir felt that he had managed to convey the feeling pretty well. The same went for the Flags; it was actually harder to draw their burnt fur than it was to give that determined-yet-injured glint in their eyes.

Unable to find a flaw in the latest page, Virmir grinned again as he uploaded it to his website. Glancing to the clock in the bottom right of his tablet’s screen, he was surprised to find it was just two minutes before his midnight deadline! He chuckled to himself and took another sip of water. It looked like he had finished in the nick of time—he’d never missed an update and he was glad to know that he wasn’t about to start anytime soon. Apart from his own pride to worry about, Virmir’s comic had seen its popularity skyrocket in the recent months. If he didn’t keep the updates regular, there were going to be some very unhappy fans to deal with.
Virmir yawned and turned off his computer, eager to get some rest. Before he went to bed though, he made a note reminding him to check on the server in the morning, if the traffic continued to increase then it would need some upgrading. Heh, being an internet celebrity was hard work. Not that it bothered him much.

Truth be told, though, Virmir wasn’t making the comic for the fame. Heck, he didn’t even intend to make much money off of it, but once his work started getting more popular the cash just flowed in. Virmir wasn’t rich by any measure of the word, but revenues from his comic and relevant merchandise gave enough to pay the bills and get food, which was really all he needed. He didn’t leave the apartment except to do errands, and he didn’t own a car. In fact the only possession he had that was of any real value was his tablet computer where he made all his art. In a way, the artist was a lot like the cartoons he loved to draw: aloof and carefree, living in a different world from the one outside his window.

That was probably what had helped the comic become so popular, really, Virmir thought to himself as he lay in bed. Virmir’s fans always commented on how the characters seemed so real in their expressions and how vivid the world was. In truth, both things were simple by-products of his imagination. For as long as he could remember, Virmir had been a major daydreamer. He’d get his work done and bills paid, and then he’d be off imagining fantastic worlds where ships flew through the air and mages unearthed magical secrets. It didn’t take long for these ideas to find their way to be realized, and soon he was doodling away, creating a portfolio of the cartoon foxes that populated this world of adventure.

He was asked about that a lot in the beginning, come to think of it. Virmir had gotten quite few people inquiring about why he always drew foxes. A few people even commented on how his use of species was some political point, going into long analysis of historic connotations and cultural associations. The truth was a lot less interesting than that, though. Virmir drew his cartoons as anthropomorphic foxes because he wanted to—it was as simple as that. It was more fun and more interesting to have his characters as a menagerie of fluffy anthros than as a bunch of humans, and there wasn’t much else to it. Honestly, Virmir never saw what was so special about being human anyway. All it meant was that he belonged to the species Homo sapiens sapiens after all.

Personally, Virmir always felt he had more in common with the foxes he drew than the humans he lived beside. He was drawn more to the grays and the way they could look down on the world, being one of the few candid species that could climb trees. Gray foxes were lovers of routine, able to subsist and survive by taking only what they needed with small, manageable game, and this was an outlook Virmir enjoyed far more than the constant rush to success human society presented. He saw it as more fun to be a fox, more interesting to be a cartoon in a world of adventure, and these feelings were what made his comic so good. He could draw such real expressions because he imagined himself as his characters, and the world of his comic was so detailed because it was the same world he daydreamed about any chance he got. It was these dreams of fun and adventure that Virmir gave to his comic. They energized the panels as he drew them, giving them a style and soul that his readers could never describe but knew they loved. Virmir gave his feelings into the comic, and eventually it began to give back.

He had a strange dream that night. Virmir dreamt that he was standing in a large sea of blackness with a giant version of his comic towering over him. As he gazed upwards he saw each panel stacked on top of one another, rising beyond his sight. All of a sudden a panel began to fall. Then another. And another. As each piece of the comic hit the ground it burst into existence, filling the black with clear skies, verdant fields, and running streams. More panels fell, bursting into the cities and towns of his fantasy kingdom. Smaller parts of the comic showered over the newly formed houses, and soon there was an entire population of cartoon foxes watering flowers, pushing carts, and hocking produce at their stalls. It was just as Virmir had imagined it, every detail down to the last blade of grass. He had dreamt of his comic world before, obviously, but never in such realistic form. Too distracted by the fascination of his work coming to life, it wasn’t until the shadow beneath him started to grow that Virmir looked up to find the final panel of the comic falling right on top of him.

Virmir woke with a start. He breathed heavily as he looked up to see only the ceiling. No comic, no brilliant skies, just plain plaster and a few stains from water damage. He rolled over and glanced at the clock—it was only six in the morning. Funny, it seemed like it should have been later, Virmir thought idly. Any other day he’d be royally tired and fall back to sleep, but for some reason he felt wide awake. Oh well, no reason not to get up then. Maybe he’d get an early start on the next comic, or hang out in his chatroom with some of the other early-risers. Virmir stretched and rubbed his eyes, then froze as something furry brushed against his face.
He reached over to his nightstand and turned on a lamp, praying that he hadn’t just rubbed a mouse on his eye. The good news was that it was not a mouse. The bad (?) news is that the furry object was apparently his left hand. Actually, it was pretty much his entire left arm too. Starting just before the elbow was a patch of bright gray fur that covered his arm until it turned white at his hand. Virmir’s mind—which had stalled upon seeing the fur—slowly began to work again, but all he could think about was how very familiar his hand looked.

Getting out of bed, he went to his desk in the living room and opened one of its drawers. Taking out the sheaf of papers that composed his drawing references, Virmir looked through them (more slowly than he would have liked, since he wasn’t fully sure it was safe to touch anything with his left hand) until he found what he was looking for. It was the sheet filled with hand and paw designs that he used when first designing his characters. Scanning the page, he mildly noted how ridiculous some of his early drafts had looked before his eyes stopped on the sketch he was looking for. Circled in red with an arrow pointed to it, the final hand design Virmir had settled on was a dead match for the limb he had woken up with. Everything from where the fur colours changed to the slight rectangular shape of the three fingers and thumb was exactly as he had drawn it.

There was a chance he was dreaming, Virmir thought, which was probably why he decided to have breakfast before doing anything else. Opening the pantry with his furred arm and finding that contact between real objects and his cartoon appendage didn’t make the world explode, he decided on some cereal to eat. After getting some milk and sitting down at the table, Virmir idly considered his hand between bites of puffed wheat. It didn’t seem harmful; in fact it didn’t seem anything out of the ordinary. His left arm was covered in fur that looked like it had leapt from a roll of celluloid, and his hand had only four fingers, but for the life of him Virmir couldn’t find anything actually wrong with how the whole arrangement felt. Acting on the idea that the phenomena might not be localized on him, he returned to the living room and powered up his tablet to check the news websites. There was no mention of furry limbs, cartoons, or comics in the headlines—just the standard political fare and something about one of the site’s reporters getting married. So that meant this was either being covered-up very well or Virmir was the only person being affected. He looked down at his hand and wiggled his fingers—cool.

Having one less finger on his hand didn’t interfere much with the rest of his daily routine. Virmir checked his forums and art sites, returned his emails, and returned a few calls he had received from a clothing supplier who wanted to put his characters on a T-shirt. So, all in all, spontaneously gaining a cartoon arm was actually a fairly boring event—though there was something surprisingly fun about talking on the phone to someone who had no clue they were speaking to someone with a cartoon limb. It wasn’t until he began work on the next page of his comic that this began to change. Virmir took up his stylus and started sketching out the fight scene between the Flags and the Tails. His progress was good, but he had to stop periodically due to a tickle that kept striking and fading from his left hand. Even though he didn’t use it to write, the sensation from his furry hand was strong enough to make him halt everything and itch furiously until it went away. After several hours of alternation between drawing and itching, Virmir had finally managed to finish the page. As he uploaded it to his website, the tickle struck again—this time on his left shoulder and foot. Grumbling, Virmir scratched at the affected areas and starting thinking of ways to go buy some lotion without showing his hand, but stopped when the tickle was suddenly smothered by the feeling of fur.

Craning his neck, Virmir saw that the fur on his arm had spread past his shoulder and was spilling over onto his chest, where it turned white as it neared the centre of his torso. Pulling his left leg into his lap to get a look, Virmir was not very surprised to find that his foot was now covered in fur and had lengthened into proportions matching a digitigrades stance. Running a hand along the sole of his new paw, a ticklish wave made him twitch as his fingers brushed against leathery (and sensitive!) pads. Virmir slumped back in his seat, blinking as the facts fell into place before him. He was changing, transforming into a cartoon fox (well, he didn’t know he was becoming a fox, but it was a pretty safe bet) and the cause was apparently the completion of pages for his webcomic. If he kept drawing, then there was no reason to think they would stop. The inked fur would just spread and cover him completely until he was turned completely into his fox character. Virmir grinned—this was going to be so cool!

The clock ticked on as he drew. There was no consideration, no planning to his work, Virmir just let his ideas pour out. Every character he had even thought of, every place he had ever imagined, and every scene he had ever daydreamt was all brought forth from his stylus. Colours flowed across the tablet screen as each image was finished, and as the hours marched on the full extent of Virmir’s fantastic world was laid bare. Tired and drained from the unknown time spent, too filled with exhaustion to carry on, Virmir keeled over onto his desk, tail hanging wearily from his char as sleep overcame him.

Upon waking up, Virmir opened his eyes groggily before shutting them again, eager to get a few more z’s. Then he remembered that he had just spent the previous day drawing in order to turn into a cartoon fox. That snapped him to attention immediately. Sitting up and looking around, Virmir was immediately aware that his desk didn’t used to be chin-high. Then he remembered that his cartoons were rarely over four feet tall. He slid off his chair onto digitigrades paws and looked down at himself. Bright gray celluloid fur covered him completely, with white around his hands, middle of his chest, and paws. Virmir didn’t even need a mirror to know what his face looked like—he ran his hands over the foxy muzzle, black nose, and peaked ears twitching happily that he knew were a spitting image of his drawings. He reached behind himself and pulled around the tail he knew was there. Virmir giggled a bit as he stroked its thick fur, then grinned widely and hugged the fluffy tail. It had happened! He didn’t know how and he didn’t really care, but it had happened! Virmir was toonified and foxified, everything he had ever dreamt and imagined!

Giddy and excited, Virmir looked eagerly around his apartment, his mind racing to think of what he could do. Maybe he’d take some pictures and post them, or set up a webcam! Or order a pizza and see the delivery boy’s reaction! Oh and he just had to tell the folks on his chatroom—they were never going to believe this! A happy yip filled the room as Virmir grabbed his tablet and hopped onto the couch, tailwagging eagerly as he booted it up from sleep mode. What he saw when his desktop came on, however, drained the new fox’s enthusiasm.

It was his drawings. Everything he had made yesterday was still loaded. Vibrant scenes and colourful characters covered the screen. As Virmir looked over and closed each image, pangs began to form inside him. This was everything he had ever done and dreamt of, everything he had fantasized and wished could be real. It wasn’t just about him, it was about a world of possibility and fun—a world where the rules meant that every day could be an adventure! Virmir thought back to the dream that had started all of this. He remembered seeing the panels burst into life and form the world he loved. What was created in that dream felt as real to him then as his cartoon body did now. He wasn’t finished, Virmir realized, there was still one more thing to draw.

A very strange sight greeted webcomic fans when they opened Virmir’s website the next day. Instead of the aftermath of the most recent story arc, they were met with the picture of large, ornate door. There was no explanation from the artist, no rationale provided. Things became stranger over the following weeks. Though new comics were posted, they had nothing to do with the story that had been told so far. They were set in the same world, sure, but followed the adventures of a new character: a fox by the name of Kendo Virmir. Fans were stumped; some speculated that the artist was just blowing off steam with a few self-insertion stories, but as the months passed it became very apparent that it wasn’t just a passing fancy. The strips were uploaded more frequently—sometimes as many as five a day during the most thrilling adventures! People tried to contact the artist, whether to complain about his style or to offer him an award and praise, but no one was ever able to find him. Eventually, his phone was disconnected and his email shut down, but somehow the website stayed active. As time passed, everyone just assumed that the artist had moved to some isolated cottage to focus his time on drawing—how else could he create such fantastic stories so quickly?

As Virmir’s adventures became more well-known, people became inspired to draw their own works inside the wonderful world they read about. Characters were named, stories were told, and soon some very strange photos began circling the forums—images critics said had to be altered, they were too impossible otherwise.
[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Jonas]] [[Category:Anthropomorphic]] [[Category:Fox]] [[Category:Toon]]

User:Jonas

2011-01-10T00:43:03Z

Jonas:

{{DEFAULTSORT: Jonas}} {{author page}}
For those who are/were familiar with Lloyd Brunnel, this is him. When I first created my shifti account I was still new to the furry scene and therfore used my generic online name. Now that I've developed a fursona though, I've decided that its time to re-organize all of my furry/transformation writings under his name.

==About Me==
I'm in second year university, living on residence. I like sleeping in, warm blankets, and stories that leave you feeling nice and fuzzy at the end. I've recently gotten into reading Agatha Christie's works, and heartily reccomend The Murder of Roger Ackroyd to anyone who has no read it. I'm Canadian, and proud of it, and I love maple fudge in all its tasty, tasty forms. In my spare time, I like to play World of Warcraft or hang out at the Crimson Flag chatroom and forum. Once a week I go out to a card store and play Yugioh or the Warcraft Trading Card Game, and I think I'm fairly good at both. My current goal is to get a job and earn enough money to buy a new laptop, since my current one is sad and gets beat up by morning breezes.

Here's a link to [[Lloyd's Favorites|some of my favorite stories on Shifti.]]

==Notes On My Writing==

I recycle names in most of my stories, so don't be suprised to find the same ones poping up as I add more stuff to Shifti. I also procrastinate ''alot'' when writing and have trouble committing to a single story idea, which dramatically inflates the time it takes me to write. Oh, and I tend to mention food more often than would be normal since I usually write while hungry for some reason.

==Shameless Self-Promotion==

[[Lost World]]: Set in the Blind Pig universe for pure laziness reasons (I don't like explaining things) this is a furry => human TF. My thanks to Cubist both for editing, and for publishing it on his anthrozine site.

[[Bureaucracy in Action]]: When a fun-loving force meets a literal-minded object.

[[Convoluted Quality]]: There is something known as the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, a competition to write the worst opening sentence to the worst possible novel. Out of boredom, I made an attempt to write the worst opening sentence to the worst possible TF story. If you think you can do worse, please add to the page.

[[The Fool in the Fox]]: My first foray into the [[Pig and Whistle]] setting introduces [[PAW Timelines/Character Timeline|Jonas]], a fox about to make a very entertaining delivery.

[[The Runaway in the Raccoon]]: This story introduces Daniel, a character of my friend Kiba, to the Pig and Whistle world.

[[The Strength in the Shark]]: This is a follow-up to Zach's Within and Without story (see below). I mainly use this to create a friendship between our two characters and to explore a bit on some of the beliefs people might have regarding fullmorphs.

[[Unexpected Consequences]]: Extremely short story meant to highlight one of the unexpected downsides to being a teefer...

[[King's Pride]]: This idea has actually been bouncing around my head for almost four years. When it came time to write though, I had a surprisingly large amount of difficulty. Takes place in the PAW setting.

[[Case Briefing: Leon v. Stewart]]: The main problem with handling teefers came from how to define them in a legal system designed for humans. This case and the subsequent ruling provided the landmark precedent that shaped the NAR's courts.

[[Daniel's Christmas Story]]: Written for Kiba as a Christmas present, this story takes place in the PAW universe. It is, however, non-canon due to the mechanics involved.

[[Hunting]]: Ever wonder why Jonas doesn't act more...foxish? It's because he does stuff like this.

[[Meeting]]: Written on the spur of an idea following Hunting.

[[Interview in the Fields]]: Since I lack the stamina to write a full story about the Leon/Stewart lawsuit, I'm going to cheat and instead write about Leon being interviewed about the case twenty years later.

[[I Regret Nothing!]]: I really don't!

[[PAW Musings]]: Not so much a story as a general list/rant of my various thoughts or questions about the Pig and Whistle setting. Respond to them if you want but this mainly exists so I can get the questions off my chest.
==Written For Others==
These are stories that I have either written at another's request, or done as part of a comission.

[[Comic Genesis]]: Written as a request from Virmir. In it, he finds the true extent of his artistic abilities. This story contains what is possible my favourite line out of anything I have written so far.

[[Jingle Bells]]: Written for Posti as part of the 2009 Christmas Story Exchange. See if you can spot the reference!

[[Muhmorpaguh]]: Written for Kris Schnee as part of the 2010 Christmas Story Exchange. Please insert the obligatory "video games are addictive" joke here =>

[[Refreshment]]: Written as part of a trade with Kenku. I'm not sure if it counts as a setting, but William's Soda Shoppe is a recurrent element in many of Kenku's stories. All in all, this is a pure TF fluff piece, but we've all got a soft spot for those somewhere, right?

[[Research]]: Written as a comission for someone named Modmyths. This details a researcher's attempt to study a centaur herd. This was my first time writing about centaurs, which I'm still unsure about.

[[Testing Tastes]]: One day on Crimson Flag chat, Traxer and I were talking about writing ideas. The conversation turned to fursuits and we both mentioned how it's very hard to find a fursuit TF story, let alone one with a positive tone or ending. We each decided to try and write such a story. This is the one I wrote, and Traxer's is posted below. This piece uses the William's Soda Shoppe "setting".

[[The Potion Maker's Result]]: Written for Kenku on the Crimson Flag forum. This story is meant to accompany a picture drawn by Virmir (http://www.furaffinity.net/view/4098942/). It is, like most things that come out of the Flag, utterly silly.
==Stuff by Others==
I did not write anything in this section. In here are stories written by others that I have recieved permission to repost here. Enjoy!

[[In the Cards]]: Posti wrote this for me as part of the 2009 Christmas Story Exchange. While my taste in card games have changed since then, itis still a very nice piece. This was posted on Shifti back before the server failed.

[[Mind Over Matter]]: Arto "FoxOfWar" Mässeli wrote this as part of the Xmas Xchange a while back. He thinks it's good, but his brain seems to disagree. The title is not the one used in the original story, because I can't find out what the original title was.

[[Nothing Otter]]: A story by Traxer. While not my favourite of his works, it is a perfectly fun and quirky tail involving two roommates and a great love for fish. Mmm...fish.

[[Nothing Up My Sleeve]]: Written by Traxer as mentioned in the above section. While my Testing Tastes is nothing but a fluff piece, this story is an awesome little tale that catapulted Trax from a fellow writer to one of my idols.

[[Within and Without]]: My friend Zach Fox has written this PAW story featuring the setting's first shark morph. I think it's good, but I helped edit it so I'm obviously biased. Read it!
==Comissions==
I like money, and I like other people thinking of things for me to write about. If you're interested in comissioning a story from me, please send me an email at jonasbelford@live.ca. I operate on a pay-what-you-like format, but payment is required before I begin writing.
==Random Thought==

Wheee!

Comic Genesis

2011-01-10T00:39:47Z

Jonas: Reposted

Virmir grinned to himself as he finished the final touches on his latest comic. Setting the stylus down, he leaned back and stretched, an audible crack filling the otherwise silent room as kinks were worked out of his muscles. It had been a long project, the penultimate moment of battle between the Crimson Flags and the Black Tails, but it was well worth it. Getting up to get a glass of water, Virmir returned to the desk and looked over the image, checking to see if he missed anything. He sipped his water as his eyes swept over the brave fighters; the gray foxes of the Crimson Flag that were beginning their final charge and the fennecs of the Black Tail that stood before their assault. It had been a bit of a challenge to show how the Tails were defending themselves while still making them seem confident, but Virmir felt that he had managed to convey the feeling pretty well. The same went for the Flags; it was actually harder to draw their burnt fur than it was to give that determined-yet-injured glint in their eyes.

Unable to find a flaw in the latest page, Virmir grinned again as he uploaded it to his website. Glancing to the clock in the bottom right of his tablet’s screen, he was surprised to find it was just two minutes before his midnight deadline! He chuckled to himself and took another sip of water. It looked like he had finished in the nick of time—he’d never missed an update and he was glad to know that he wasn’t about to start anytime soon. Apart from his own pride to worry about, Virmir’s comic had seen its popularity skyrocket in the recent months. If he didn’t keep the updates regular, there were going to be some very unhappy fans to deal with.
Virmir yawned and turned off his computer, eager to get some rest. Before he went to bed though, he made a note reminding him to check on the server in the morning, if the traffic continued to increase then it would need some upgrading. Heh, being an internet celebrity was hard work. Not that it bothered him much.

Truth be told, though, Virmir wasn’t making the comic for the fame. Heck, he didn’t even intend to make much money off of it, but once his work started getting more popular the cash just flowed in. Virmir wasn’t rich by any measure of the word, but revenues from his comic and relevant merchandise gave enough to pay the bills and get food, which was really all he needed. He didn’t leave the apartment except to do errands, and he didn’t own a car. In fact the only possession he had that was of any real value was his tablet computer where he made all his art. In a way, the artist was a lot like the cartoons he loved to draw: aloof and carefree, living in a different world from the one outside his window.

That was probably what had helped the comic become so popular, really, Virmir thought to himself as he lay in bed. Virmir’s fans always commented on how the characters seemed so real in their expressions and how vivid the world was. In truth, both things were simple by-products of his imagination. For as long as he could remember, Virmir had been a major daydreamer. He’d get his work done and bills paid, and then he’d be off imagining fantastic worlds where ships flew through the air and mages unearthed magical secrets. It didn’t take long for these ideas to find their way to be realized, and soon he was doodling away, creating a portfolio of the cartoon foxes that populated this world of adventure.

He was asked about that a lot in the beginning, come to think of it. Virmir had gotten quite few people inquiring about why he always drew foxes. A few people even commented on how his use of species was some political point, going into long analysis of historic connotations and cultural associations. The truth was a lot less interesting than that, though. Virmir drew his cartoons as anthropomorphic foxes because he wanted to—it was as simple as that. It was more fun and more interesting to have his characters as a menagerie of fluffy anthros than as a bunch of humans, and there wasn’t much else to it. Honestly, Virmir never saw what was so special about being human anyway. All it meant was that he belonged to the species Homo sapiens sapiens after all.

Personally, Virmir always felt he had more in common with the foxes he drew than the humans he lived beside. He was drawn more to the grays and the way they could look down on the world, being one of the few candid species that could climb trees. Gray foxes were lovers of routine, able to subsist and survive by taking only what they needed with small, manageable game, and this was an outlook Virmir enjoyed far more than the constant rush to success human society presented. He saw it as more fun to be a fox, more interesting to be a cartoon in a world of adventure, and these feelings were what made his comic so good. He could draw such real expressions because he imagined himself as his characters, and the world of his comic was so detailed because it was the same world he daydreamed about any chance he got. It was these dreams of fun and adventure that Virmir gave to his comic. They energized the panels as he drew them, giving them a style and soul that his readers could never describe but knew they loved. Virmir gave his feelings into the comic, and eventually it began to give back.

He had a strange dream that night. Virmir dreamt that he was standing in a large sea of blackness with a giant version of his comic towering over him. As he gazed upwards he saw each panel stacked on top of one another, rising beyond his sight. All of a sudden a panel began to fall. Then another. And another. As each piece of the comic hit the ground it burst into existence, filling the black with clear skies, verdant fields, and running streams. More panels fell, bursting into the cities and towns of his fantasy kingdom. Smaller parts of the comic showered over the newly formed houses, and soon there was an entire population of cartoon foxes watering flowers, pushing carts, and hocking produce at their stalls. It was just as Virmir had imagined it, every detail down to the last blade of grass. He had dreamt of his comic world before, obviously, but never in such realistic form. Too distracted by the fascination of his work coming to life, it wasn’t until the shadow beneath him started to grow that Virmir looked up to find the final panel of the comic falling right on top of him.

Virmir woke with a start. He breathed heavily as he looked up to see only the ceiling. No comic, no brilliant skies, just plain plaster and a few stains from water damage. He rolled over and glanced at the clock—it was only six in the morning. Funny, it seemed like it should have been later, Virmir thought idly. Any other day he’d be royally tired and fall back to sleep, but for some reason he felt wide awake. Oh well, no reason not to get up then. Maybe he’d get an early start on the next comic, or hang out in his chatroom with some of the other early-risers. Virmir stretched and rubbed his eyes, then froze as something furry brushed against his face.
He reached over to his nightstand and turned on a lamp, praying that he hadn’t just rubbed a mouse on his eye. The good news was that it was not a mouse. The bad (?) news is that the furry object was apparently his left hand. Actually, it was pretty much his entire left arm too. Starting just before the elbow was a patch of bright gray fur that covered his arm until it turned white at his hand. Virmir’s mind—which had stalled upon seeing the fur—slowly began to work again, but all he could think about was how very familiar his hand looked.

Getting out of bed, he went to his desk in the living room and opened one of its drawers. Taking out the sheaf of papers that composed his drawing references, Virmir looked through them (more slowly than he would have liked, since he wasn’t fully sure it was safe to touch anything with his left hand) until he found what he was looking for. It was the sheet filled with hand and paw designs that he used when first designing his characters. Scanning the page, he mildly noted how ridiculous some of his early drafts had looked before his eyes stopped on the sketch he was looking for. Circled in red with an arrow pointed to it, the final hand design Virmir had settled on was a dead match for the limb he had woken up with. Everything from where the fur colours changed to the slight rectangular shape of the three fingers and thumb was exactly as he had drawn it.

There was a chance he was dreaming, Virmir thought, which was probably why he decided to have breakfast before doing anything else. Opening the pantry with his furred arm and finding that contact between real objects and his cartoon appendage didn’t make the world explode, he decided on some cereal to eat. After getting some milk and sitting down at the table, Virmir idly considered his hand between bites of puffed wheat. It didn’t seem harmful; in fact it didn’t seem anything out of the ordinary. His left arm was covered in fur that looked like it had leapt from a roll of celluloid, and his hand had only four fingers, but for the life of him Virmir couldn’t find anything actually wrong with how the whole arrangement felt. Acting on the idea that the phenomena might not be localized on him, he returned to the living room and powered up his tablet to check the news websites. There was no mention of furry limbs, cartoons, or comics in the headlines—just the standard political fare and something about one of the site’s reporters getting married. So that meant this was either being covered-up very well or Virmir was the only person being affected. He looked down at his hand and wiggled his fingers—cool.

Having one less finger on his hand didn’t interfere much with the rest of his daily routine. Virmir checked his forums and art sites, returned his emails, and returned a few calls he had received from a clothing supplier who wanted to put his characters on a T-shirt. So, all in all, spontaneously gaining a cartoon arm was actually a fairly boring event—though there was something surprisingly fun about talking on the phone to someone who had no clue they were speaking to someone with a cartoon limb. It wasn’t until he began work on the next page of his comic that this began to change. Virmir took up his stylus and started sketching out the fight scene between the Flags and the Tails. His progress was good, but he had to stop periodically due to a tickle that kept striking and fading from his left hand. Even though he didn’t use it to write, the sensation from his furry hand was strong enough to make him halt everything and itch furiously until it went away. After several hours of alternation between drawing and itching, Virmir had finally managed to finish the page. As he uploaded it to his website, the tickle struck again—this time on his left shoulder and foot. Grumbling, Virmir scratched at the affected areas and starting thinking of ways to go buy some lotion without showing his hand, but stopped when the tickle was suddenly smothered by the feeling of fur.

Craning his neck, Virmir saw that the fur on his arm had spread past his shoulder and was spilling over onto his chest, where it turned white as it neared the centre of his torso. Pulling his left leg into his lap to get a look, Virmir was not very surprised to find that his foot was now covered in fur and had lengthened into proportions matching a digitigrades stance. Running a hand along the sole of his new paw, a ticklish wave made him twitch as his fingers brushed against leathery (and sensitive!) pads. Virmir slumped back in his seat, blinking as the facts fell into place before him. He was changing, transforming into a cartoon fox (well, he didn’t know he was becoming a fox, but it was a pretty safe bet) and the cause was apparently the completion of pages for his webcomic. If he kept drawing, then there was no reason to think they would stop. The inked fur would just spread and cover him completely until he was turned completely into his fox character. Virmir grinned—this was going to be so cool!

The clock ticked on as he drew. There was no consideration, no planning to his work, Virmir just let his ideas pour out. Every character he had even thought of, every place he had ever imagined, and every scene he had ever daydreamt was all brought forth from his stylus. Colours flowed across the tablet screen as each image was finished, and as the hours marched on the full extent of Virmir’s fantastic world was laid bare. Tired and drained from the unknown time spent, too filled with exhaustion to carry on, Virmir keeled over onto his desk, tail hanging wearily from his char as sleep overcame him.

Upon waking up, Virmir opened his eyes groggily before shutting them again, eager to get a few more z’s. Then he remembered that he had just spent the previous day drawing in order to turn into a cartoon fox. That snapped him to attention immediately. Sitting up and looking around, Virmir was immediately aware that his desk didn’t used to be chin-high. Then he remembered that his cartoons were rarely over four feet tall. He slid off his chair onto digitigrades paws and looked down at himself. Bright gray celluloid fur covered him completely, with white around his hands, middle of his chest, and paws. Virmir didn’t even need a mirror to know what his face looked like—he ran his hands over the foxy muzzle, black nose, and peaked ears twitching happily that he knew were a spitting image of his drawings. He reached behind himself and pulled around the tail he knew was there. Virmir giggled a bit as he stroked its thick fur, then grinned widely and hugged the fluffy tail. It had happened! He didn’t know how and he didn’t really care, but it had happened! Virmir was toonified and foxified, everything he had ever dreamt and imagined!

Giddy and excited, Virmir looked eagerly around his apartment, his mind racing to think of what he could do. Maybe he’d take some pictures and post them, or set up a webcam! Or order a pizza and see the delivery boy’s reaction! Oh and he just had to tell the folks on his chatroom—they were never going to believe this! A happy yip filled the room as Virmir grabbed his tablet and hopped onto the couch, tailwagging eagerly as he booted it up from sleep mode. What he saw when his desktop came on, however, drained the new fox’s enthusiasm.

It was his drawings. Everything he had made yesterday was still loaded. Vibrant scenes and colourful characters covered the screen. As Virmir looked over and closed each image, pangs began to form inside him. This was everything he had ever done and dreamt of, everything he had fantasized and wished could be real. It wasn’t just about him, it was about a world of possibility and fun—a world where the rules meant that every day could be an adventure! Virmir thought back to the dream that had started all of this. He remembered seeing the panels burst into life and form the world he loved. What was created in that dream felt as real to him then as his cartoon body did now. He wasn’t finished, Virmir realized, there was still one more thing to draw.

A very strange sight greeted webcomic fans when they opened Virmir’s website the next day. Instead of the aftermath of the most recent story arc, they were met with the picture of large, ornate door. There was no explanation from the artist, no rationale provided. Things became stranger over the following weeks. Though new comics were posted, they had nothing to do with the story that had been told so far. They were set in the same world, sure, but followed the adventures of a new character: a fox by the name of Kendo Virmir. Fans were stumped; some speculated that the artist was just blowing off steam with a few self-insertion stories, but as the months passed it became very apparent that it wasn’t just a passing fancy. The strips were uploaded more frequently—sometimes as many as five a day during the most thrilling adventures! People tried to contact the artist, whether to complain about his style or to offer him an award and praise, but no one was ever able to find him. Eventually, his phone was disconnected and his email shut down, but somehow the website stayed active. As time passed, everyone just assumed that the artist had moved to some isolated cottage to focus his time on drawing—how else could he create such fantastic stories so quickly?

As Virmir’s adventures became more well-known, people became inspired to draw their own works inside the wonderful world they read about. Characters were named, stories were told, and soon some very strange photos began circling the forums—images critics said had to be altered, they were too impossible otherwise.
[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Jonas]] [[Category:Anthropomorphic]] [[Category:Fox]] [[Category:Toon]]

I Regret Nothing!

2011-01-10T00:34:49Z

Jonas: Can't remember if this is a repost or a new story. Either way, I regret nothing!

He hadn’t kept the count. Too distracted by work, by his family visiting, by that hot new waitress at the cafe, he hadn’t remembered to track the cycle. By the time he realized what night it was it was almost too late—the clouds had parted and revealed the full moon just as he was ordering another round of drinks for his friends at the bar. Raising his glass in drunken revelry, his enthusiasm turned to terror as he saw the shaft of moonlight pierce through the window.

Glass shattered as he dropped his cup, dashing madly out the door and leaving behind bewildered friends and an unpaid bill. What was supposed to be an orderly, monthly affair had now become a frantic rush through the streets, desperately looking for a safe place. Not safe for him, though—safe for everyone else. Too much damage could be caused when he changed. He looked around, sweat dripping as he saw the innocents wandering about, unaware of the imminent danger they faced. None of them knew how close they were to being the next victims; the next crushed and broken bodies to be found in the morning—the next bloodstains on the walls. A convulsion wracked his spine and he doubled over in pain, eyes shut tight in a vain attempt to halt the changes already occurring within his skin.

There was only one place close enough, only one place where there was even a chance at avoiding more death. Half-running, half-staggering, he forced himself to stay human as he made his way to the construction site. It was empty-thank heavens, only machinery and girders. What surge of relief he might have felt was quickly subsumed by agony as the transformation escaped his restraint. Buckling over, he felt his innards squirm and shift. His skin darkened and his frame expanded. A rush of force smashed the girders and knocked a bulldozer into the street as the formerly diminutive man became over twice the size of an elephant within mere fractions of a second. An unearthly rumble rocked the earth as his form settled. Easing into the ground, what remained of the man’s mind shrunk into the singular existence of his new body. The same body he returned to every full moon—the body that would forever mark him, as a werehouse.

[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Jonas]] [[Category:Comedy]]

The Strength in the Shark

2011-01-10T00:32:38Z

Jonas:

{{Universe|Pig and Whistle}}{{byline|Jonas}} {{Critique requested}}
{{author note|This story follows one of the events of [[Within and Without]]. I advise you read it before this piece in order to understand the context.}}
It was an idyllic summer day; the sun was shining, the breeze was light, and the sky was cloudless. I should have been out enjoying the wonderful afternoon, but instead I was inside the Pig and Whistle sitting on a cushion and nursing a grape soda while trying to salvage some shred of self-esteem.

Last night I had run into a giant shark morph, gotten scared, and ran away. The reaction was understandable—I was a fox slightly larger than a housecat, and he was, quite simply, HUGE—almost a foot taller than Scott—but I still felt ashamed when I thought about it. I don’t usually lose control over my instincts like that, but I guess last night I just… slipped up.

“Hey there little guy.” Came a voice, interrupting my self-deprecation. I turned my head and was startled to see the shark morph I had been pounding myself over crouching nearby. Once again I felt the urge to flee but this time I managed to keep myself still.

“It’s alright—I won’t hurt you.” The shark continued, in what I imagined to be the closest thing his resonating voice could get to a soothing tone. I continued to stare and he held out a webbed hand—a gesture I recognized as a way to show animals you don’t mean them harm. Great; first he scares me into my instincts and now he thinks I’m a wild animal. This guy was not good for my self-esteem.

I wanted very much to ignore him, but I had no idea how he would react; and it would be unwise to make conflict with someone eight times my size. Playing along, I approached and gave his hand a curious sniff. No surprise—it smelled like salty fish.

“There we go!” The shark said happily when it became apparent I wasn’t about to run away. “I’m Jimbari by the way, and you’re—” his eyes flicked to my collar, “Jonas, right?”

I nodded absently and he scratched me behind the ear, smiling as I gave a pleased (involuntary) growl. All I had to do was go along with it and he’d probably go away…

“See? I’m not such a bad guy after all—nothing to be scared of.” Jimbari continued. “And I’m sorry if I frightened you the other day.”

I gave another growl of acknowledgement and he grinned even wider—I averted my eyes away from his razor-sharp teeth.

“Thanks man.” He said with a chuckle, “And here—” he added, taking something out of his pocket. “Consider it a peace offering.”

I stared at his outstretched hand. Smack dab in the middle of his palm was a small, bone-shaped, pet treat.

“I. Am. Not. A. Dog!” I barked, my indignation turning into anger.

Jimbari pulled back in surprise. “Ack!—you can talk?”

“Yes!” I snapped.

“I didn’t think—that is I didn’t… know and—I mean,” He spluttered, blushing a dark grey, “why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“Because I thought playing along would make you go away.”

“I just—” Jimbari began, but I cut him off.

“You just what? Thought that since I looked like an animal I didn’t have a mind?” I shouted, my anger rising. “It’s bad enough that I lost control over my instincts but I do '''NOT''' need someone like you making it worse by patronizing me like a common house pet!”

I fell silent; continuing to berate him would just increase the risk of losing my voice. Besides, we were starting to attract stares.

Jimbari hung his head, thoroughly embarrassed. An awkward silence passed.

“I’m sorry.” He said at last. “I’ve never really met a fullmorph before and people say they got all the instincts and I dunno… I just sort of didn’t think it through.”

“No, you certainly didn’t.” I replied coolly.

“I guess I was just so focused on what you thought of me that I didn’t think about what I thought of you.”

I looked at him quizzically. “What I… thought of you?”

He nodded dejectedly. “Strangers get scared when they see me—can’t blame them I guess, looking how I do, but it sucks. You’re the tenth person I’ve freaked out this week and I just couldn’t handle someone else thinking I’m a monster.”

I sighed, it was getting harder and harder to stay mad at this guy. “It’s alright; I guess we both messed up.”

Jimbari looked up at me. “Really?”

“Really. I get a little… sensitive about my instincts sometimes. I shouldn’t have blamed you for my loss of self-control.”

He gave another smile—this time one of relief. “Thanks man. And I am sorry for treating you like an animal.”

I nodded. “And I’m sorry for venting at you. Just… be more careful in the future, ok?”

The shark got to his feet. “Definitely. I’ll see you around I guess?”

“Sure.”

Jimbari gave a small wave goodbye and headed for the door. I went back to my pillow and soda. He seemed nice enough, I guess, and I felt a bit embarrassed for yelling at him.

[[Category:Pig and Whistle|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Jonas|Strength in the Shark, The]] {{fiction}} [[Category:Story|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Fox|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Animal|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Aquatic|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Anthropomorphic|Strength in the Shark, The]]

Meeting

2011-01-10T00:32:10Z

Jonas: Reposted

{{Universe|Pig and Whistle}}{{byline|Jonas}}
A man enters a forest clearing and sits down on a fallen log. Quietly he sits; five minutes pass, then ten, then twenty, but he continues to patiently wait at this spot. In time, he turns in the direction of a rustling bush, and sees a wolf emerge into the clearing. The man is not afraid. For a moment, the two do nothing but regard each other before the man places a small package on the ground. The wolf slowly approaches and cautiously inspects the item. After taking in its scent, the wolf looks up at the man, and he sees confusion reflected in its eyes—a flicker of a long forgotten memory. It lasts but an instant before the wolf takes the package in its jaws and makes its way back into the woods. Only after its image fades into the trees does the man rise from the log and make his way out of the forest.

“Happy Birthday, son.”

[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Wolf]] [[Category:Animal]] [[Category:Pig and Whistle]] [[Category:Jonas]]

The Strength in the Shark

2011-01-10T00:30:32Z

Jonas: recategorized...

{{Universe|Pig and Whistle}}{{byline|Jonas}} {{Critique requested}}
{{author note|This story follows one of the events of [[Within and Without]]. I advise you read it before this piece in order to understand the context.}}
It was an idyllic summer day; the sun was shining, the breeze was light, and the sky was cloudless. I should have been out enjoying the wonderful afternoon, but instead I was inside the Pig and Whistle sitting on a cushion and nursing a grape soda while trying to salvage some shred of self-esteem.

Last night I had run into a giant shark morph, gotten scared, and ran away. The reaction was understandable—I was a fox slightly larger than a housecat, and he was, quite simply, HUGE—almost a foot taller than Scott—but I still felt ashamed when I thought about it. I don’t usually lose control over my instincts like that, but I guess last night I just… slipped up.

“Hey there little guy.” Came a voice, interrupting my self-deprecation. I turned my head and was startled to see the shark morph I had been pounding myself over crouching nearby. Once again I felt the urge to flee but this time I managed to keep myself still.

“It’s alright—I won’t hurt you.” The shark continued, in what I imagined to be the closest thing his resonating voice could get to a soothing tone. I continued to stare and he held out a webbed hand—a gesture I recognized as a way to show animals you don’t mean them harm. Great; first he scares me into my instincts and now he thinks I’m a wild animal. This guy was not good for my self-esteem.

I wanted very much to ignore him, but I had no idea how he would react; and it would be unwise to make conflict with someone eight times my size. Playing along, I approached and gave his hand a curious sniff. No surprise—it smelled like salty fish.

“There we go!” The shark said happily when it became apparent I wasn’t about to run away. “I’m Jimbari by the way, and you’re—” his eyes flicked to my collar, “Jonas, right?”

I nodded absently and he scratched me behind the ear, smiling as I gave a pleased (involuntary) growl. All I had to do was go along with it and he’d probably go away…

“See? I’m not such a bad guy after all—nothing to be scared of.” Jimbari continued. “And I’m sorry if I frightened you the other day.”

I gave another growl of acknowledgement and he grinned even wider—I averted my eyes away from his razor-sharp teeth.

“Thanks man.” He said with a chuckle, “And here—” he added, taking something out of his pocket. “Consider it a peace offering.”

I stared at his outstretched hand. Smack dab in the middle of his palm was a small, bone-shaped, pet treat.

“I. Am. Not. A. Dog!” I barked, my indignation turning into anger.

Jimbari pulled back in surprise. “Ack!—you can talk?”

“Yes!” I snapped.

“I didn’t think—that is I didn’t… know and—I mean,” He spluttered, blushing a dark grey, “why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“Because I thought playing along would make you go away.”

“I just—” Jimbari began, but I cut him off.

“You just what? Thought that since I looked like an animal I didn’t have a mind?” I shouted, my anger rising. “It’s bad enough that I lost control over my instincts but I do '''NOT''' need someone like you making it worse by patronizing me like a common house pet!”

I fell silent; continuing to berate him would just increase the risk of losing my voice. Besides, we were starting to attract stares.

Jimbari hung his head, thoroughly embarrassed. An awkward silence passed.

“I’m sorry.” He said at last. “I’ve never really met a fullmorph before and people say they got all the instincts and I dunno… I just sort of didn’t think it through.”

“No, you certainly didn’t.” I replied coolly.

“I guess I was just so focused on what you thought of me that I didn’t think about what I thought of you.”

I looked at him quizzically. “What I… thought of you?”

He nodded {{add|dejectedly}}. “Strangers get scared when they see me—can’t blame them I guess, looking how I do, but it sucks. You’re the tenth person I’ve freaked out this week and I just couldn’t handle someone else thinking I’m a monster.”

I sighed, it was getting harder and harder to stay mad at this guy. “It’s alright; I guess we both messed up.”

Jimbari looked up at me. “Really?”

“Really. I get a little… sensitive about my instincts sometimes. I shouldn’t have blamed you for my loss of self-control.”

He gave another smile—this time one of relief. “Thanks man. And I am sorry for treating you like an animal.”

I nodded. “And I’m sorry for venting at you. Just… be more careful in the future, ok?”

The shark got to his feet. “Definitely. I’ll see you around I guess?”

“Sure.”

Jimbari gave a small wave goodbye and headed for the door. I went back to my pillow and soda. He seemed nice enough, I guess, and I felt a bit embarrassed for yelling at him.

[[Category:Pig and Whistle|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Jonas|Strength in the Shark, The]] {{fiction}} [[Category:Story|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Fox|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Animal|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Aquatic|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Anthropomorphic|Strength in the Shark, The]]

Hunting

2011-01-10T00:29:51Z

Jonas: Reposted

{{Universe|Pig and Whistle}}{{byline|user=Jonas}}Jonas silently crept along the forest floor, his padded paws muffling any sound. The air was still, the fox’s scent uncarried by its breeze. After swivelling his ears to make sure he was alone, Jonas lowered his head to the ground and took a deep sniff. Dirt, leaves, and squirrels filled his nose—but the hunter blocked them out. Only one prey was important—only one scent mattered. Jonas followed the aromatic trail deeper into the trees, constantly flexing his ears to check for other predators after the same quarry. Within minutes he had found it: a rabbit sitting in the shade of a tree, oblivious to Jonas’s presence. Without making a sound he slipped through the brush and positioned himself behind the creature. Drawing on his most primal skills, Jonas leaped out of the bushes.

It never saw him coming.

Helplessly pinned beneath his paws, the rabbit was motionless as Jonas snapped its neck. The fox extended his claws and cracked open its torso before feasting upon its milky flesh. As the smooth chocolate met his tongue, Jonas revelled in the success of the hunt. Sometimes the instincts just need to be satisfied.
[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Pig and Whistle]] [[Category:Animal]] [[Category:Fox]] [[Category:Jonas]] [[Category:Comedy]] [[Category:Jonas]]

King's Pride

2011-01-10T00:28:26Z

Jonas:

{{Universe|Pig and Whistle}}{{byline|user=Jonas}} I kept my eyes fixed on the clock. Three minutes until half-past. They would be here soon. I looked around at the other patrons of the bar. They talked amongst themselves, laughed at each other’s jokes, snuck hand and pawfuls of each other’s snacks. I knew I would do my best to keep things quiet, but only if it went flawlessly would these people be left none the wiser—and it would not go flawlessly. There was too much feeling—too much anger and fear to let this go without causing a scene. I would have given anything to have this meeting somewhere else, but the Pig and Whistle was my only option. It was the only place I felt comfortable on my own, the only place where people looked at each other instead of me. I learned a long time ago not to blame people for their stares—tolerance only goes so far when you’re a tiger—but I still needed a place free from strangers’ eyes. My confidence was stretched far enough as it was.

My ears perked at the sound of the door opening and my eyes dropped from the clock to see two humans walk inside. It took all my strength to keep my tail steady and ears firm as I raised a paw and beckoned the man and woman over to my booth. I had worked too hard to let myself be cowed now.

They sat down wordlessly across from me and for a long time we said nothing. The sounds of the other patrons faded into the void as this booth became the world. I scanned their faces. Five years had aged them both a great deal. Vindictively I wondered if I was the cause. They watched me carefully, taking in my fur, my muzzle, my paws, and running it against their memories. I hoped that the difference was jarring.

Finally, the silence was broken. The woman set her hand on the table and asked, “It is you then, Trevor?”

I nodded slowly. “Yes, Mum, it’s me.” I recited from the mental script I prayed to have the good fortune to follow.

“We weren’t sure what to do when we got your call.” Dad said. “It’s been so long since you left that—well... we wondered if you would ever—“

“A month.” I interrupted. “I’ve only been out for a month.” Even trying my best to keep a level voice could not stop a quiver of anger from tainting my words.

“You... you certainly look better.”

“You last saw me starved and being carried off in the back of a truck. Anything would be better.”

They looked like I had slapped them. “We only did what we thought was best!” Mum pleaded. “It tore us up sending you to—“

I growled and she stopped talking. “It relieved you. It gave you your lives back. It stopped me from being such a burden.” My words were sharp and wounding. This wasn’t right—I had to keep calm. They needed to know this but I wasn’t saying it right.

“When they took me,” I began, “I was broken for a year. Then their ‘treatment’, to use their term, rendered me feral for two and a half. It’s been recently that I’ve managed to become something recognizable as a person.” My tail was shaking. It was all flooding back. Every emotion, every memory, every bit of hatred. “That’s what your ''best'' did.”

“We didn’t have a choi—“

I slammed a fist down on the table. “You made a choice!” yelled. “You chose what was best for you!” This was wrong—it was all wrong! The words were right but I couldn’t say them properly. Others in the bar had gone silent now. So many eyes were on us. “You’ve no idea what it was like! The last year all I could think about was you two sending me there! It’s taken me everything I have to work up to calling you, and now, I just have one thing to say.”

We were on our feet and out of the booth. I didn’t know when it happened. They stared at me, their eyes fixed with the same resolve that sent me away. I wouldn’t get another chance, I had to say it now—I had to say what was buried under so much anger and hate. In an instant I lunged forward. Several watchers made to stop me but it was too late. I wrapped my arms around my parents and pulled them close, burying my muzzle into them.

“...I’m sorry!”

I could feel them stiffen. Moments passed, and then I felt their hands in the fur on the back of my neck, hugging me as tight as I held them; unsaid memories and unspoken feelings passing between us. We parted minutes later. There was a great deal that needed to be discussed but now was not the time for it. I saw them to their car and returned to the bar to confront the unavoidable eyes
.
“You looked like you were going to maul them.” Gordy said when I sat down on a barstool.

I nodded tiredly. “Part of me wanted to, I think.” Although I spoke only to him, there were a number of ears turned towards us.

“Seems like you got mixed feelings about wherever it was they sent you. Mind if I ask where it was?”

I looked up at Gordy. He was a good person, and I was too drained to care about a reaction.“Hyde.”

Gordy froze. The listeners-in all took sharp breaths.

“Hyde...” Gordy mumbled, “that’s the hospital, isn’t it?”

“Hospital, sanatorium, institution,” I replied, running through the list of euphemisms. “The rumours are exaggerated but it is not a good place to end up.”

“So why did—“

I answered before he had finished. Part of me knew this day wouldn’t end without talking about it. “Because I needed it. When I changed, I closed up. Wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t see anyone, would barely eat. I was a scarred kitten curled up in a corner of my room. Mum and Dad...they tried everything to make me open up. They brought in doctors, psychiatrists, psychologists, even managed to track down a telepath and got him to try. I pushed them all away, too ashamed to even try. Something like that...it creates a taint. For two years my depression drained them emotionally and financially. Hyde was their only chance at getting both me and their lives back.”

I glanced over towards the door. “Today was supposed to be my chance to put that to rest, but I still have some...issues that got in the way.”

“I noticed.”

A chuckle. “It was...very cathartic, but very draining. Is it ok if I use the spare room tonight? I’m not sure I can get home still conscious.”

A nod signalled my leave. Many of the patrons were likely very confused by my scene, and I would have to endure strange glances for the next week, but it was well worth it. I raised a paw to my chest and felt a warmth there I thought had died in the Torch so many years ago.
[[Category:Pig and Whistle]] [[Category:Anthropomorphic]] [[Category:Jonas]] [[Category:Story]] [[Category:Tiger]] [[Category:Feline]] {{fiction}}

Daniel's Christmas Story

2011-01-10T00:27:42Z

Jonas: Reposted, wheee!

{{Universe|Pig and Whistle}}{{byline|user=Jonas}}
Daniel sighed as he sat at the bar of the Pig and Whistle. It was early morning on December 24th, and the raccoon fullmorph was the only one at the bar apart from Gordy and some mice teefers at the Small Critter Zone. He stared drearily out the window at the snowy landscape that Polyton had become, decked in colourful lights and festive decorations.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here so early.” Gordy said.

Daniel looked up at the bartender. “Wha? Oh... yea, just wanted to get away from the den for a bit and...think, I guess.”

“It’s your first Christmas with a fur coat, isn’t it?” Gordy asked. Daniel’s eyes widened in surprise.

“How’d you—”

“I’ve had this bar for a long time, kid. I’ve seen that look on your face a thousand times.” The minotaur answered warmly. “Why don’t you tell ol’ Gordy what the trouble is?”

Daniel sighed again. It couldn’t hurt, really, to get it all off his chest. Gordy was a good guy, always quiet and kind, he would keep whatever was said to himself.

“Like you said—it’s my first Christmas as a teefer. But it’s also my first Christmas away from home, my first Christmas without my family, my first Chris—well, you get the idea.” Daniel looked down at his raccoon paws. “I guess I’m just realizing everything I lost, y’know? My body, my voice,” he flicked the voder around his neck. It let out a hiss of static. “My home, everything.”

Gordy nodded sagely. “I hear ya. But all of us go through that at least once. Just got to find the parts of your life you can be happy with and build on them.”

“I know that.” Daniel replied with a feeble chitter. “I live with Jonas after all, and he’s adjusted pretty well. I dunno though... maybe it’s just the time of year, but I just wish I could turn the clock back before any of this,” he gestured to himself, “ever happened. Even if was just for a day.”

The raccoon felt a large hand pat him on the shoulder. He looked up to see Gordy smiling warmly at him.

“Listen, kid. It’s the holidays and you deserve to be smilin’. I’m gonna give you something that should cheer you up just fine.”
Gordy rummaged around beneath the counter and pulled out a small tin. He opened it and offered it to Daniel. “Go ahead, take one.”
Daniel peered inside. The tin was full of small gingerbread cookies of various shapes and sizes. His nose twitched at the sugary aroma wafting off of them. Daniel decided to take a gingerbread man with brown icing for hair.

“I thought you might pick that one.” Gordy said with another smile as he closed the tin and put it back under the counter. “Suits you. Now eat it up and I’m sure you’ll start feeling better.”

Daniel bit down on the gingerbread man, his raccoon teeth easily sinking through the soft cookie. It was, to put simply, exquisite. The flavour was simple, yet elegant in the way it danced across his tongue. A warm glow filled him as he swallowed, lifting the teefer’s weary spirit.

“Thanks, Gordy. That really did help.”

The bartender didn’t reply. He just nodded and began to take out some decorations for the Christmas party that would be happening later that day. Daniel finished his cookie and hopped down from the bar stool. Now feeling better, he decided to head back to the den and see what Jonas was up to. Christmas was a time to spend with friends, after all. As he waddled the way back home, the warm glow Daniel was feeling began to spread. Branching out from his stomach, it flowed through his legs and into his paws, up his neck and up to his ears; the warmth even reached the tip of Daniel’s tail. He just smiled at this feeling—it had been one heck of a cookie after all.

Daniel had a bit of trouble squeezing through the hole in the fence to get into Flynn’s backyard, and his teeth chattered as the cold air buffeted his face. It didn’t matter though, soon he was going to be curled up nice and snug inside... huh, that was odd. For some reason, the den entrance looked a lot smaller than it should have. The snow must have fallen through and filled up a part of it. Daniel leaned forwards to start digging it out before a shiver rocked his body. Ok, maybe he could dig after warming up. Making a bee-line for Flynn’s house, Daniel found the back door already open a crack. He pushed it open and stepped into the kitchen, relaxing as the house’s air warmed his frigid skin.

Jonas was sitting at the table looking over the newspaper with a piece of toast in his mouth.

“Oh, hey, Daniel.” The fox said looking up. “How was the Pi—” He stopped abruptly. The toast fell onto the newspaper as his muzzle hung open. There was a look of shock plastered across his furry face.

“Oh my...” was all Jonas could say.

Daniel raised an eyebrow quizzically. “Jonas? What’s wrong? What’re you looking at?” He checked behind him but only saw the door he had just shut upon entering. Jonas slowly raised a paw and pointed directly at Daniel. He ran a hand nervously through his hair; the fox was definitely freaked about something but—WAITAMINUTE! Daniel froze, realizing what he had just done. He had just run his hand through his hair... but he didn’t have either of those, except...

He brought his hand down to eye level and stared. There was no fur, no pads, not even a claw, just smooth pale skin and five long fingers. Daniel looked down and saw two legs ending in shoed feet. Without a second thought he rushed off to the bathroom, practically threw the door open, and leapt in front of the mirror.

“Oh my...” was all Daniel could say.

There was a human staring back from the mirror; a normal, fourteen year-old human. The human Daniel had been before getting sick. His hair was the shame shade of brown; his clothes were the same T-shirt and jeans he had worn the day he caught the Torch. Looking at his furless cheek, Daniel saw a purple discolouration—a bruise from when he had fallen down the stairs at the onset of TFOR. But... that had healed months ago, when he was in the hospital changing. Unless he hadn’t changed at all...

Daniel spun around, half expecting to find himself back in Minnesota. No such luck, he was still in Flynn’s house. A startled “yip!” made him look downward—something he hadn’t needed to do in over a year. Jonas was standing at his feet.

“Umm, what are you doing?” Daniel asked.

“Double-checking your scent.” Jonas answered. “So... it’s really you, isn’t it, Daniel?”

“I... guess so.”

Daniel wandered into the living room and sat down on the couch, still in shock over his reflection. Jonas hopped onto the cushion next to him as he stared down at his human hands in disbelief. The once-teefer wiggled his fingers and marvelled at how they responded. He looked over at Jonas.

“This is real, isn’t it?” He asked in awe.

The fox nodded. “I pinched myself after you ran into the bathroom. This definitely isn’t a dream to me. You’re human... but how?”

“I have no idea.” Daniel said. “Nothing different happened to me today except Gordy giving me a...a...” He trailed off. Gordy had given him a gingerbread man with brown icing—the exact same shade of brown his hair now was.

“No...” He muttered. “No, that couldn’t have been it.”

Jonas’s ears perked. “What couldn’t have been it?”

“Nothing.” Daniel said. “Gordy gave me a really good cookie earlier is all. There’s no way that could be related.”

“Yea, unless it was a magic cookie.” Jonas said with a snicker. “So... what happens now?”

Daniel blinked. “What do you mean, ‘what happens now’? We have to tell someone Jonas! I’m a teefer that’s been cured—that’s never happened before! This is huge, this is unheard of, this is—”

“This is a lot of things.” The fox interrupted. “But I think this miracle of yours can wait until after the holidays. You’ve become human on Christmas Eve, is running off to a hospital what you really want to do?”

Daniel blushed sheepishly. “Heh, not really. I guess I just got over-excited a bit. Thanks, Jonas.”

“That’s what friends are for. So, like I said, what happens now?
”
The human grinned. “What happens now, Jonas, is that I borrow some of Flynn’s winter clothes and we hit the town!”

One closet-raid later, Daniel and Jonas strolled down the streets of downtown Polyton. Had Daniel still possessed a tail, it would have been twitching in joy. He was human. The word rang happily in his head. No more scents of exhaust clogging his nose, no more having to avoid being stepped on, no more being mistaken for a wild animal, no more waddling around, no more anything! Daniel looked down at Jonas walking next to him. Grinning, he bent down and scooped the fox up in his arms.

“Yip! What gives?”

“Hahaha, sorry, Jonas, but I’ve wanted to do this for the longest time!” Daniel laughed as he hugged his friend and scratched his head. “You’re just so small and cute!”

Jonas grinned despite himself. “Thanks, I guess.” He replied awkwardly. “I suppose it’s flattering this was on the top of your to-do list.”

Daniel smirked. “Yea, but there’s a bunch of other stuff too! Like eat a bunch of candy without getting all dizzy from a head rush!” He blinked. “Oh! The Twin Bells! It should be open now—I’ve just gotta show Miss Dia!”

Still carrying Jonas, Daniel ran off along the sidewalk to the bakery. Fresh Christmas cookies and cakes wafted into his nose when he opened the door, and Melanie was the only person inside when they entered.

Their boss looked up from the counter. “Why, Jonas, I didn’t expect to see you here on your day off. I don’t suppose you came to do some holiday overtime? And who’s your friend?” She asked, a smile tugging at her mouth
.
“Nah, just here for a visit, Melanie.” The fox replied. “But as for this guy,” he added, looking up at Daniel, “why don’t you wager a guess?”

Melanie blinked and looked the human over. “I’m not sure how good a guess I can make about someone I’ve never met before. Although... there is something familiar about him... the way he stands, and...oh my—those eyes, it can’t be—Daniel!?”

Daniel grinned. “Hiya Miss Dia!”

She gaped at the once-teefer. “But you’re—but how—” Melanie stammered. Jonas and Daniel exchanged smirks—it wasn’t every day their boss was rendered speechless. After several moments, she managed to compose herself. “You must have seen Gordon then. Those cookies of his are the only explanation.”

Daniel blinked. “Wait, so it actually was that gingerbread man I ate?”

Melanie nodded. “I haven’t a clue how he does it, been trying to get the recipe from him for years. Gordon likes to hand those gingerbreads out around special occasions and holidays. I guess you thought it was a ‘Christmas Miracle’, no?”

“Well... yes, actually.” Daniel muttered, blushing.

Melanie smiled. “Well, don’t worry too much about the cause. I say just enjoy what you’ve been given.”

“Hehe... will do! Though speaking of enjoying it...”

Five minutes and a ten percent discount later, Daniel eagerly looked into the bag of cookies, cupcakes, and candies he had bought from the bakery.

He grinned happily. “Ooooh! I can’t wait to dig into this! No more sugar headaches for me!”

“You may not get a headache but you’ll still make yourself sick.” Said Jonas, now walking alongside Daniel as his arms were needed for the bag. “You haven’t even had lunch yet. At least get some real food in you before going at that stuff.”

Daniel frowned. “Aww, c’mon, Jonas! It’s been a year since I could do this!”

The fox shook his head. “You may be human now but you’re still a minor. It’s my job to stop you from doing things like this. Besides, I have a place in mind for that you should like.”

“Huh?” Daniel looked down at Jonas, who pointed across the street. Following his paw, Daniel’s eyes lit up. The Super Noodle, the best pasta restaurant in Polyton, stared at the pair from across the street. The giant mechanical sign of a macaroni in a superhero costume (and, in accordance with the holidays, a Santa hat as well) waved at them as they crossed the street. Even without his raccoon senses anymore, Daniel could still smell the savoury aroma of freshly cooked pasta when he entered the restaurant’s doors. They were seated almost immediately, and Daniel was thrilled that, unlike Jonas, he no longer required a booster seat, and he eagerly looked through the menu when the waitress placed it in front of him.

“How’d you know to pick this place?” Daniel asked while perusing a list of exotic-sounding dishes involving Kraft Dinner.

Jonas smiled. “Easy. Either you’d like it because you enjoy pasta, or you’d like it on principle since most noodles are very difficult to eat with a muzzle. They have an excellent selection of spaghettis here.”

Daniel smiled back. “Touché, Jonas.” Looking up at the waiter he said, “I think I’ll have plain spaghetti and meatballs.”

“Garlic bread and macaroni for me.” Added Jonas.

The waitress nodded and left, taking the menus with her. When she was out of earshot, Jonas leaned in. “So, Daniel, any ideas on what you’d like to do after this?”

“Oh yea, definitely! There’s a ton of stuff I’d love to do.” Daniel answered enthusiastically. He started counting off on his fingers. “I wanna go horseback riding, rock-climbing, heck I’m psyched enough to even go swimming in this weather! Oh—and we just have to drop by the mall so I can buy a thank-you present for Gordy. We can give it to him at the Christmas party tonight at the Pig.”

“Hmm, well I don’t know about the first one, but the athletic centre has a rock-climbing wall and an indoor pool. I’m not sure if it’s open today but it couldn’t hurt to check after we eat.”

Their food arrived, and Daniel eagerly picked up his fork—ah, the wonders of being able to use cutlery! He spun the spaghetti around the tines and took a bite, thrilled at how his human mouth was able to easily chew the thin strands of noodle. It was silly, really, to be so excited about pasta, but to Daniel every bit of the spaghetti was another confirmation of who he was, another voice saying you’re human to him. He had his life back, and it was delicious.

Daniel finished his lunch at the same time Jonas did. After paying for the meal, they caught a cab to the athletic centre. Despite it being Christmas Eve, the centre was still open and Daniel was able to get an hour on the rock-climbing wall. With the instructor holding his rope, Daniel began his ascent. His human fingers gripped the plastic “rocks” and his feet found perches along the wall as he climbed. No paws could do this; no stubby animal fingers could manage these holds, but Daniel could—the human Daniel. As he reached up for another rock, Daniel’s hand hit the ceiling. He blinked and looked up—he had reached the top of the wall. Daniel let out a triumphant laugh as he gently pushed off from the wall and the instructor lowered him to the ground. Upon touching down, Daniel once again scooped Jonas into his arms and hugged him.

“I did it, Jonas! I really did it!” Daniel exclaimed, a huge grin on his face. “I couldn’t have done it before but now I can and I did! Did ya see me up there!?”

“I saw, I saw.” Jonas replied, chuckling a bit himself. “Congrats, Daniel, I’m happy for you.”

Daniel’s grin widened and he ruffled his friend’s head. “Thanks buddy!”

After saying goodbye to the instructor, the pair went down the hall and took a staircase to reach the pool. One swimsuit rental and changing room later, Daniel stepped onto the diving board. He looked around; no one else was using the pool apart from himself, Jonas sat off to the side watching him with a smile across his muzzle. Taking a deep breath, Daniel jumped. There was no fur for the water to soak and mat as he dove into the heated pool. The warm water surrounded Daniel and washed against his hairless skin, soothing rather than burdening him. Resurfacing, he looked towards the bench Jonas sat on and waved to his friend before kicking off and doing a series of laps around the pool. As he swam, Daniel wiggled his fingers and toes to let the water flow around them. He had almost forgotten what it was like to feel this kind of true mobility, unrestricted by scrawny limbs or fur. Daniel’s strokes slowed as he turned face-up and let himself drift along the pool. He closed his eyes and relaxed, the bliss of the moment washing over him.

“Ahh! That was amazing! I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed a swim that much before.” Daniel said with a smile as he towelled off and sat down on the bench next to Jonas.

“I’m glad you liked it.” Jonas said.

Daniel blinked. There was something strange in his friend’s voice. “Something the matter, Jonas?”

The fox shrugged. “I suppose. I am happy for you, really, but I guess I’m just thinking about how I’m going to miss you when you’re gone.”

“Gone? I’m not going anywhere.”

“Of course you are.” Jonas said with a sigh as his ears and tail drooped. “You can’t live in the den anymore, and you aren’t going to be able to buy or rent a place anywhere. You’re obviously a minor now, and sooner or later someone will figure out that you’re a runaway. Word will eventually reach the authorities and you’ll end up being brought back to your mother.

Daniel’s smile faded.

“Don’t get me wrong though.” Jonas added. “I’m not bitter... I’ll just miss you is all. But hey, I’m sure your Mom won’t mind if I make an occasional visit to Minnesota, right?”

“Yea...” Daniel said absently. He glanced over at the pile of clothes next to the bench. Picking them up, he silently headed towards the changing room. As he got dressed, Daniel thought over what Jonas had said. He knew his friend was right—there was no way they could still live together. Daniel thought about asking Flynn to take him in, but knew that was a futile route. Flynn had a life of his own, and it would be unfair to complicate it further.

Daniel looked down at his hands, remembering how excited he had been when he first saw them that morning. It never occurred to him that being human again would mean giving up the life he had now. But, this is what he wanted, wasn’t it? To get his old life back?
As Daniel walked out of the change room and met Jonas in the lobby to call a cab, he thought just what his ‘old life’ had been. Before the Torch, he had been a friendless loner who took refuge in websites and chatrooms. He had gone through each dreary day constantly looking for a purpose in the monotony of school life. As a raccoon though... Daniel worked a job he liked alongside people he enjoyed and respected, and lived with his best friend. There were no pressures of school, no pointless obligations; just a simple, happy life.
The cab came and picked them up. “The Pig and Whistle.” Daniel told the driver. He wanted to speak with Gordy before the bar’s Christmas party began. Jonas didn’t say a word during the ride, and Daniel was thankful for it—even if he wanted to talk, he wasn’t sure what he would say. Upon arriving at the Pig and paying the driver, Daniel beelined for the bar while Jonas took a seat on a cushion by the fireplace.

“I didn’t expect to see you back until later.” Gordy said. “Figured you’d out horseback riding or something. Getting the most out of your body and all that.”

Daniel shrugged as he sat down on a bar stool. “I was, to be honest. But I got too caught up in it.”

The minotaur raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What’s that s’pose to mean?”

“I was too focused on my body—I didn’t give any thought to my own life. Being human lets me do more, sure, but it won’t let me be the person that I want.” Daniel sighed. “I just wish I knew all this before taking that cookie of yours.”

Gordy chuckled. “Oh, don’t be too hard on yourself. People like you are why I started giving out those gingerbreads in the first place. Sometimes the ‘what ifs’ of life can get to be too much for a person, so I give them a cookie and let them have a day seeing how things could be. Most of the time they find that ‘what if’ is a better fantasy than reality.“

Daniel nodded. “I can see that now, yea. But I guess the main thing is—wait, a day? It only lasts a day?”

“Of course it does. You didn’t think a cookie could cure TFOR did you?”

Daniel stared at the bartender. Then, suddenly, he burst out laughing. The few patrons in the bar stared, but Daniel didn’t care.
“Hehe, yea, I did, Gordy.” He said after calming down. “I really did. But that was all part of your little plan, wasn’t it? This morning I would have seen a day of being human as a cruel joke, but now it’s like a brief vacation instead.” Daniel sighed. “Well played.”

“Just glad to be of service, kid. Now, what can I get’cha?”

“The phone, please.” Daniel said thoughtfully. “I’d like to make a call.”

Gordy smiled and passed him a cell phone. Flipping it open, Daniel dialled a number he never thought he’d want to call again. One ring, then two, then three. Blast, answering machine. He took a deep breath. May as well get it over with anyway, not like he’d get another chance.

“Hi, Mom.” He said nervously. “It’s me, it’s Daniel. I’m calling because, well, I guess you could say I’ve got a chance to borrow a pretty realistic voder. I just want to say, Merry Christmas.” Daniel’s eyes began to water; he fought hard not to cry. “No, actually, that’s not all. I want to thank you, Mom. I want to thank you for being the loving, overbearing, neurotic parent I ran away from. If I hadn’t left when I did, I wouldn’t be here where I am now. I’ve got friends, Mom, good ones. I’m living with one of them, the one I wrote about. I’ve got a job too, maybe even a career depending on how things work out. I’m taking care of myself, I’m healthy, and—” it was getting harder to fight back the tears, “—I’m happy. I’m happy with my life now, and I’m happy with who I am. I just hope that you can be happy for me too.”

Daniel’s voice choked as he closed the phone and gave it back to Gordy. “Thanks... I needed that, Gordy. I’m sorry about getting all emotional... just brought back a lot of memories, is all.”

The bartender patted him on the back. Daniel looked up and smiled. “So, how much longer do I have to go without my fur?”

Gordy smiled back. “Oh, not long.” He said, flicking Daniel’s peaked ear. The raccoon blinked and looked down. He was small and furry again, a teefer once more. Patting his vest, Daniel slid off the bar stool and padded over to the booth Jonas was sitting at.

“Everything ok?” Jonas asked as Daniel slid in across from him.

The raccoon nodded. “It is now.”
[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Pig and Whistle]] [[Category:Animal]] [[Category:Raccoon]] [[Category:Fox]] [[Category:Jonas]] {{fiction}}

King's Pride

2011-01-10T00:17:44Z

Jonas: New Story, wheee!

Unexpected Consequences

2011-01-10T00:09:45Z

Jonas:

{{Universe|Pig and Whistle}}{{byline|user=Jonas}}

“BAH! Got me again!” Exclaimed Tuner as his character’s head exploded on screen. The golden retriever morph threw his hands up in frustration. “How do you keep sneaking up on me?”

“Because I’m awesome, that’s why.” Snickered Nick. “Play again?”

“Definitely, but could you turn up the volume?”

“What if your parents complain about the noise?”

The human frowned at his friend. “Ok then, but wouldn’t that just make your ears hurt? I thought you had super hearing or something.”

“I do.” Tuner said with a grimace. “That’s the problem.”

“Huh?”

Meanwhile, upstairs...

“Behold! The legendary Excalibur!”

“Oooh! Its so... large and mighty!”
[[Category: Story]] [[Category:Pig and Whistle]] [[Category:Comedy]] [[Category:Jonas]] {{fiction}}

Unexpected Consequences

2011-01-10T00:07:53Z

Jonas: Reposting...

{{Universe|Pig and Whistle}}{{byline|user=Jonas}}

“BAH! Got me again!” Exclaimed Tuner as his character’s head exploded on screen. The golden retriever morph threw his hands up in frustration. “How do you keep sneaking up on me?”

“Because I’m awesome, that’s why.” Snickered Nick. “Play again?”

“Definitely, but could you turn up the volume?”

“What if your parents complain about the noise?”

“They’re distracted—trust me.”

The human frowned at his friend. “Ok then, but wouldn’t that just make your ears hurt? I thought you had super hearing or something.”

“I do.” Tuner said with a grimace. “That’s the problem.”

“Huh?”

*meanwhile upstairs*

“Behold! The legendary Excalibur!”

“Oooh! Its so... large and mighty!”
[[Category: Story]] [[Category:Pig and Whistle]] [[Category:Comedy]] [[Category:Jonas]] {{fiction}}

The Runaway in the Raccoon

2011-01-10T00:06:23Z

Jonas:

{{Universe|Pig and Whistle}}{{byline|user=Jonas}}
Fallen leaves crunched beneath my paws as I strolled along the familiar forest shortcut home. It had been a long day—Melanie was expanding the Twin Bells to include chocolates and other sweets and I’d been running back and forth from the storeroom all day. A trip to the Whistle had helped me relax, but I still wanted to just lie down. My tail swished happily as the fence bordering Flynn’s yard came into view; soon I’d be able to just curl up in my den and—

I stopped suddenly as I neared the fence. There were paw prints scattered about the hole I used to get into the yard. This had never happened before—no animal ever went near my territory. I cautiously approached and sniffed at the tracks. The scent was fresh, whatever it was had been here recently. I followed the tracks into Flynn’s yard and stopped when they disappeared into the ground. I flexed my ears and caught the sounds of breathing beneath the earth. There was no mistaking it—something was in my den. I slowly crept down the tunnel leading into my den, ready to chase away the intruder. I saw it the moment I reached the main section—a raccoon asleep on my blankets.

My fur bristled as I stepped forward. A sharp growl startled the ‘coon awake and I followed up with a baying yelp to scare it into leaving. Surprisingly, the creature didn’t move. It just sat there chattering madly at my attempts to force it out. Assuming an aggressive stance, I extended my claws and bared my teeth menacingly. Even for a wild animal, the meaning would have been clear—leave, or get eaten. The raccoon still didn’t move. It was obviously freaked and cowering, but for some reason it wasn’t making any attempt to flee. There was no way I was actually going to attack, so what else was there to do? None of this made sense; any animal would have fled by now so why wasn’t—

The answer hit me like a slap to the face.

“Are you a teefer?” I asked abruptly. The effect was immediate; the raccoon looked up at me and, very slowly, nodded.

I sighed and retracted my claws before sitting down. “Well, that explains that then. Mind telling me what you’re doing in here?”
Another wave of chatters and squeaks. Lovely. There was something odd about the sounds the raccoon was making though—I angled my ears to better hear him.

<oohing...hlace ‘o flive.>

The raccoon was definitely talking... but his words were scrambled among the animal noises.

“Umm, can you repeat that?” I asked.

<Looking for a place to live.> He repeated. It was much easier to pick up the words once I knew they were there.

Fair enough. “Not to be, uh, rude or anything, but didn’t you notice my scent everywhere? And my stuff?”

The ‘coon nodded. <That’s why I waited here. I wanted to ask if I could live here.>

“Don’t you have your own home?”

<Yes. In Minnesota.>

My ears perked in surprise. “Minnesota!? You’re a long way from home, kid.”

<It’s a long story...>

I sighed again. “Well, no matter. There’s a train station not far from here. C’mon, I’ll buy your ticket.”

The raccoon let out a terrified cry at this. <Please, no.> He squeaked, backing up against the wall of my den. <I can’t go back. I just can’t!>

I blinked. This was getting more complicated by the minute. I could probably guess why he didn’t want to go home though.
“How long ago did you get TFOR?” I asked.

<A month ago—maybe two. I lost track of time. I adapted pretty quick but...> He trailed off, shivering.

Suspicion confirmed. I padded forward and placed a paw on the kid’s shoulder. “Look, uh...”

<Daniel.>

“Look, Daniel, I think I know how you’re feeling. TFOR can be hard on families, especially with fullmorphs like us. All the adjustments and lifestyle changes are very disruptive, plus you feel start feeling useless and like you’re nothing but dead weight. But you should never think that running away will make things better.”

Daniel pushed my paw away. <That’s not it at all! You’ve got no clue...>

“Jonas.”
<You’ve got no clue, Jonas!>

Well, he had me there. “So tell me then.”

<Fine.> Daniel slid down the wall into a sitting position. <It’s my Mom. When I changed she went nuts. I’m talking overprotective batshit insane! One time I went out without telling her and she locked me in my room for two weeks! She even put newspaper down so I didn’t have an excuse to leave!> He threw his paws up in the air. <Newspaper!>

Oh my. “It can’t have been that bad...”

He scoffed. <It was that bad. She went hysterical when I changed—said she’d protect me her entire life. Was making pretty damn good on that promise too—until I managed to jimmy the window open, anyway.>

By now my ears were starting to hurt from the strain of picking up Daniel’s words. “Do you, uh, have a voder or something?” I asked, hoping he wouldn’t mind the sudden change in subject.

<I did, but it broke. I accidentally dropped it from the back of a pickup truck I was stowing away in to get to New York.> Daniel answered, shrugging. <Thing was a piece of shit anyway. One of the first models—sounded like a dying robot with a bad case of constipation.>

Well that was a lovely visual. “Hold on...” I muttered, turning around and walking over to a box I kept in another side pocket. “I think I have a voder around here you can use.”

<What on earth do you have a voder for?> Daniel asked behind me, genuinely surprised. <You talk just fine—besides sounding like a cartoon character.> There was a nervous squeak and he quickly added, <N-no offense, of course.>

“Oh, just emergencies I guess.” I answered while rummaging through the box. “Plus I always keep one handy for bad days. Good days too, I guess. I lose my voice any time my emotions waver too much.”

<Wow. That must be scary. At least I don’t have that problem.> Daniel said. I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not. The raccoon came up next to me and looked into the box. <Hope your model is newer than the one my Mom could afford... so damn irritating to use.>

I found the small box containing my voder. “Well mine is fairly old—Albion’s first non-keyboard model. It’s been modified though so it should work as well as a new one. Just wrap it around your next and make sure the fuzzy part is touching your throat when you talk.” I added as I gave Daniel the voder.

His eyes lit up instantly. <No keyboard? Awesome! My old one had a board and I had to lug it around everywhere. Sucked to lose it since I couldn’t talk, but there was still something satisfying to see the thing getting mangled under the cars on the highway...> The raccoon trailed off as he put on the voder, a look of giddy nostalgia on his face.

“Well,” I said, interrupting Daniel’s reminiscing, “it looks like the voder is secure. Try it out.”

He tapped at the device. "Err... testing. Can you hear me okay? Supercalafrajalisticexpialadocious. Antidisestablishmentarianism."

I smiled, relaxing my ears. “Yea, it works. You can use that until you’re able to get a hold of a new one. Now, you’ve gone on a bit about your mother. What’s your dad’s role in all of this?”

Daniel look down, ears and tail sagging. “I...I’m not sure. I haven’t seen him since I was eight. He was a traveling musician in a band called the Banana Republic. No clue what happened to him. Mom remarried but my stepdad is out of town on business for half a year.”

I sighed for the third time that day. This kid was several provinces away from home, and even if I did manage to get him to go back he’d probably just run away again. Besides... considering my own history it would be hypocritical of me to turn him away.
“You can stay.” I said. “On one condition.”

“Of course!” Daniel exclaimed. “Anything! I’m no freeloader.”

“I want you to write home. I don’t mind having a runaway but there’s no way I’m letting your mother think she’s lost another family member.” I dug around in the box and fished out some paper and pencils. “I can send it so that the letter won’t be traced. Just tell her you’re all right.”

“Oh—but—I...” Daniel sighed. “Ok. Haven’t written with these paws yet so don’t blame me if it gets messy.”

“Raccoons have thumbs, you’ll be fine.” I said as I passed him the writing utensils. Daniel got to work, using the top of the box as a table.

“All right... one letter coming up. Let’s see... I’m safe, in good han—err, paws. She’s not going to find me, don’t call the police—though she probably will anyway. I love her very much even though she’s crazy... Blah blah blah, and I’m safe...again.”
He gave me the letter when it was finished. It wasn’t the most... poetic piece, but I had a feeling Daniel’s mom would know it was sincere.

“I’ll mail this on my way to work tomorrow.” I said as I folded the letter and slipped it into a vest pocket. “Now then, why don’t you tell me how a runaway racoon managed to get all the way to Polyton?”

Daniel nodded and began his story. It was... dramatic to say the least. I let Daniel use some of my spare blankets and moved my clothing chest to make room for him to sleep. This was going to be a very unusual arrangement for sure, but I knew it was better for the ‘coon if he stayed with someone who had at least some experience with what he was going through.

Daniel was still fast asleep when I woke up the next morning. Considering what the kid had gone through, I was tempted to let him keep snoozing but I didn’t want to risk being late for work again. I padded over to give him a gentle nudge.
“Wha—? Whuzgoinon...?” Daniel asked sleepily. “Wha? Where am I? Oh... right... Polyork...”

“Polyton, New York.” I corrected as I slipped on my vest. “It’s morning and I have to go to work soon. You chitter in your sleep by the way.”

No response. Daniel had fallen back asleep—definitely a teenager. I poked him again. "You're going to have to come with me today until you get to know the city better. Now c'mon, I want to get some breakfast."

At the mention of food, his ears perked and eyes instantly snapped open. “Great!” He exclaimed. “All I’ve had to eat for three days was pretzels and Little Debbies—had to wash it down with Sierra Mist and AUGH that stuff is foul!”

“I can imagine.” I replied with an amused yip. “Fortunately Flynn’s pantry is better stocked than a vacationer’s truck.”

"Will there be pancakes? Mmmm.... with warm blueberries and whipped cream and syrup... and apple juice. Oh, and hashbrowns! I love hashbrowns—well, when they're fried anyway..."

Daniel chattered away as we exited the den and entered the house. Flynn was already seated at the kitchen table when we entered and look up curiously at the sight of the raccoon.

“I need to tell Flynn what’s going on.” I said quickly to Daniel. “The fridge has a pedal-opener and there’s some fruit in the crisper at ground level. The drawer next to it has got some sandwich materials if you’d rather have that.”

“Are you sure?” Daniel whispered; or tried to whisper, anyway. The voder wasn’t good on volume adjustment.

“Yes. The food’s mine. Flynn just lets me keep it here since the den has an obvious lack of refrigeration.”

While Daniel was looking through the crisper I waved Flynn into an adjoining room.

“A runaway?” He asked once I finished explaining the situation.

I nodded, watching Daniel now rummage through the sandwich drawer out of the corner of my eye. “Yea; I’m letting him stay with me for now. Maybe once Daniel gets more relaxed I can convince him to go back home but for now he’s staying with me.”

Flynn sighed. “Well it’s your den so I can’t really object unless the kid starts messing with my garden.”

“Thanks. Oh, could you mail this letter for me on your way to work? It’s to Daniel’s parents telling them he’s all right.”

Flynn nodded. “Yea, I can manage that. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I do, don’t worry. More importantly though, is that I know what he’s done.”

Returning to the kitchen, I retrieved one of my premade sandwiches from the fridge before joining Daniel at the table.

“You’ll have to come with me today until you’re more familiar with the city.” I explained between bites. “I don’t think Melanie will mind you hanging around the bakery if it’s just this one time—but be warned that she might try to make you do some work.”

“Is she nice?” Daniel asked as he finished off a slice of turkey.

I paused. “That sort of depends on your definition of ‘nice’. Melanie’s not a bad person, but she has this way of dealing with people that’s kind of manipulative. She’s a good boss though, so long as you can stand being tricked into something every now and then. Oh, and during the work day she’s ‘Miss Dia.’”

Daniel began fidgeting with his tail."...I don't like being tricked. It makes me feel... well, stupid. Stupid and foolish. Think I could ask her to just be straight with me? I'd do work voluntarily. I don't need tricks. ...I'm not overreacting, am I?
"
“Yes, you are.” I said with a smile. “Don’t worry about Melanie—you don’t work for her so she’ll leave you alone. Now let’s get going, I don’t want to be late.”

Daniel’s ears shot up. “Oh! Wait, before we go—” He dashed out of the house before finishing the sentence. I followed him outside to see him ruffling through one of the bushes.

“Ah, here it is!” He exclaimed, pulling out a vest. It was simple piece like mine, except Daniel’s had one of those sky-blue ‘Cure TFOR’ ribbons pinned to the lapel. I avoided commenting on it.

“I hid it just before going into your den last night.” Daniel explained as he put on the vest and fished a collar out of its pocket. “My personal info is on this collar, see? I wanted to hide it in case you didn’t let me stay with you.”

“Fair enough. It’s a good system to use anyway.” I replied, lifting up the bone-shaped nametag on my own collar so he could see the information printed on the reverse side.

Traffic was light as we travelled down the streets—though since Daniel and I were on the sidewalk that just meant there were a lot less annoying scents. The ‘coon became noticeably more nervous as we neared Polyton’s downtown—his eyes kept darting about as he waddled and I could see his ears flick towards every sound.

“First time in the city?” I asked.

“When I was human I used to go to Minneapolis a lot, but I lived in a quiet place called Appleville.” Daniel replied. “First time out since TFOR, though. Bedroom quarantine and all...”

I nodded. “I see. Well the sounds and smells can be overwhelming at first but with practice you can learn to tune them out. For now though just try to keep your ears still.”

When we reached the Twin Bells, Daniel followed me as I positioned myself in the corner by the counter.

“My main job is security.” I explained, motioning to an oddly-coloured tile. “See this here? It’s a silent alarm trigger. Most of the time I just sit here in case someone tries to rob the store but that’s never happened. I also have to distract customers if they need to wait for an order to be made—kids too if they start getting rowdy. Plus I chase after customers if they leave stuff behind and every now and then I’m asked to pick something up or make a delivery.”

“Wow, sounds like a lot of work.” Daniel said.

“Oh, it isn’t as much as it sounds like.” came an amused voice. Daniel and I looked up to see Miss Dia standing over us. “But Jonas here prefers to think of himself as an industrious little fox. So, who’s your little friend? I’d guess a relative, but I fail to see any resemblance.”

I rolled my eyes. “Miss Dia, this is Daniel. Daniel, this is Melanie Dia. She owns the Twin Bells.”

“H-hi, it’s *chtck* a p-pleasure to *chtck* m-meet you.” Daniel’s voder hissed with static at his stammered greeting. Poor kid, guess he wasn’t used to being so small around people.

My boss smiled before turning her attention back to me. “Jonas, Stacy dropped an egg carton again and I need you to cle—”
Miss Dia stopped as the front door opened and rather harried-looking women entered flanked by three (very hyperactive) children.

“Oooh! Cookies! Can we have some? Canwecanwecanwe?”

“No, dear. We just need to pick up some bread.”

“BUT MOM!” cried out all three kids in unison. Taking my cue, I shrugged off my vest before stepping into the middle of the store. At once the children forgot their cookies.

“Aww look! It’s a puppy!”

“It’s a fox you dork!”

“Aww look! It’s a fox puppy!”

The three crowded around me while their relieved mother proceeded to the counter. Five minutes (and many ear-scratches) later the family left and I put my vest back on before going to clean up the egg spill. To my surprise I found Daniel in the kitchen finishing the clean up.

“Daniel?”

“Oh, hey, Jonas!” He chittered, looking up. “You seemed busy with those kids so I figured I’d take care of the spill.”

“Ah, well, thank you very much for that.”

His ears flushed. “No problem! I’m not the kind of guy who just sits around taking up space—if there’s something I can do to help then I’ll do it!”

“That’s very good to hear.” said Miss Dia, suddenly behind us. “Now, Daniel, was it? I can give you a few other small things to do if you’d like. Oh, and Jonas? If you could run down to the deli and get the usual lunch special for us that would be great. Get something for your friend too.”

I nodded and left as Miss Dia began explaining to Daniel how the storeroom’s labels worked. The rest of the day was fairly routine aside from the fact that Miss Dia was finding an awful lot of ‘small things’ for Daniel to help with. I had to give the kid credit though, he was a fast worker and certainly eager to be of use. By the end of the day, Melanie had offered him a job.

“Wow, can you believe it?” Daniel asked as he bounced beside me on the sidewalk, fur bristling with excitement. “I mean, my last job was a paper route and now I’m Miss Dia’s executive assistant!”

I chuckled. “Don’t let it go to your head. Melanie likes giving people titles like that. I’m ‘Head of Security Operations’ and ‘Public Relations Manager’.”

“Yea, but still! It’s a step up either way!”

“True.” I nodded, adding, “By the way, since you’ll be joining me at work, I suppose you should also join me in my after-work tradition.”

Daniel blinked. “Tradition?”

“It’s a little place called the Pig and Whistle...”

[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Animal|Runaway in the Raccoon, The]] [[Category:Fox|Runaway in the Raccoon, The]] [[Category:Raccoon|Runaway in the Raccoon, The]] [[Category:Pig and Whistle|Runaway in the Raccoon, The]] [[Category: Jonas|Runaway in the Raccoon, The]] {{fiction}}

The Runaway in the Raccoon

2011-01-10T00:05:30Z

Jonas: Reposting. If someone could tell me why it's 90% italicized I'd be much appreciative

User:Jonas

2011-01-09T23:31:59Z

Jonas: Added links to stories lost in the crash, along with brand new ones. Wheee!

{{DEFAULTSORT: Jonas}} {{author page}}
For those who are/were familiar with Lloyd Brunnel, this is him. When I first created my shifti account I was still new to the furry scene and therfore used my generic online name. Now that I've developed a fursona though, I've decided that its time to re-organize all of my furry/transformation writings under his name.

==About Me==
I'm in second year university, living on residence. I like sleeping in, warm blankets, and stories that leave you feeling nice and fuzzy at the end. I've recently gotten into reading Agatha Christie's works, and heartily reccomend The Murder of Roger Ackroyd to anyone who has no read it. I'm Canadian, and proud of it, and I love maple fudge in all its tasty, tasty forms. In my spare time, I like to play World of Warcraft or hang out at the Crimson Flag chatroom and forum. Once a week I go out to a card store and play Yugioh or the Warcraft Trading Card Game, and I think I'm fairly good at both. My current goal is to get a job and earn enough money to buy a new laptop, since my current one is sad and gets beat up by morning breezes.

Here's a link to [[Lloyd's Favorites|some of my favorite stories on Shifti.]]

==Notes On My Writing==

I recycle names in most of my stories, so don't be suprised to find the same ones poping up as I add more stuff to Shifti. I also procrastinate ''alot'' when writing and have trouble committing to a single story idea, which dramatically inflates the time it takes me to write. Oh, and I tend to mention food more often than would be normal since I usually write while hungry for some reason.

==Shameless Self-Promotion==

[[Lost World]]: Set in the Blind Pig universe for pure laziness reasons (I don't like explaining things) this is a furry => human TF. My thanks to Cubist both for editing, and for publishing it on his anthrozine site.

[[Bureaucracy in Action]]: When a fun-loving force meets a literal-minded object.

[[Convoluted Quality]]: There is something known as the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, a competition to write the worst opening sentence to the worst possible novel. Out of boredom, I made an attempt to write the worst opening sentence to the worst possible TF story. If you think you can do worse, please add to the page.

[[The Fool in the Fox]]: My first foray into the [[Pig and Whistle]] setting introduces [[PAW Timelines/Character Timeline|Jonas]], a fox about to make a very entertaining delivery.

[[The Runaway in the Raccoon]]: This story introduces Daniel, a character of my friend Kiba, to the Pig and Whistle world.

[[The Strength in the Shark]]: This is a follow-up to Zach's Within and Without story (see below). I mainly use this to create a friendship between our two characters and to explore a bit on some of the beliefs people might have regarding fullmorphs.

[[Unexpected Consequences]]: Extremely short story meant to highlight one of the unexpected downsides to being a teefer...

[[King's Pride]]: This idea has actually been bouncing around my head for almost four years. When it came time to write though, I had a surprisingly large amount of difficulty. Takes place in the PAW setting.

[[Case Briefing: Leon v. Stewart]]: The main problem with handling teefers came from how to define them in a legal system designed for humans. This case and the subsequent ruling provided the landmark precedent that shaped the NAR's courts.

[[Daniel's Christmas Story]]: Written for Kiba as a Christmas present, this story takes place in the PAW universe. It is, however, non-canon due to the mechanics involved.

[[Hunting]]: Ever wonder why Jonas doesn't act more...foxish? It's because he does stuff like this.

[[Meeting]]: Written on the spur of an idea following Hunting.

[[Interview in the Fields]]: Since I lack the stamina to write a full story about the Leon/Stewart lawsuit, I'm going to cheat and instead write about Leon being interviewed about the case twenty years later.

[[I Regret Nothing!]]: I really don't!

[[PAW Musings]]: Not so much a story as a general list/rant of my various thoughts or questions about the Pig and Whistle setting. Respond to them if you want but this mainly exists so I can get the questions off my chest.
==Written For Others==
These are stories that I have either written at another's request, or done as part of a comission.

[[Comic Genesis]]: Written as a request from Virmir. In it, he finds the true extent of his artistic abilities.

[[Crimson Flag RPG]]: Written as a request from Geary on the Crimson Flag forum. This is a silly story based around the idea of a bunch of us CFers having a Dungeons and Dragons game. Please note that this was written under the assumption that the reader knows the characters involved.

[[Jingle Bells]]: Written for Posti as part of the 2009 Christmas Story Exchange. See if you can spot the reference!

[[Muhmorpaguh]]: Written for Kris Schnee as part of the 2010 Christmas Story Exchange. Please insert the obligatory "video games are addictive" joke here =>

[[Refreshment]]: Written as part of a trade with Kenku. I'm not sure if it counts as a setting, but William's Soda Shoppe is a recurrent element in many of Kenku's stories. All in all, this is a pure TF fluff piece, but we've all got a soft spot for those somewhere, right?

[[Research]]: Written as a comission for someone named Modmyths. This details a researcher's attempt to study a centaur herd. This was my first time writing about centaurs, which I'm still unsure about.

[[Testing Tastes]]: One day on Crimson Flag chat, Traxer and I were talking about writing ideas. The conversation turned to fursuits and we both mentioned how it's very hard to find a fursuit TF story, let alone one with a positive tone or ending. We each decided to try and write such a story. This is the one I wrote, and Traxer's is posted below. This piece uses the William's Soda Shoppe "setting".

[[The Potion Maker's Result]]: Written for Kenku on the Crimson Flag forum. This story is meant to accompany a picture drawn by Virmir (http://www.furaffinity.net/view/4098942/). It is, like most things that come out of the Flag, utterly silly.
==Stuff by Others==
I did not write anything in this section. In here are stories written by others that I have recieved permission to repost here. Enjoy!

[[In the Cards]]: Posti wrote this for me as part of the 2009 Christmas Story Exchange. While my taste in card games have changed since then, itis still a very nice piece. This was posted on Shifti back before the server failed.

[[Mind Over Matter]]: Arto "FoxOfWar" Mässeli wrote this as part of the Xmas Xchange a while back. He thinks it's good, but his brain seems to disagree. The title is not the one used in the original story, because I can't find out what the original title was.

[[Nothing Up My Sleeve]]: Written by Traxer as mentioned in the above section. While my Testing Tastes is nothing but a fluff piece, this story is an awesome little tale that catapulted Trax from a fellow writer to one of my idols.

[[Within and Without]]: My friend Zach Fox has written this PAW story featuring the setting's first shark morph. I think it's good, but I helped edit it so I'm obviously biased. Read it!
==Comissions==
I like money, and I like other people thinking of things for me to write about. If you're interested in comissioning a story from me, please send me an email at jonasbelford@live.ca. I operate on a pay-what-you-like format, but payment is required before I begin writing.
==Random Thought==

Wheee!

The Tower in the Torch

2011-01-09T23:26:06Z

Jonas: page blanked for re-deletion

User:Jonas

2011-01-09T23:01:00Z

Jonas: Account was deleted in the server loss, reviving it. Also added comission info..because I like money.