Workshop 7/03/10

I tend to come late to the party now don't I?

No matter, Let's see if this will help my current block.

The story must continue, goes on and on and on.

I know the setting, I have it in my head, I know what it looks like, but I can't seem to get there from here. It's like The-Island-of- Great-And-Awesome-Writing is out there not thirty feet from me. But theres damn deep water in-between, and I don't have a boat, and I can't swim in the river of metaphors.

Well, here's something to keep people that are reading me interested during the wait...

*grumbles and ambles away* "if ANYONE ever reads me at all"

What if....
Yiff? What? What the hell?
The vulpine sighs, snarls angrily and huffs off to a corner. Beside him is now a jug of old wine. Taste like crap but he has it anyway for situations like this. Now that one mentions it, he's been drinking like this for a while now. Soon he is slopping the juice down the front of his robes, sputtering and snarling words, half-forming sentences:
Fleabitten.... thrice-damned.... lousy.... no-good... black-furred... barbaric...
It is too much to contain and he lets loose with a yell, throwing the jug aside where it smashes against the wall.
As if in response to this tirade the door bursts open, and in swaggers a most peculiar, but all-too-familiar sight

The fox cannot help but be disgusted by the gaudy spectacle. The broad plaited kilt is the only thing resembling regular clothing on the giant wolf, the rest is merely decoration. Silver armbands, golden rings, a beautifully carved wolf's head dagger and a pearl necklace are just the start of the treasures strewn about him. Great swirls of woad curl about his body, and his fur is abnormally thick and long. He is, however, preoccupied with the jug of wine in his paw and the giggling nude girls flanking him.