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More from WhimsicalSquirrel
The rubber foot of the old, wooden cane splashed into the small puddle of the alleyway pothole. It had just started to sprinkle, again.
There were people out there who romanticized the smell of rain, how 'clean' it made everything smell. Perhaps it was true where they were from, but in between these highrises and rusted out sedans, the addition of standing water wasn't doing the smell any favors. His streetlamp-cast shadow walking in step, the white-faced possum's ears flattened with each drop that landed between them, his jacket lacking a hood to pull over. The best he could do was lift his furless tail from the quickly dampening concrete below him, as he made his way further down the alley. From a nearby block he could hear the wailing of a law-enforcement vehicle, undertaking yet another futile attempt to bring some sense of order to this city. Did they know they'd find what they were looking for just a few blocks this way, or did they simply not care anymore? Honestly, it didn't matter.
It'd be the third stoop on the left, they'd said. Hadn't been to the new place, but was quite familiar with the old one. As Chester drew closer to the door in question, he could see someone standing there, the unmistakably angular snout of a rat, covered in white fur with gold patches. The red glow of a lit cigarette was visible down by his belt, where the rat's hands rested. As the aging possum approached the bottom of the steps, the door boy started to look familiar.
"...Frankie, is that you?!"
The young buck's head listed nonchalantly toward the voice, just as he was taking another toke. Aside from turning his head, the rest of him barely moved at all. He didn't say a single word of confirmation, but didn't correct him, either.
"My god, how long's it been? Ha ha, you remember me, right? Uncle Chester? God, I haven't seen you since you came up just under your daddy's belt!"
Still, the rat said nothing, merely watching as the possum started to climb the stoop. Of course, nor Frankie or anybody else had never called him 'Uncle' in their lives, to say nothing of the fact that they weren't related, by marriage or otherwise. But it was a nice way to remember things.
"Wow, you've...you've grown, haven't you! You...you hittin' the heavy bag down at Biff's gym? No denying it, you're the spitting image of your ma, God rest her soul. You got her eyes."
"..."
"...Well, I tell you, I never thought I'd see you workin' the door for your old man. You were always a good boy. Always thought...always thought maybe your brother Robbie, he always seemed...you know...up for that. How's old Robbie doin', anyway?"
Somewhere to the North, another squad car hollered through, with a profanity-laced argument accenting it from the East.
"Well, you know what they say, the more things change...you know the rest. Here I am, back at your daddy's special casino night, in a bit a hot water with the old bastard...same as it's ever been. Guess he's got something worked out for me...some way to make it right."
Frankie took another puff.
"...God, I haven't seen you since...well, heh...since I lost my boy. But I guess I don't have to tell you, you were...you were there. That's how I got this bum leg, walking around with this stick in my hand like I'm blind as a bat or something...you know, you and Jo-Jo were best buds. Sometimes in between the big favors for your daddy, I'd keep an eye on you, take you to the playground, maybe to a movie...you'd run around, I remember Frankie, you were always hollering, screeching at the top of your lungs, just you and Joey, having the time of your lives. I don't even think you knew what your daddy was up to, back then. Took you and Jo-Jo over to Cohn Park on one'a those jobs...never woulda imagined those guys would come screamin' by like that, blasting a piece right through the damn window..."
Chester looked down and away, other than the occasional glance toward Frankie's eyes, for any signs of reaction. The arguing in the distance stopped. Guess somebody got what they wanted.
"All I lost was this knee. Woulda given both up just to take that one for my boy. It was just...kids playing in the park, I mean, who does that? I guess it's all might fight. I was always screwin' people...pissin' em off. It's just been...hard ever since. Heh. But look who I'm telling. I thought you'd...never stop crying...."
A bit of thunder. Frankie was protected under the awning. Chester never did get around to replacing that old umbrella.
"I guess...you never did talk much since then. Not around me, at least. I can't blame you. It's hard...been hard for everyone...you know, I swore all this off after that...never again, I said...but it ain't getting any easier. So now...here I am, again. Back at the old man's door. Heh."
Frankie twitched his whiskers.
"So...is the password still 'Rooster?'"
After a beat or two, Frankie reached back, pounding three times on the old, wooden door, keeping his eyes trained on the old saw-tooth, before crossing his arms yet again, as still as the statue of the Colonel in the center of the park. Chester climbed the last few steps, stopping beside the stoic buck.
"Well...it's great to see you again, Frankie. Heh!"
Chester reached up to ruffle the fur atop the rat's head, just like the old days, then letting out a holler of pain as Frankie wretched the old possum's black wrist downward, about an inch short of a fracture, forcing him down to his knees in one, cool motion.
"Agnnnn...! C'mon, Frankie...I was always good to you...! You know I never meant for any of this to happen! Agh...! I always thought you were sharp as a tack, kiddo...! You were better than all this...better than Robbie, better than your old man, better than me...!"
Beneath the porch light, the door opened, the sounds of chatter and the smell of alcohol pouring out through the frame. The old rat, white furs interspersed with the grey over his face, black eyes encrusted beneath world-weary brows, stepped out onto the stoop, putting a hand on his son's shoulder.
"Let him up, Francis."
The two bucks met eyes for a moment, Frankie keeping the hold tight a few more seconds before tossing away Chester's brittle wrist. Fumbling for his cane, Chester made a shaky rise back to his feet, as Frankie reached out, dusting and smoothing out the old guy's jacket before crossing his arms, and leaning back against the frame of the door. Chester quickly caught his breath, offering something close to a small to the old rat standing beside his son.
"Heh...hey there Sullivan...just doing a little roughhousing with the boy...can't believe how big he's got! How old's he now, Fifteen? Sixteen?"
"He's Nineteen. Chester."
"Christ...where does all the time go, huh?"
"Come inside, Chester. Let's talk."
"Heh...right. Right."
Chester kept his eyes trained on the floor, as he passed the two bucks, careful not to make any sudden moves. Turning to follow, Sullivan stopped in the doorway, looking back to his son. He reached down, plucking the cigarette out of Frankie's fingers, flicking it out into the rain.
"I told you not to do that so close to the door."
With another twitch of his whiskers, Frankie merely turned away, facing out into the alley.
"Why don't you take five, boy? Lopez can take over for a few. You know, his little girl's been looking your way all night. How about coming in, saying hi? You could use some attention."
Frankie glanced over, the shadowed blue of his eyes meeting the black of his father's. The young rat then trotted down the stoop, producing a pack of smokes from his back pocket, slipping another one between his lips. Sullivan remained at the top of the stoop, watching the young buck disappear down the alley, to where ever it was he was always going.
The old rat shrugged, heading inside, closing the door behind him.
Anyway, go ahead, lewd him. You know you're thinking it.
There were people out there who romanticized the smell of rain, how 'clean' it made everything smell. Perhaps it was true where they were from, but in between these highrises and rusted out sedans, the addition of standing water wasn't doing the smell any favors. His streetlamp-cast shadow walking in step, the white-faced possum's ears flattened with each drop that landed between them, his jacket lacking a hood to pull over. The best he could do was lift his furless tail from the quickly dampening concrete below him, as he made his way further down the alley. From a nearby block he could hear the wailing of a law-enforcement vehicle, undertaking yet another futile attempt to bring some sense of order to this city. Did they know they'd find what they were looking for just a few blocks this way, or did they simply not care anymore? Honestly, it didn't matter.
It'd be the third stoop on the left, they'd said. Hadn't been to the new place, but was quite familiar with the old one. As Chester drew closer to the door in question, he could see someone standing there, the unmistakably angular snout of a rat, covered in white fur with gold patches. The red glow of a lit cigarette was visible down by his belt, where the rat's hands rested. As the aging possum approached the bottom of the steps, the door boy started to look familiar.
"...Frankie, is that you?!"
The young buck's head listed nonchalantly toward the voice, just as he was taking another toke. Aside from turning his head, the rest of him barely moved at all. He didn't say a single word of confirmation, but didn't correct him, either.
"My god, how long's it been? Ha ha, you remember me, right? Uncle Chester? God, I haven't seen you since you came up just under your daddy's belt!"
Still, the rat said nothing, merely watching as the possum started to climb the stoop. Of course, nor Frankie or anybody else had never called him 'Uncle' in their lives, to say nothing of the fact that they weren't related, by marriage or otherwise. But it was a nice way to remember things.
"Wow, you've...you've grown, haven't you! You...you hittin' the heavy bag down at Biff's gym? No denying it, you're the spitting image of your ma, God rest her soul. You got her eyes."
"..."
"...Well, I tell you, I never thought I'd see you workin' the door for your old man. You were always a good boy. Always thought...always thought maybe your brother Robbie, he always seemed...you know...up for that. How's old Robbie doin', anyway?"
Somewhere to the North, another squad car hollered through, with a profanity-laced argument accenting it from the East.
"Well, you know what they say, the more things change...you know the rest. Here I am, back at your daddy's special casino night, in a bit a hot water with the old bastard...same as it's ever been. Guess he's got something worked out for me...some way to make it right."
Frankie took another puff.
"...God, I haven't seen you since...well, heh...since I lost my boy. But I guess I don't have to tell you, you were...you were there. That's how I got this bum leg, walking around with this stick in my hand like I'm blind as a bat or something...you know, you and Jo-Jo were best buds. Sometimes in between the big favors for your daddy, I'd keep an eye on you, take you to the playground, maybe to a movie...you'd run around, I remember Frankie, you were always hollering, screeching at the top of your lungs, just you and Joey, having the time of your lives. I don't even think you knew what your daddy was up to, back then. Took you and Jo-Jo over to Cohn Park on one'a those jobs...never woulda imagined those guys would come screamin' by like that, blasting a piece right through the damn window..."
Chester looked down and away, other than the occasional glance toward Frankie's eyes, for any signs of reaction. The arguing in the distance stopped. Guess somebody got what they wanted.
"All I lost was this knee. Woulda given both up just to take that one for my boy. It was just...kids playing in the park, I mean, who does that? I guess it's all might fight. I was always screwin' people...pissin' em off. It's just been...hard ever since. Heh. But look who I'm telling. I thought you'd...never stop crying...."
A bit of thunder. Frankie was protected under the awning. Chester never did get around to replacing that old umbrella.
"I guess...you never did talk much since then. Not around me, at least. I can't blame you. It's hard...been hard for everyone...you know, I swore all this off after that...never again, I said...but it ain't getting any easier. So now...here I am, again. Back at the old man's door. Heh."
Frankie twitched his whiskers.
"So...is the password still 'Rooster?'"
After a beat or two, Frankie reached back, pounding three times on the old, wooden door, keeping his eyes trained on the old saw-tooth, before crossing his arms yet again, as still as the statue of the Colonel in the center of the park. Chester climbed the last few steps, stopping beside the stoic buck.
"Well...it's great to see you again, Frankie. Heh!"
Chester reached up to ruffle the fur atop the rat's head, just like the old days, then letting out a holler of pain as Frankie wretched the old possum's black wrist downward, about an inch short of a fracture, forcing him down to his knees in one, cool motion.
"Agnnnn...! C'mon, Frankie...I was always good to you...! You know I never meant for any of this to happen! Agh...! I always thought you were sharp as a tack, kiddo...! You were better than all this...better than Robbie, better than your old man, better than me...!"
Beneath the porch light, the door opened, the sounds of chatter and the smell of alcohol pouring out through the frame. The old rat, white furs interspersed with the grey over his face, black eyes encrusted beneath world-weary brows, stepped out onto the stoop, putting a hand on his son's shoulder.
"Let him up, Francis."
The two bucks met eyes for a moment, Frankie keeping the hold tight a few more seconds before tossing away Chester's brittle wrist. Fumbling for his cane, Chester made a shaky rise back to his feet, as Frankie reached out, dusting and smoothing out the old guy's jacket before crossing his arms, and leaning back against the frame of the door. Chester quickly caught his breath, offering something close to a small to the old rat standing beside his son.
"Heh...hey there Sullivan...just doing a little roughhousing with the boy...can't believe how big he's got! How old's he now, Fifteen? Sixteen?"
"He's Nineteen. Chester."
"Christ...where does all the time go, huh?"
"Come inside, Chester. Let's talk."
"Heh...right. Right."
Chester kept his eyes trained on the floor, as he passed the two bucks, careful not to make any sudden moves. Turning to follow, Sullivan stopped in the doorway, looking back to his son. He reached down, plucking the cigarette out of Frankie's fingers, flicking it out into the rain.
"I told you not to do that so close to the door."
With another twitch of his whiskers, Frankie merely turned away, facing out into the alley.
"Why don't you take five, boy? Lopez can take over for a few. You know, his little girl's been looking your way all night. How about coming in, saying hi? You could use some attention."
Frankie glanced over, the shadowed blue of his eyes meeting the black of his father's. The young rat then trotted down the stoop, producing a pack of smokes from his back pocket, slipping another one between his lips. Sullivan remained at the top of the stoop, watching the young buck disappear down the alley, to where ever it was he was always going.
The old rat shrugged, heading inside, closing the door behind him.
Anyway, go ahead, lewd him. You know you're thinking it.
Category All / General Furry Art
Species Rat
Size 1000 x 1269px
File Size 1.86 MB
Tommy himself wouldn't be a rat, his family's far too white for that. I just think he and Frankie here would have a similar 0-to-asskicking escalation when provoked, as a direct result of unresolved trauma, but would rather be left alone. I'm not sure what Tommy would in fact be if he were a critter but Jason would probably be an opossum or something. Something that could be seen as both an antagonist and a victim, depending on the context.
But I've also never, ever seen an anthro version of the hockey mask that didn't look completely stupid so, it's probably best to just leave everyone in that universe perfectly human.
But I've also never, ever seen an anthro version of the hockey mask that didn't look completely stupid so, it's probably best to just leave everyone in that universe perfectly human.
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