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The Rise of the Raccoon Queen
Or The Big Grey Fluffy Butt Matter
A Story of Faerie
© 2020 by M. Mitchell Marmel
(Additional characters by E.O. Costello and W.D. Reimer.)
Thumbnail art by
technicolor_pie, color by 
Major Matt Mason
Part Thirty-nine.
Jhonni:
Expense account addendum: Two stars fifty, for a new hat and coat from DelFurrio’s Tailor Shop.
So what do we do with a street full of wet, slippery femmes dressed in skimpy armor and covered in pie goo?
I would tell you, but I think you already know.
The Baker’s Guild was certainly on a loser this Deliverance Day. Most of their wares ended up as projectiles hurled about with abandon by the Wolf Queen impersonators. What made it worse was that a lot of the folk standing around, spattered or hit outright, joined in the fun.
Since I stand out in a crowd, I became a target, so I pulled up my overcoat. A stray strawberry crème tart took my hat off, and the coat’s fabric was ruined by the fruit filling after I was peppered with paw pies.
The ladies at the Hetaira’s Union and the Temple of the Brilliant Light either joined in, or waded in to help people get cleaned up and properly cared for. That ‘care’ sometimes involved escorting a freshly-cleaned person into one of the small booths behind the Union tent.
To ‘relax.’
From some of the sounds I heard coming from the booths, it was really relaxing. It reminded me of the night the City Guard raided Minkie’s House of Negotiable Affections. That was a fun night.
I briefly toyed with the idea of getting some ‘relaxation’ when I saw the Raccoon Queen and her otteress friend take off at a run for the bridge. I recalled what Dater had said about her armor, so I figured that the fun had started, and Mrs. Dinar’s boy Jhonni is always up for a party. I took off after them without really thinking about my route.
My mistake became apparent when I ran past the ants’ corral. I was yanked backward and my coat stripped from me by gleefully gronking ants who discovered the sweet fruit topping on my overcoat to be an irresistible treat.
Dammit, I liked that coat.
There had been some sort of commotion by the bridge, but the way was clear. I could see various sodden foxes being hauled out of the Yellow Onoob, and my eyes were watering from the stink they were giving off. I shook it off and kept running, following a certain raccooness’ striped tail.
Nice tailfur.
With someone to follow, I finally managed to catch up to them. “Hello, ladies,” I managed to say.
The raccooness looked like she was about to collapse, but was still moving. The otter femme glanced at me. “Who are you?” she asked.
“Jhonni Dinar. I’d tip . . . my hat, but I . . . lost it at the pie fight.” We jogged on for a little distance, and I asked, “You two . . . with Winterbough’s lot?”
The otter, who was wearing nothing but a few ropes of pearls (yes, I’d just noticed), smiled. “Yes. I’m Ooo-er, and this is the Raccoon Queen.” The raccoon just waved, concentrating on her breathing and keeping up her pace. “She knows where we’re going.”
“Great.”
My guess that they were with Winterbough and Mason’s operation was confirmed when we reached Griffin Street and I saw a crowd gathered outside Mrs. Miggins’. The three of us slowed to a walk to catch our breath before we approached.
The roebuck and the bear were standing at the foot of the front stairs, and I could see Sergeant Sage talking with her feline commander. The tenants of the boarding house were outside with all their belongings, while Mrs. Miggins stood a short distance away, wringing her paws.
Winterbough saw us and walked over to meet us. “Good to see you. Everything all right back at the festival?”
“City Guard are clearing away the mess,” I replied. “What’s going on here?”
“Disposal,” Mason replied.
“You do know that the candidates and the State Council are going to ask questions,” I said to the bear.
“They’ll get answers,” he assured me. He turned and shouted at the building, “FRED! TWO MINUTES!”
A brown and black-furred canine stuck his head out a window and waved. A few moments later he came running out the front door. “Ready when you are, Boss,” he said.
“Right.” Mason pulled something from a pocket and said into it, “Okay boys, all clear. Let ‘er rip.”
For a moment, nothing happened.
Another couple moments later, more nothing happened.
We all jumped, and Mrs. Miggins screamed, as the building twisted to the right, accompanied by a loud “Vzrrrr . . . “ sound. It straightened up.
Then it twisted to the left. “Vzrrr . . . “
All of us watched as the boarding house twisted to the right again, flexing further and further. “Vzrrr, vzrrr, VZRRR – “
“There she blows!” the dog said.
The entire building blurred as it spun to the right, spinning and spiraling like water going down a drain, getting smaller and smaller until it disappeared with a loud “V’ZOOP!”
A rabbit doe wearing only a corset, standing by her belongings, said, “WOW!”
Looking at her, I had to agree.
“Where did it go?” the Raccoon Queen asked.
Mason shrugged. “Standard procedure. The whole thing was dumped into the middle of a star. Only way to be sure.”
I stepped across the street and looked down. Even the basement was gone, and water was starting to leak out of the remaining pipes.
“Who’s going to pay for all this?!” Mrs. Miggins wailed, gripping her ears and sinking to her knees on the pavement.
The feline commander knelt beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll make sure that it’s all taken care of.”
“I hope so,” Winterbough said. He sighed before taking another look at the Raccoon Queen and Ooo-er. “What happened to you two?”
“We fought the Pie-Fight Valkyrie,” the raccoon said in a curiously flat voice. “The Unseelie escaped us, but she will not trouble this land again.”
“Meanwhile, there were pies,” Ooo-er said. She grinned. “Everywhere.”
“So you were in a pie fight?” Winterbough asked. We nodded, and his ears swiveled as he looked at us, then at Sergeant Sage.
Then at us again.
Then at the sergeant.
Back to us.
Back to the wolfess.
He suddenly stuck his paws imploringly to the skies and said, “SOMEONE GIVE ME A PIE!” He lowered his paws, and stopped. His eyes went wide.
Ooo-er, the wolfess, and the Raccoon Queen’s paws were suddenly filled with pies.
But not for long, and despite being a small target, the roebuck never had a chance. In a trice, he was covered in pie filling and whipped cream from his face down to his hooves.
As he spluttered and dug the cream out of his eyes, Dater and a detachment of the City Guard came up at a trot. The beagle stopped short, and the others fell on top of him. I tried not to laugh (too much) as they sorted themselves out, and after Dater had gotten to his feet and brushed himself off he glared at me and walked over to Mason. “Did you do it?”
“It’s a fair cop, but society is to blame,” the dog commented.
Mason smiled. “Yes, everything’s taken care of. Sorry about the gap in your skyline, but that’s the way the cookie crumbles.” Before Dater could say anything, the bear held up a paw. “We’ll pay for its replacement, don’t worry about that.”
The beagle blinked. “You will?”
“Sure.”
Dater just stood there blinking, like someone had just hit him between the eyes with his own truncheon. I was tempted to test that when Winterbough, finally managing to clean himself off – that’s a lot of cantrips; I’m surprised he didn’t leave to take a nap – glared at the femmes who’d pied him and asked, “I want to be there when you talk to the State Council, Matt.”
This was greeted with a shrug. “The more, the merrier.”
“Did Greene get elected?” the dog asked.
Dater flicked his tail. “Yeah, since Byrde flew the coop.”
“Yes! Woohoo!” the canine exulted, pumping a fist in the air. “I win the bet!”
“Bet?” I asked.
“I had a bet on with Michael. Which reminds me, where is he? I need to gloat.”
“He’s back at the festival,” the Raccoon Queen said. “He said something about needing more brandy.”
“Ah yes,” and the dog nodded sagely. “Always an eye and palate for the finer things in life, that one.” He faced the feline, stood straight, saluted and shouted, “MA’AM! REQUEST PERMISSION TO LOCATE THE CAPTAIN, MA’AM!”
The commander gave him a look. Her tail flicked and she said, “Fetch, boy.” The canine gave her a cheerful grin, saluted again, and took off at a run.
He barely got ten paces before a portly black and white-feathered avian dressed as an acolyte from the Temple stepped out of an alley and started chasing him, beating him about the head and shoulders with a long stick.
Shouldn’t mess with the penguin. Even I know that one.
So.
This is pretty much it. With my help, a plot to take over the State Council was foiled, the right candidate was elected, and a threat to all of Eastness was destroyed. My only injuries were two headaches, my hat and my coat; I’m going to have to see about getting them replaced - the hat and coat, not the headaches. I’ll keep the money I got off that cat who tried to kill me, just in case there’s another Big Gray Fluffy Butt Matter.
[Note appended to manuscript: “HEY!”]
Expenses account total 7S.8s.59d. Comments: I never heard of this Temporal Corps outfit before, but they sure hire some knockout dames.
Yours Truly, Jhonni Dinar.
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
Or The Big Grey Fluffy Butt Matter
A Story of Faerie
© 2020 by M. Mitchell Marmel
(Additional characters by E.O. Costello and W.D. Reimer.)
Thumbnail art by
technicolor_pie, color by 
Major Matt MasonPart Thirty-nine.
Jhonni:
Expense account addendum: Two stars fifty, for a new hat and coat from DelFurrio’s Tailor Shop.
So what do we do with a street full of wet, slippery femmes dressed in skimpy armor and covered in pie goo?
I would tell you, but I think you already know.
The Baker’s Guild was certainly on a loser this Deliverance Day. Most of their wares ended up as projectiles hurled about with abandon by the Wolf Queen impersonators. What made it worse was that a lot of the folk standing around, spattered or hit outright, joined in the fun.
Since I stand out in a crowd, I became a target, so I pulled up my overcoat. A stray strawberry crème tart took my hat off, and the coat’s fabric was ruined by the fruit filling after I was peppered with paw pies.
The ladies at the Hetaira’s Union and the Temple of the Brilliant Light either joined in, or waded in to help people get cleaned up and properly cared for. That ‘care’ sometimes involved escorting a freshly-cleaned person into one of the small booths behind the Union tent.
To ‘relax.’
From some of the sounds I heard coming from the booths, it was really relaxing. It reminded me of the night the City Guard raided Minkie’s House of Negotiable Affections. That was a fun night.
I briefly toyed with the idea of getting some ‘relaxation’ when I saw the Raccoon Queen and her otteress friend take off at a run for the bridge. I recalled what Dater had said about her armor, so I figured that the fun had started, and Mrs. Dinar’s boy Jhonni is always up for a party. I took off after them without really thinking about my route.
My mistake became apparent when I ran past the ants’ corral. I was yanked backward and my coat stripped from me by gleefully gronking ants who discovered the sweet fruit topping on my overcoat to be an irresistible treat.
Dammit, I liked that coat.
There had been some sort of commotion by the bridge, but the way was clear. I could see various sodden foxes being hauled out of the Yellow Onoob, and my eyes were watering from the stink they were giving off. I shook it off and kept running, following a certain raccooness’ striped tail.
Nice tailfur.
With someone to follow, I finally managed to catch up to them. “Hello, ladies,” I managed to say.
The raccooness looked like she was about to collapse, but was still moving. The otter femme glanced at me. “Who are you?” she asked.
“Jhonni Dinar. I’d tip . . . my hat, but I . . . lost it at the pie fight.” We jogged on for a little distance, and I asked, “You two . . . with Winterbough’s lot?”
The otter, who was wearing nothing but a few ropes of pearls (yes, I’d just noticed), smiled. “Yes. I’m Ooo-er, and this is the Raccoon Queen.” The raccoon just waved, concentrating on her breathing and keeping up her pace. “She knows where we’re going.”
“Great.”
My guess that they were with Winterbough and Mason’s operation was confirmed when we reached Griffin Street and I saw a crowd gathered outside Mrs. Miggins’. The three of us slowed to a walk to catch our breath before we approached.
The roebuck and the bear were standing at the foot of the front stairs, and I could see Sergeant Sage talking with her feline commander. The tenants of the boarding house were outside with all their belongings, while Mrs. Miggins stood a short distance away, wringing her paws.
Winterbough saw us and walked over to meet us. “Good to see you. Everything all right back at the festival?”
“City Guard are clearing away the mess,” I replied. “What’s going on here?”
“Disposal,” Mason replied.
“You do know that the candidates and the State Council are going to ask questions,” I said to the bear.
“They’ll get answers,” he assured me. He turned and shouted at the building, “FRED! TWO MINUTES!”
A brown and black-furred canine stuck his head out a window and waved. A few moments later he came running out the front door. “Ready when you are, Boss,” he said.
“Right.” Mason pulled something from a pocket and said into it, “Okay boys, all clear. Let ‘er rip.”
For a moment, nothing happened.
Another couple moments later, more nothing happened.
We all jumped, and Mrs. Miggins screamed, as the building twisted to the right, accompanied by a loud “Vzrrrr . . . “ sound. It straightened up.
Then it twisted to the left. “Vzrrr . . . “
All of us watched as the boarding house twisted to the right again, flexing further and further. “Vzrrr, vzrrr, VZRRR – “
“There she blows!” the dog said.
The entire building blurred as it spun to the right, spinning and spiraling like water going down a drain, getting smaller and smaller until it disappeared with a loud “V’ZOOP!”
A rabbit doe wearing only a corset, standing by her belongings, said, “WOW!”
Looking at her, I had to agree.
“Where did it go?” the Raccoon Queen asked.
Mason shrugged. “Standard procedure. The whole thing was dumped into the middle of a star. Only way to be sure.”
I stepped across the street and looked down. Even the basement was gone, and water was starting to leak out of the remaining pipes.
“Who’s going to pay for all this?!” Mrs. Miggins wailed, gripping her ears and sinking to her knees on the pavement.
The feline commander knelt beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll make sure that it’s all taken care of.”
“I hope so,” Winterbough said. He sighed before taking another look at the Raccoon Queen and Ooo-er. “What happened to you two?”
“We fought the Pie-Fight Valkyrie,” the raccoon said in a curiously flat voice. “The Unseelie escaped us, but she will not trouble this land again.”
“Meanwhile, there were pies,” Ooo-er said. She grinned. “Everywhere.”
“So you were in a pie fight?” Winterbough asked. We nodded, and his ears swiveled as he looked at us, then at Sergeant Sage.
Then at us again.
Then at the sergeant.
Back to us.
Back to the wolfess.
He suddenly stuck his paws imploringly to the skies and said, “SOMEONE GIVE ME A PIE!” He lowered his paws, and stopped. His eyes went wide.
Ooo-er, the wolfess, and the Raccoon Queen’s paws were suddenly filled with pies.
But not for long, and despite being a small target, the roebuck never had a chance. In a trice, he was covered in pie filling and whipped cream from his face down to his hooves.
As he spluttered and dug the cream out of his eyes, Dater and a detachment of the City Guard came up at a trot. The beagle stopped short, and the others fell on top of him. I tried not to laugh (too much) as they sorted themselves out, and after Dater had gotten to his feet and brushed himself off he glared at me and walked over to Mason. “Did you do it?”
“It’s a fair cop, but society is to blame,” the dog commented.
Mason smiled. “Yes, everything’s taken care of. Sorry about the gap in your skyline, but that’s the way the cookie crumbles.” Before Dater could say anything, the bear held up a paw. “We’ll pay for its replacement, don’t worry about that.”
The beagle blinked. “You will?”
“Sure.”
Dater just stood there blinking, like someone had just hit him between the eyes with his own truncheon. I was tempted to test that when Winterbough, finally managing to clean himself off – that’s a lot of cantrips; I’m surprised he didn’t leave to take a nap – glared at the femmes who’d pied him and asked, “I want to be there when you talk to the State Council, Matt.”
This was greeted with a shrug. “The more, the merrier.”
“Did Greene get elected?” the dog asked.
Dater flicked his tail. “Yeah, since Byrde flew the coop.”
“Yes! Woohoo!” the canine exulted, pumping a fist in the air. “I win the bet!”
“Bet?” I asked.
“I had a bet on with Michael. Which reminds me, where is he? I need to gloat.”
“He’s back at the festival,” the Raccoon Queen said. “He said something about needing more brandy.”
“Ah yes,” and the dog nodded sagely. “Always an eye and palate for the finer things in life, that one.” He faced the feline, stood straight, saluted and shouted, “MA’AM! REQUEST PERMISSION TO LOCATE THE CAPTAIN, MA’AM!”
The commander gave him a look. Her tail flicked and she said, “Fetch, boy.” The canine gave her a cheerful grin, saluted again, and took off at a run.
He barely got ten paces before a portly black and white-feathered avian dressed as an acolyte from the Temple stepped out of an alley and started chasing him, beating him about the head and shoulders with a long stick.
Shouldn’t mess with the penguin. Even I know that one.
So.
This is pretty much it. With my help, a plot to take over the State Council was foiled, the right candidate was elected, and a threat to all of Eastness was destroyed. My only injuries were two headaches, my hat and my coat; I’m going to have to see about getting them replaced - the hat and coat, not the headaches. I’ll keep the money I got off that cat who tried to kill me, just in case there’s another Big Gray Fluffy Butt Matter.
[Note appended to manuscript: “HEY!”]
Expenses account total 7S.8s.59d. Comments: I never heard of this Temporal Corps outfit before, but they sure hire some knockout dames.
Yours Truly, Jhonni Dinar.
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Giraffe
Size 1219 x 1280px
File Size 144.2 kB
Listed in Folders
For the uninitiated, Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar was a long-running radio series featuring "that fabulous freelance insurance investigator with the action-packed expense account". Several actors played Dollar, including Edmond O'Brien and Mandel Kramer, but the definitive portrayal was done by Bob Bailey. For one season in 1956, they switched formats from a weekly half hour to a 5-days-a-week 15-minute segment, which let them tell more complex stories as long as they could be broken up into smaller chunks. Those stories are well worth seeking out, as is the series in general. The last episode of this series was the next-to-last broadcast of the Golden Age of Radio, right before the final episode of Suspense.
A Google for the title will turn up plenty of examples.
A Google for the title will turn up plenty of examples.
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