Commissioned from  Tatious
Little bit of fiddling and editing, along with colouring by me myself and I.
Story below by myself too, there is no ceasing to my talents!

Oh important little bit, one of the few scenes in my head to fully have a sound-track, in this case a solitary track. So feel free to enjoy it too. http://www.youtuberepeat.com/watch/?v=G-dIeWSPddM

---


Lazy sun, on a mildly active day, in a bustling park... for the Poochyena everything was just filtering through to his mind on the simple notion that today was a good day. Light refreshing breeze picked and sifted its way through his messy spiked hair, flicking incessantly at those spikes which rested upon fore-head and tickled at base of his ears. Little twitch on those sensitive and rather precise auditory appendages at the small polite claps and then thudding of coins, the sounds of a sucessfully pleased audience. He had been plying his little entertainments through much of the park today, already empty on his fireworks and sparklers... also a little tired of repeatedly flashing his busking permit to the various police straying from their patrols just to enjoy a sun-kissed stretch of greenery that was Lorenzo Park in the heart of the North of the West Side of what was being simply dubbed Pokemorph City... really it did have a name, not a bad one before but it just made more sense to dub it something a touch more cosey and welcoming.

Currently his act was tapering off, there had been many a banjo-plucked tune and displays of sparks and colour. Now there was just his own personal fidget-suppressor, plopped upon the grass just off from the walking path, his fire-safety glove removed and now with such gentle flicks of wrists and spreadings of fingers the Poochyena-morph allowed himself to revel in his juggling. It was difficult to at first get the basics of, but persistent practice and apparently some natural knack at it and soon he'd been able to handle two, then three and rather safely four when not intending to show off. With so many sessions under his worn belt much of the current gravity defying was being carried out by muscle memory, allowing his mind to drift just a touch and more importantly allow his senses to spread beyond his own deeds and the safety of his cash-box.

The beginning of autumn was certainly starting auspiciously, the temperature only dropping a few degrees and none of the more violent winds, but the colour, my the colour was there as it sailed from the tree branches in uneven flutters before spreading along the ground and the let both eye and light be caught in the last moistness collected on the leaves before they would crunch underfoot or be scattered by a breath of nature. Then there was the populace sharing in this gold and brown speckled dot of time with him. Still in their summer fashions with a few of the more cautious having the dents of concealed gloves in their jacket pockets.

There was a rich appeal to the Poochyena in how deep the differences and uniqueness of the various passing Morphs was to him, with humans the differences were always there and could become so expected they'd almost slip out of notice, the mind starting to focus on the crowd and flow instead of the people shuffling and making such a mass. With Morphs it was always eye-catching... to him at least, there were so many varied body-shapes from the rock-hewn Golems with their wide waddles to the near effortless flits of the toes offered by some spritely young Nidoran. The fashions were so wonderfully seperatist as well, cliques were one thing but to have seperation by type and shape just varied it all the more. Course always some nice overlap, really Machamp-morph Goths were rather hilarious to behold... although Emo worked suprisingly well on the Jigglypuffs and such.

The sounds were so drastically different too. Tom himself had spent so little time in proper urban areas but here, due to all the headaches of modifcations and safety limits personal vehicles were still out of general use and so there was a delightful ambiance of only natural noise. None of the various chugs and puffs of engines or the other hundreds of various little noises that would creep through the air surrounding an automocar. Here it was just the foot-steps of a vast variety of weights and paces, the quiet chatter... this park, like post offices and banks seemed to carry that weighty air on the politer citizens that caused them to naturally whisper all their interactions.

... All of these lofty thoughts however stopped when the Scottsmutts eyes fell upon something that tickled his fancy quite a bit, long shapely stockings... with long shapely legs inside them. There was something about seeing a girl stepping around in striped garments that gave that overfluffed tail poking out from his back a bit of incentive to move and not just shade the grass. As he focussed on the beautifully silky swaying figure he couldn't help but notice that most of his mental check-list was being ticked in quick sucession. But then he fell upon the face... the tail of course was a dead give-away to being a Glameow, but her whole coutenance... Glameows often had a rather natural haughtiness, instilled in them naturally and even the ones that were born Morphs seemed to possess it, but this girl...

The Poochyena-morph had already risen and pocketed his juggling tools, moneybox securely locked... his various other guff bundled and secured against his back. She could've been smaller than a Diglett and still to Tom that Glameow-morph girl would have stood out in the general spread of morphdom. Those eyes... such a stark yellow and yet it clutched at him without her ever needing to look directly to him. She had found a suitable spot, small stereo upon the grass and a simple classical tune playing as the young lass began her mime... to move with all the fluidity natural feline grace could give and all the more impressive for how practiced and simple her movements seemed to be.

As she fully inspected the four sides of a strange box left in her invisible enviroment that was when the lass saw the Poochyena. In the wilds and in domestic such meetings are usually far less intense despite the activity they engage in... but here they could both feel it and not a word escaped her lips to elucidate the offer quite obviously made in that glance. The CD case lay by her stereo and after dumping his stuff beside it swept his own hazel visionary pair along the list, track four, that was obviously the one.

From the first rise of instruments he was already nearing her, their hands raising up so slowly, careful securely placed foot-steps closing the distance and as her eyes instinctively closed their meeting stopped. Their palms rested so close... so very close but neither flinched or let this deter them as they took that time to slowly reopen their eyes and gaze into each other. There had to be far more to each of them than what they saw, but to themselves... they only saw what mattered and it eased the grip they each had on each others hearts, both sets of shoulders falling a touch as all that built up pressure and fear was swept aside.

They began to move once more, in unison as they traced out the shape of this barrier that kept them what could only feel right, their hands moving in sync as they felt along the wall to try and find some kind of hole, some flaw in the construction that could let them carve even a hairs closer to one another. So it continued, a small crowd watching as unknown to them a love was being put on display, could only be so there was no mere lust to this, no simple fancy or even friendly curiousity. With a moments fatigue they both slid down this imaginary obstruction in the stage of their mime, back to back, heads tilting up and dragging the backs of their hands once more along the surface of the wall...

The music drew quiet now, the brief rises were no more and the instruments were tailing off, he rose, she followed. They turned once more to face the other, palms awaiting the feel of the other, another instrument gone from the music. Neither heard the ending moment of the tune for the only sensation they saught to care for was touch, she had stepped forth, breaking this impervious barrier and before her lips reached his own, the Poochyena had leaned to catch her and so with absolutely nothing truly between them they shared a first kiss. Each breath during he drank of her scent and allowed himself to be lost in every little nuance, from the feel of her short little out-takes roughing up the fur on his muzzle, to the slightly tremble upon her lips that soon vanished and left her still but alive against him.

There was applause, there was loose change... but that didn't matter for there on that stretch of grass there was Tom and there was Rags. He had been content in his life, there had been nothing he truly wanted or longed for. But then, she wasn't a want... it all became very clear from the first brush of her breath against his form as they pressed against that wall. He needed her and while a dark-type was immune to any kind of psychic impulse or suggestion... he knew it was mutual.