A short cartoon fox transformation I wrote back in... *checks edit history* ... 2018. I found it while searching my Google drive for something unrelated. Enjoy!

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Wyatt had a problem. Specifically, he had five problems. As the founder and president of the Student Gaming Association, he was obligated to provide a fun and safe environment for fellow college-goers to get together and enjoy their favorite hobbies. Unfortunately, all five of his members were Introverts with a capital I. And a capital everything else, except that would be INTROVERTS and something that bold wouldn’t be very introverted at all. The point was that Wyatt could barely get his members to say anything more than a mumbled greeting before they buried themselves in their handhelds, phones, or books.

“You’re doing that thing again.” Sennel sighed upon seeing his roommate. He closed the door behind him as he entered and hefted a bag of groceries onto the counter. “That ‘oh god I’m a failure’ look. Club day got you down?”

Wyatt rolled over on the sofa and looked upside-down at Sennel. “It’s hard, is all, ok? We can’t even keep new members since the atmosphere turns everyone away. The last ten recruits I got ended up running off to the anime club. I can’t compete with that!”

“The problem is that they’re all wrapped up in themselves, right? Or too nervous to share or talk or whatnot? Why not run a D&D game or something to force ‘em to interact?”

“Tried. Failed. They made characters but I couldn’t get anyone to take initiative. I gave up after they spent twenty minutes standing in front of a door no one wanted to ‘rock the boat’ by opening.”

“Owch.” Sennel winced and started unpacking the bag. “Oh, speaking of, here’s your soda for tonight’s meet.” He lifted out a six-pack of bright red cans. “Not the normal stuff but, well, budget.”

“Roger that. Thanks.” Wyatt rolled off the couch and stretched. He had the grim look of a resigned soldier. “Welp, once more unto the breach. Wish me luck.”

==

Wyatt drummed his fingers and eyed the clock on the clubroom wall. Fifteen minutes to go until the others arrived--that could be relied on if nothing else. He didn’t want to think about it. About spending another two hours awkwardly listening to beeps and taps and the silence that always followed his attempts to start conversation. So he didn’t. Instead, Wyatt inspected the can of soda sitting on the table in front of him.

“‘Volp! Fruit Explosion’, huh? Must be a local brand.” He rotated the can and read the back. “‘Gives a burst of flavor and energy guaranteed to last at least one episode!’ Huh, maybe it’s an import instead. Sounds like a bad translation job.” Wyatt cracked the tab and took a sip. It was a good soda if nothing else. Crisp fruit punch flavor with the right amount of fizz so it tickled the tongue but didn’t obscure the taste.

He took a few more sips and swished the soda back and forth before swallowing. “Mmm, a rich bouquet of summertime berries and tropical fruits, casked in an industrial steel mixer for seven minutes. Full-bodied with added preservatives and just a hint of red dye #6 for a high-class patina.” He declared with a haughty air before breaking down into giggles at his own nonsense.

Wyatt leaned back in his seat and made to prop his feet up on the table. His feet met empty air and the sudden shift in weight sent him tumbling to the floor in a heap. Wyatt quickly pulled himself into a sitting position. Thankfully, he had managed not to spill soda over himself in the fall. He took another sip, and almost spat it out when he saw why he had fallen in the first place.

His legs had shrunk by at least a foot and a half, maybe more, and a black outline was tracing its way over them. Wyatt watched as the line sketched over his feet and compressed them into a rounded, black, three-toed shape before stretching them out and smoothing away his heel. It was so surreal it took him a moment to realize his shoes and socks were simply gone.

The black flowed up Wyatt’s ankle like water and turned to bright orange when it hit his leg proper before vanishing underneath his denim jeans. He pulled them back but stopped midway when he felt the texture of the fabric change. Wyatt’s pants suddenly felt slick, like they were coated in marker, and they were turning brighter even as the various seams and scuffs faded into uniform colour. A sudden tickle from the base of his spine was the only warning he got before a fluffy, white-tipped, unmistakably vulpine tail popped out with a sound like a spring.

The sudden changes had taken less than a minute to occur and Wyatt needed only slightly longer for his brain to catch up with what had just happened. Panic seemed like an attractive option, what with the whole sudden foxification of his lower body, but the emotion never came. There wasn’t even a spike of adrenaline. Instead, Wyatt just felt energized. He leapt up onto his new feet/paws/whatever and could feel their soft texture deform slightly under his own weight like they weren’t entirely solid. Which they probably weren’t. He pulled his new tail around and ran a hand through the fluffy, felt-like fur. Black lines marked ripples and waves in the appendage that quickly faded when his hand moved away.

The culprit behind this strange event was easily identifiable. The can of Volp! In Wyatt’s hand now bore the same toonish qualities as his pants. And it was still half-full. Wyatt looked at the clock again. Five minutes until the gaming club arrived. He felt a sudden pang of despair at the idea of having to endure another boring two hours with them. There was something else. Wyatt’s breath quickened. Not from fear, though, from… anticipation? A large question mark popped overhead as the notion came to him. There was a niggling at the back of his mind. His anxieties about the gaming club were turning into ideas. A half-formed inspiration percolating in the carbonated fizz. Wyatt was on the verge of a breakthrough--he could feel it!--but it still hung just out of reach.

Wyatt looked at the clock, then back to the can of cartoon soda in his hand. He shrugged. “Not like I have anything to lose at this rate!” He said, tail wagging cheerfully. He gave the can a powerful squeeze and the rest of the soda spat out in an arc right into his open mouth. Wyatt’s tongue was already bright pink and smooth as he licked his lips. The fizz swam up his chest and over his arms and his hands puffed up into just three fingers and a thumb, coated in the same ink-black ‘fur’ as his feet. A ruff of white was visible under the collar of his polo shirt that quickly took on the same properties as his pants. Wyatt crossed his eyes to watch his nose turn dark and flat, rounding along the end of an emerging muzzle. A sudden sneeze made his face explode into colour and made his ears bounce onto the top of his head, newly perked and wiggling with energy.

The new animated fox opened his large, white eyes and looked around eagerly. Wyatt’s body was loose and light and he felt like running a marathon then bungee-jumping off the school’s roof. Or doing a bungee marathon because that suddenly sounded awesome and a much more efficient use of time. He quickly got ahold of himself however and checked the clock. He had just four minutes to put together a plan to turn a bunch of introverted gamers into the best bunch of buddies possible. A sly grin spread across Wyatt’s face and he rubbed his hands together before zipping off.