The clock flashed again and again. The alarm would buzz, had someone not turned the volume down hours ago in an angry fluster. Flash, flash, flash, the blue digital glow of the numbers illuminated softly into the room. 1:43 in the afternoon and still no sign of stirring within. Clothes were strewn about at the foot of the bed; three individual piles of clothes, neat-pressed and divided by type, under a smaller pile of clothes worn the night before. The blinds closed and curtains drawn over the windows, letting in only a small sliver of light that divided the room across a corner. An entire lengthy wall made of one unit of bookshelves; all the books fairly unread save for one section tucked away from the desk to the back of the room. The other three walls were solid marble, the white and blue-grey swirls dancing and portraying a calm feeling of serenity, though the resident could tell a tale of how it did no good. Near the clock rested a single furred hand, the digits were delicate, long, elegant and strong. A half empty pill bottle and a tipped glass rested nearby. Following the trail of the hand up the arm, it eventually comes to a figure shrouded under a violet silken sheet. One leg flopped out of the bundled blankets and wild sheets. The white fur a rather large contrast against the dark bed, but who was the half cloaked figure under these blankets?

The lump under the sheets shifted abruptly, shooting right up as a sharp gasp was followed by a dull groan. Slowly the sheets fell away from the man, pulled from his face with a grey-tone hand. Wild soft and full hair hung free, coiling near his tail as he turned to the clock. His eyes took a moment to recognize the numbers, focusing through the blur as slumber faded slowly. Another groan of frustration and pain as he fumbled with the silent alarm clock: trying anything to make the flashing stop, unable to focus enough to remember which elusive button turned the alarm off completely. He clung to his head as he felt every vein throb around his eyes, fingers massaging his temples. Pounding, all he could hear and feel was a dull, firm pounding on the inside of his skull. Louder and louder as he slowly slipped into true consciousness, but wait, something was off. The pounding wasn’t just inside of his head; there was a quick lighter pounding on his door, a small rasping, someone on the other side. “Slayne? Slaa~yne.” A light quirky voice called through the thick oak door. A voice like spring: high and happy, sunny in fact, the very sound made you want to feel happy. “Wake up wake up! Daddy’s coming home today, remember~!? Slayne!”

There was a moment of silence before some audible fumbling and the familiar sound of a belt jingling. The door swung open slowly, a tall white, if not a bit scruffy, figure stood in the crack. Tall, lithe and only slightly muscled: he would pass more for a woman with some of his curves. All he lacked were the breasts, appearance wise at any rate. His eyes stared down at a petite young flower that had rousted him. A dark raccoon girl, by the name of Tikka Vyx, medium short hair with an area of her bangs died bright purple for fun. Her piercing green eyes stared up at him, but it was her chipper smile that drew attention. It was so sweet and happy, so unlike his eyes, full of sorrow. “Good morning Tikka.” He groaned hand upon his head, running his fingers through his mane. “So the old man…When’s he due in?” He asked instinctively taking the two pills from the hand Tikka extended out to him. She knew him well enough to know he would need them. A quick dry swallow and he sighed, waiting for the aspirin to work its magic.

“Daddy’s plane should be landing soon, but you should have enough time to get ready. Your clothes are already in the washroom and the staff is on their way to tidy up for you. Kay?” she giggled, knowing him all too well and sticking to the routine for this occasion. It wasn’t Often Mr. Vyx came back to this home of his, but when he did it was usually the high point of Tikka’s year. She always wanted everything to be perfect for his arrival. No item out of place and no member of staff absent. On the other hand it was the time of year most annoying to the wolf-coon, a day of insults and never measuring up to standards. “And please, Slayne. For me, just put up with daddy for a while okay?” she turned on her heels checking his hip with her tiny rear as she bent over, only to bounce off him to walk away with over-pronounced steps. “I know it’s hard for you to keep up the act, but if you don’t I can’t keep you here.” There was a hint of shame in her voice, but it was quickly pushed aside as she paced down the hall in her sneakers, waving a quick hello to the old-English style maids making their way towards his room. “Be sure to wear the red one this time! ~”

The young man sighed, scratching the back of his head, the long hair flowing down to his knees, ruffled and bouncing as he moved his arm. “I hate red.” He simply stated, moving past his doorway to allow the staff in. The newest maid, a young Rabbit with deep red hair, blushed brightly as she passed the shirtless man. Toying with her, he flashed a quick wink before moving down the hall, watching out the window which stretched from one end to the other of the hall. 17 stories up there wasn’t much of a view, just smaller buildings and the busy city streets below. The noonday sun high above on this late spring day, though it already felt like summer. The whores and the skanks walking around in almost nothing, the pimps and dealers chilling inside waiting for their next drop or client, it was a normal day in great New York. He traced his fingertips across the glass as he strolled down the hall, fingers bouncing off the elevations where the glass had been sealed in by support braces, painted and tiled in the same marble like the rest of the entire 17th floor. This wasn’t even one of the luxury floors in fact, other than two or three of the rooms, the floor was completely unused.

The bathing room in itself was larger than even his room. Ornate pillars carved into the floor, statues of cherubs pouring hot water from their pots into a large multi-layered tub, one overflowing into the next. Gold and crimson was the theme of the room, and though it was large it almost looked cluttered with the furniture, exotic plants and curtains hanging over the center of the tub, streaming to each corner to stray from the water’s edge. And set aside on a small pedestal were the clothes he was expected to wear. Even the thought of having to wear the suit annoyed him, but it was that or living on his own out of this wonderful estate. Away from everything he had come to know over the ears. And one more important detail.

Just over an hour after waking the tall man stood, still looking sort of groggy, but feeling much better. His unruly hair had been tied back and braided tightly behind him. A single gold ring hung from the bottom, tied into the hair. It admittedly added a nice weight, though he was not a fan of the braiding. The black tuxedo with swallow tails hugged his body nicely, the blood red shirt underneath buttoned up to the point under his jaw. He swallowed, wishing he could loosen the collar somewhat. The cuffs of his pants had been hemmed the last inch to make up for the fact that his paws were bare, his claws shined and trimmed. The pressed black pants clung to his thighs, but loosened comfortably below the knee. Altogether he looked presentable and that’s all that mattered. He stood at the end of a long line of other staff members, of maids, butlers, chefs and valets. Of people whose names he had never bothered to learn or people he had never had more than a passing glance of. The staff was so interchangeable, it was a bad idea to become ‘buddy buddy’ with them, he seemed to be the only constant other than a few of the older maids, the ones who had been there since Tikka’s birth, the ones who were getting on in years. Finally, it was time; Mr. Vyx had arrived and had begun making his way down the hall. The literal red carpet under his feet as he stepped off the elevator there on the 23rd floor, the floor leading to his private suite. It was more of an indoor mansion, larger than many small manors in the country. Tikka was right at his side, smiling and asking him a million questions. A small grin on the side of the older man’s mouth as he nodded to each staff member individually, answering the questions as he felt necessary. A black suit, custom tailored for the man, a briefcase in his left hand and the chain of a gold pocket watch dangling from his shirt pocket. He came to a stop as Slayne came into his view. “Boy.” He said simply, his smile quickly becoming a gentle scowl. “Learned to finally dress proper I see.” His words rang out with the intent to sting. He eyed up and down for a moment, paused before the young man.

Slayne bowed from his belly, a hand crossing his chest to his opposite shoulder “Mr. Vyx.” He bit the corner of his mouth before rising, holding his words about the attack of his style. In the later years Mr. Vyx grew tired of the young man, but it was only because of Tikka that he kept the boy around. Even that had its limits however, too far out of line and even she could not save his hide. “Yes sir.” He rose from the bow, checking Tikka for any sign of warning before back to the elder Vyx’s eyes.

“Have you been keeping up on your tasks?” The old ‘coon raised a brow, only increasing the furrowed lines upon his face. His head did not stay on the boy, but turned to his daughter instead as he began walking away. Tikka’s voice picked up as she answered, begging to speak back to her father as they left the hall into the suite. A sigh of relief escaped many mouths in that hall, but none as deep as Slayne’s, more than a job, this was his life, almost everything he knew was in this tower, his only real friend was the only person who secured his place in her father’s halls. One week, it was all he had to put up with, one week was all Mr. Vyx would stay for; it’s all he ever stayed for. It was no secret that business was more important than family to him. Even Tikka knew this, but it was not for money, nor power. What it was for was a sound and stable standing in the world. A name for himself and his ‘legacy’ was all he desired.

The white furred man moved away quickly, it was nearly dinner time and he knew Mr. Vyx would put him through his rounds. It was time to get rest while he could, pace himself, let off steam, and take a few more pills. He loosened his collar, unfastening the top two buttons, breathing deeply with a sigh, letting his shoulders droop with his head. “I hate red…” he muttered waiting for the elevator to rise back to the floor.

Yeah yeah yeah I know I know. I submitted it wrong.

Wish I could write that good.