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Furry Fighters (Let the Fur Fly!) Cobalt Raccoon's Part 2
This time it's Mature for "mentioned nudity" in the side plots, but I don't think that it's that bad.
Rusty's understanding is developing a bit more and growing the more he spends time in this new world. This time, Rusty's learning the huge differences between our culture and that of Kernel City. "The Collapse", the Currency and the Geymin's Dating Service? Just to name a few… Whatever. The main focus Rusty has right now is finding a job and earning some Blambers. Still, you can't hire someone who doesn't exist, now can you?
As a side plot: Agent Conner Martin (policeman from the last part) is investigating the vigilante case that had (quite literally) dropped in his lap. Agent Martin would have never guessed that his investigation would led him to a different criminal entirely, a sweet old lady with a not so sweet… tea?
<<< PREV | FIRST | NEXT >>>
One of the things that I missed the most about being a writer was the total control of time. Sure a single day could last for months on end, but we were also able to skip hours by simply writing, “a few hours later”. Now, as a mortal character, I had to wait just like everybody else. Hours were hours and I was bored out of my mind. I couldn’t even go see a movie or something while I waited.
During the four hours, I had plenty of time to look around the world that I was in. The mall wasn’t the whole world, but it certainly provided enough insight of what this world social environment was like. The date was fnua 8, 194 V.C., which was read “June 8th, 194 AC”.
The year period "A.C." stands for “After Collapse”. Whatever this “Collapse” was, there were no detailed records of it. The only thing that I learned about it was that it had erased all the history of the world before "AC". This world was able to recover from it, but at great price. They had technology, but had no clue where it came from. Some types of technology was lost forever, but other more advance types were able to be reverse engineered.
One of the results of the Collapse, the whole world now works under significantly less governments and countries and they all exchange the same currency known as Blambers. Blambers were some kind of smooth blue crystals from what I could see. I knew that it was because, they displayed these smooth blue crystals everywhere that most people would display money. People use credit cards more than the actual jewels. They also displayed prices as if they were multiples of ten, like this: 16x102 ql. = 1600 Blambers. Come to think of it, the price tags were the only things that I could read. And they spoke wonders.
“You can’t buy this,” I read off of the shelves, “Get a job you lazy bum. Wow, even the price of gum is insulting me at only four Blambers too.”
The store that I was currently in was called ‘WebCjast’ (or as the locals read it, ‘MapCrest’). I’ve already been in there half a dozen times. No matter where I wondered to around the mall, I always somehow wound up back at the MapCrest store. Well, that and I wanted Chelsea to know that I was still nearby. I asked a two dozen stores and a few more restaurants if they were hiring. None of them were. Every needed position was filled. Which was to be expected. The background writes itself, therefore there are no problems (outside of that which effects or is effected by the main character’s story line).
“Sir,” one of the employees tapped me on the shoulder, “are you just going to window shop all day?”
The people at the MapCrest store wore black pants and shoes. They were required to wear a white dress shirt with a black tie if they were male. I hadn’t seen what the females got to wear, and I wondered if they even hired them there. This particular employee had clean cut short black hair. He wasn’t much older than my current age. He had a piercing in his right ear and a golden bird clip on his tie. The creepiest thing about him was his emerald eyes. If you’ve seen them, you’d swear that they were bending the light around them. Those were the only things that made him unique compared to the standards uniformed MapCrest employee.
“I don’t have much choice,” I read his name tag, “Cornelius? I can’t get a job anywhere.”
“Well, did you stop to think that it might be how you’re dressed?”
“Why? What’s wrong with how I’m dressed,” I didn’t think that there was anything wrong with t-shirts or jeans. Well, so long as they’re not ill fitting. Clearly, I wasn’t exactly saying wonders about being responsible either.
“Well, for starters, I wouldn’t hire someone who looks like a trampy vagabond,” Cornelius laughed, “Didn’t your parents teach you how to dress for an interview?”
I was about to answer, but then I remembered that I needed to stick to character. Still, I could use that to my advantage.
“No, I’m an orphan,” I rubbed the back of my head, “I’ve been on my own for most of my life.”
“Then why the heck are you so clean cut?”
“I’m doing what I can,” I dug in my bag, “and agencies will only help you so far. Can’t really say that I can trust any of them after sending me out to get mugged. Just look at what some random creeps did to my toothbrush.”
Cornelius backed up when he saw it. He also got a good view of the rest of the contents.
“They just took me off the street, dug in my bag, took anything of value and then they tried to… to,” I shuttered to think about it, “you don’t want to know.”
“Let me guess, they tried to hit on you and you didn’t like it.”
“Of course not,” I squealed in a high voice, but recomposed myself, “how’d you know that they did that?”
“Let’s see,” Cornelius pointed at the articles of clothing in my bag, “a dirty white T-shirt, a messed up handkerchief and I’m assuming that you had these plus those torn up jeans on when you got ‘picked up’…”
Cornelius snickered to himself about some inside joke that he had yet to reveal to me.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing, it’s just no surprise that you got picked up and hit on, when you were dressed like a hooker.”
“A what?”
"The clothes look like trampy to begin with, but a handkerchiefs tied anywhere is the signal that a hooker is 'open for business',” Cornelius laughed his fair share and asked,“you seriously didn’t know that?"
“No. Why didn’t anyone tell me sooner?”
“Most people prefer not to speak to tramps,” Cornelius shook his head, “and frankly you’re the trampiest that I’ve seen, even if you are in normal clothes.”
“Well, I have always taken pride in being a mutt,” I joked to myself. Like you, Cornelius didn’t know where that statement came from, “Sorry, inside joke. At least, that helps explain what I’ve been doing wrong.”
“Who in the world raised you? Whoever it was didn't do a very good job of it.”
“Well, no one really,” I didn’t lie, no one in this world raised me, “I’ve been taking care of myself, especially since I got to… wherever this is.”
“You don’t even know where you are,” Cornelius laughed loudly, “Kernel City is posted practically everywhere.”
“Kernel City, huh? It would be easier if I could read…,” I didn’t realize what I just admitted for a few seconds.
“You can’t even read,” Cornelius continued to laugh.
“Hey, stop laughing, It’s embarrassing enough as it is.”
“Did you really expect me not to,” Cornelius stifled his laugh and counted on his fingers, “First, you dress like a tramp. Then I find out you can’t read. Next you’ll tell me that you’re flat broke and homeless.”
“Um…,” I didn’t have time to answer, he knew.
“Mother of pearl,” Cornelius put a hand to his forehead, “you are hopeless. How in the world did you survive this long?”
“Lucky, I guess,” I laughed, “My old job kept me going, but my luck ran out.”
“What job did you have before?”
“I, well…,” I thought quickly, but there was no scene in lying too much, “I used to be a writer, but that had… complications.”
“I thought you were illiterate.”
“I didn’t say that I was. I just can’t read anything.”
“But you can write?”
“Yes,” I said before I remembered, “And no…”
“You’re not making sense. Either you do or you don’t.”
“I used to be able to write, but now I can’t.”
“And why is that?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I slipped my backpack back on, “Let’s just leave it at that, okay.”
“Well, If you were a writer, do you have some of your work with you?”
“My written work isn't on me,” I tapped my head, "But I always have them stored up here."
“Then,” Cornelius reached into his shirt pocket for one of his pens, “You wouldn’t mind showing me what you can do, write?”
“I told you I can’t.”
“Just try,” he smiled, “You can fail a thousand times, but only need to succeed once- Edward Thomason.”
“Fine,” I swiped the pen, “I’ll show you what I mean.”
Cornelius found me a piece of paper and I pulled up a stool that they kept in the store. I got myself settled at the counter, pen in the ready. I paused. I had to be careful of what I wrote. I didn’t want to create something by accident. On the other hand, I had no clue what to write about either.
“So, any requests?”
“Pretend that it's your resume, so write things like your name, your old job and where you lived before?”
“Works for me,” I got started.
Agent Conner Martin had decided to look into the tramp’s situation himself. He hadn’t told anyone where he was going, but he left an agent trainee to take his post at the mall. He wasn’t going to be gone that long and the mugging was right around the corner. The back alley didn’t have any clues to who the assailants were. The empty lot was completely sealed off from the street. If there were other witnesses, they’d have to of seen the criminals run off in the street. If that was true, then the witnesses would be long gone by now. Agent Martin looked up for any security monitors, but the lot had been abandoned long ago by the city. He would never find one.
Just then, the Agent recognized something. One of the buildings was an apartment complex. Surely, someone in there would have seen something. If there were witnesses, they’d be found there. The only thing was that he needed to knock on all nine stories worth of apartments on the back side. He better get started. Lucky for Agent Martin, most of the residents weren’t home. A few were at the game and most were out getting supplies at the time of the mugging. That’s when he came to apartment 3b, an elderly woman answered the door.
“Hello Agent,” the old woman grinned at the nice young man that had arrived at her doorstep. He was dressed so sharp in white, he was also earlier than expected…
“Good day, madam. Agent Conner Martin,” Agent Martin tipped his hat, “I’m look’n into a crime that occurred earlier today.”
“You mean all that ruckus down in the empty lot?”
“Then you heard something?”
“May-be,” the woman offered, “Please, come in Agent.”
“Thank you,” Agent Martin slowly entered the apartment. It was quite nice for such a run down building. The inside wasn’t all that special, but it certainly was cleaner than the one’s he visited before. The old woman liked to collect small dried up white flowers from what he could tell. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught that she was cooking a stew, when he had interrupted her, a rather large pot of it.
“Expect’n company miss,” Agent Martin leaned over to take a whiff of the stew.
“Oh, just my bridge club,” the old woman shooed him away from her small kitchen, “please sit down and I’ll get some tea.”
“Thank ya kindly, but I’m on duty,” Agent Martin flipped out his notepad.
“Nonsense,” the old woman smiled as she got out a tray of glasses, “I have to make some for my bridge club anyway.”
“Can ya tell me ‘bout what you heard?”
“Oh, all right,” the old woman waved a hand in the air before taking out a pitcher of tea, “around noon, I heard a big commotion outside. I remember it was noon because my old clock went off when it was all over.”
“Okay, before noon,” the agent wrote down, “and what did you hear exactly?”
“Just those hoodlums fighting amongst themselves. It even sounded like someone broke the fence,” she said as she poured enough tea for six people, “one of them was obnoxious too. He shouted something about thieves and souls, something like that. Then I remember them all becoming quiet followed by the others getting rambunctious about something.”
The old woman paused for a second trying to remember, “fury, fury. I think they screamed.”
“Oh, yes we know that one lad was scream’n ta high heaven,” Agent Martin made a note that the word ‘fury’ might have been ‘furry’.
“Course one of them got angry at the others,” the old woman nodded to herself, “He sounded just like Martha does when she’s told that she’s had enough… tea?”
The old woman offered a glass. The agent politely took it.
“Is there anyth’n else ya might of heard that could help identify the lads,” Agent Martin was getting uncomfortable with how the woman was watching him. He was about to drink as the old woman answered.
“One of the boys, he had this high shrilly voice when he got riled up,” the old woman gently laughed at the memory, while also patiently watching for the agent to take a sip, “which is funny, because he was the one calling the other’s cowards for running off.”
“You don’t say,” the agent stopped before he had even tasted the tea. He placed it back down, so he could write, “so he went after them.”
“No, he didn’t,” the woman shook her head, “I remember a few minutes later he shouted, ‘You could have at least dropped me some ‘catch’ for my troubles’… or was it slash? I really didn’t recognize the word he used.”
“Then the shrill’n person was the victim?”
“Not from what I heard,” she spoke as she now realized that this man wasn’t who she thought he was, “sounded to me like he was taunting them.”
Meanwhile, not that far away…
I had just finished writing down, ‘My name is Rusty Mudstix. I’m a former infamous phantom thief back in Sherwood City.’ It was simple to write that. I had already decided that since he couldn’t read it anyway, that I might as well write the “truth”. That’s all I had written, when there was this sudden urge to-
“AHHCHUUOOOOooooooh!!!!!!!!!!!”
“God bless you,” Cornelius backed up.
“Sorry, don’t know where that sneeze came from,” I recomposed myself, “Somebody must be talking bad about me. Anyway, I’m done.”
“Let’s see then,” Cornelius took the page away from me, “I think I see the problem now.”
“I know…,” I sighed to myself, “it’s entirely unreadable.”
“No, I can read it just fine,” Cornelius smiled at me.
“You can read it!?!”
“Yes, it says, “Wh Uewa is jnsth wnqstix. I’w e jojwej injewons byeutow thiaj peck iu syajmooq cith.”
“Well, hardy har har har,” I sighed, a little in relief and a little in disappointment.
“I can’t help it if you don’t know how to write like a human being,” Cornelius crossed his arms again, “instead of this alien script, so what is it supposed to say?”
“What does it matter? If I can’t get a job, then I’m going to starve to death.”
“I guess if you want to learn how to write like a normal person,” Cornelius thought lightly, “then you’re going to have to work for me.”
“Wait, your giving me a job?”
“Not exactly, I said you’re working for me.”
“What’s the difference?”
“In one you will get paid for the work you do,” Cornelius tilted his hands like a scale, “the other, I will get paid for the work you do.”
“You want me to pay you to work for you? Why would I ever agree to that?”
“Three words,” Cornelius counted on his fingers starting with his pinkie, “You cannot read.”
“But I can’t pay you.”’
“No, but you can do housework in my apartment,” Cornelius nodded, placing a hand to his chin as he looked me over, “though you don’t look like a hard worker. I’ll make you an honest worker yet, Rusty.”
“Gee, I don’t know what to say,” I reached up to shake his hand, “except thank you so much.”
“Don’t thank me just yet,” Cornelius kept his arms crossed, “wait until you see the work that I’ll have you do.”
“Believe me, I wont complain,” I smirked, “too much at least.”
“It’s a deal then,” Cornelius took my hand, “My name’s Vinni Duncan.”
“Rusty Mu- wait Vinni,” I paused, “but your name tag says…”
“Cornelius is my birth name, but I preyfer Vinni,” Cornelius squeezed my hand hard, “now that you work for me, don’t ever let me hear you call me that.”
“Okay, I get it… ow,” I massaged my hand, when I remembered, “That reminds me, I have to call Chelsea.”
“I thought you said that you were alone?”
“I am, but this girl gave me her number,” I dialed the number I had folded in my pocket, “she was real nice and told me to call her after work. I guess that she was going to help me find a place to stay.”
“Are you sure that’s the reason she gave you her number?”
“Sure, why else would a girl give a total stranger her…,” I stopped when I heard the other end of the line being answered.
“Geymin’s Dating Service. Date didn’t show, Geymin’s the way to go,” a nonchalant secretary answered the other end, “My name is Bridget. How may I help you?”
“Oops, sorry. I must have misdialed,” I hung up quickly and tried the number again.
“Hello again honey,” the same woman answered. I hung up as I heard her voice.
“Hey, um would you mind reading her number for me,” I handed the napkin to Vinni.
“Let’s see…555-867-5309,” Vinni read for me.
I dialed and the line was answered without anyone speaking, “Hello? Chelsea?”
“Don’t hang up,” the same secretary sang, I could hear her file her nails as she spoke, “tell me, sweetie. A cute brunette gave you the eye and a number to call, right?”
“Um… yes?”
“Don’t be embarrassed hun, but she’s been doing that for months. She gives the guys she doesn’t want to see again our number to scare them off,” Bridget blew on her nails, “Would you like me to give you her address?”
“So many questions right now… uh…,” I thought for a moment, but Bridget had other priorities.
“Look, I’m tired of her giving guys our number. Frankly, this prank is bad for our business and it’s not fair to sweet guys like you. If you show up at her doorstep and let her know that I sent you, then she’ll stop. It will make you happy to see her and it will make me happy to see her stop, so everybody wins,” Bridget sounded like no pushover, “Now would you like her address?”
“Okay, I think that I get it,” I nodded, despite that she couldn’t see me, “But how do you know I’m not a rapist or stalker or something?”
“Because I know men,” Bridget paused before she spoke again, “You don’t feel like a bad person to me and my gut’s never wrong when it comes to guys. So would you like her address or not?”
“Sure,” I shivered. Whoever this Bridget was, she was giving me the willies.
“Okay, she lives at 1516 Waltz Lane, Apartment 3B,” Bridget puffed her nails again, “if you need any help getting there, it’s a stone throw from the Ravaflow Mall.”
“Okay, I’ll be sure to get her to stop.”
“Oh and honey,” Bridget caught my attention before I hung up, “two things… One, if you do turn out to be a rapist: I will hunt you down to the ends of the earth and torture you *with the most imaginative deeds that I can think of, until you have lost the ability to know if you’re alive anymore… Do I make myself clear?”
*(As a quick Note: For common decency, I didn’t write what she really said there. What she described would make Hannibal Lecter look like a child that only stole a cookie from the cookie jar. I’d like to keep this story somewhat at a mature level, not NC-14.)
“…yes maim,” I squeaked.
“Good…,” I could feel the instant that her scowl stopped, “oh and as for the second thing: do not bring her roses. She hates roses. I suggest you bring elderflower wine, though.”
“No roses, elderflower wine,” I nodded, “got it.”
“Let me know how it goes,” Bridget puffed again, “have a pleasant evening.”
“I’ll try, good-bye,” I shivered after I hung up.
“Need a change of pants there, Rusty?”
“No, I’m good,” I checked myself just in case, (she was that frightening), “yeah, I’m good.”
“What happened?”
“The number Chelsea gave me was a prank,” I thought about it for a moment.
“You’re far too trusting, you know that?”
“You don’t know me very well… do you,” I said in a very evil ‘innocent’ tone.
“Of course I don't,” Vinni didn’t catch the reference to my joke, “We’ve just met.”
“What I mean is… now that she pranked me, I’m now obliged to return the favor.”
“Should I be concerned,” Vinni watched as I put on my devious face.
“Not if you help me with a little favor,” I grinned, but stopped, “or two since I don’t know where Waltz Street is…”
“What are you planning?”
The old woman’s grandfather clock chimed 6:00…
“Thank you for your time miss,” Agent Conner Martin stood up from the couch and tipped his hat, “I hope that I wasn’t too much trouble.”
“It was no problem Agent Martin,” the old woman looked to the clock. Her real guests would be arriving soon. The Agent had to leave before they got here or he’d scare them off. She’d also have to get that glass away from him.
“I better scurry out of here, ‘fore I frighten off your guests,” Agent Martin Joked.
“That would be nice,” the old woman nodded.
“I have one more apartment to check,” the Agent put away his notepad and picked up the glass of untouched tea. He felt bad about not drinking any of it, especially after such a nice old lady took the time to make it for him. She might be thinking that he didn’t appreciate her help.
“I’ll take that,” the old woman walked up to him.
“Okay,” the Agent took a quick sip and handed the glass back to her, “Well, I’m off!”
The old woman stopped, frozen in place. She thought that she was in the clear, but now she really couldn’t let the agent leave. And yet, she couldn’t think of what to say, even after he shut her front door. She quickly moved to the door, but he was already knocking on the next apartment over. She watched as he was invited in.
Agent Martin was practically falling into the doorway, “I’m trying to ID the lads involved. Did you happen to hear voices from that back alley outside your window?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” the neighbor nodded, “I did hear someone shouting earlier. Please come in Agent.”
Fearfully, the old woman reentered her home and closed the door behind her. She looked up at the her old fashioned clock. “Well, if it’s going to happen, then it will be in,” she sighed and counted down on her fingers, “Five, four, three, two…”
“Oh my god! What are you doing!”
“What are you go’n on ‘bout lad- SWEET MOTHER OF HOLY SHOW,” Agent Martin shouted loud enough that the whole apartment could hear him, “Quit gawk’n there, ‘nd leg it laddie!… Stop foster’n you bowsie ‘nd do someth’n or feck off!”
“I better go see what’s the matter,” the old woman’s sarcasm was clearly express in her statement. She knew exactly what had happened to Agent Martin. That was her special brew of tea. She was planning on using it that night when Agent Martin arrived. She thought that the Agent was one of the cosplaying strippers that she had ordered. Of course, she tried to play dumb until the man had a drink of her special tea. Then it turned out the Agent was real and had interest in that particular incident.
“I said feck off! I’ll do it meself,” Agent Martin shouted just as she opened the door of her neighbor’s. She smiled when she saw that the other side effects hadn’t kicked in yet. She had hoped that one sip wasn’t going to work. It was also deluded by the melted ice surely, it would have had a delayed reaction. No, her special mix was guaranteed to work after a minute and last for 12 hours. It would take a much larger amount of water to prevent it’s effects.
“Oh, my goodness,” she faked being surprised at the sight she had now seen…
Roughly two minutes earlier…
“Good day lad. I’m Agent Martin,” the Agent tipped his hat, “I’m here about an incident earlier today.”
“Well, I don’t know about anything that may have happened today,” the neighbor didn’t want to let the agent in, but it be worse if he refused cooperation, “what kind of incident?”
“It happened a little before noon,” Agent Martin put a hand on the seal, “a kid got jumped and a furry changed in order to save him. I’m trying to ID the lads involved. Did you happen to hear anyth’n strange from that back alley outside your window?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” the neighbor nodded, “I did hear someone shouting outside earlier. Please come in Agent.”
“Thank you la-,” Agent Martin’s head spun for a second as he stepped into the apartment, “Woo, I’m knackered.”
“Would you like anything? I have soda.”
“No mineral for me. I’ll be right as rain in a minute,” Agent Martin shook his head, not realizing that his body was slowly relaxing all of it’s minor muscles, “Now what can you tell me about the sounds that you-”
“Oh my god! What are you doing!”
“What are you go’n on ‘bout lad,” that’s when Agent Martin realized he lost control of his bladder, “SWEET MOTHER OF HOLY SHOW!!!”
“Quit gawk’n there ‘nd leg it laddie,” Agent Martin shouted at the man.
The owner of 3A responded by turning away and twiddled his thumbs.
“Stop foster’n you bowsie ‘nd do someth’n or feck off,” Agent Martin threw his notepad at him.
“Yes sir,” the man scurried to his bathroom for a towel. The Agent didn’t want to wait, but then again… what was he waiting for? Why did his legs feels so wet and warm? He looked down on himself, “Did I jizz in my pants?”
“Here’s a towel Agent,” a man shouted as he ran into the room.
“Thank you,” Agent Martin snatched the towel, and thought of his wet pants as some ‘brutal cod’.
Agent Martin tried to dry himself off, but he soon had forgotten what he was doing again. He felt weird, different and very scarlet for some reason. Why would he be scarlet? He’s at a pub with friends, right? Yeah, he was visiting his old drinking buddies and they pulled a prank on him. That one where they cut a small hole near the top of the glass you’re drinking, so that it spills out on your lap. Yeah, that’s what happened… the jerks.
“Here let me help you,” Agent Martin clearly ‘heard’ one of the guys say.
“I said feck off! I’ll do it meself,” the Agent pushed the guy away
“Oh, my goodness,” some old lady had entered from the front door, “what do we have here?”
“Pardon my language, madam,” Agent Martin looked at the woman. No sense effin’ and blindin’ in front of someone’s dear mother, even if she was just earwiging. Wait, where was he again?
“Please, no! I swear I didn’t tell him anything,” a man shouted from behind him.
“Tell who what,” his head spinning, Conner turned to the thirty-something year old man.
“I know you didn’t, Nate,” the old lady smiled at him, trying to let him know she meant it.
“Don’t tell me that you did it to him too.”
“No. The young fool took some of my special brew on his own,” the old woman waltzed her way into the room. She looked down at the pair of men, who were now unwittingly soiling themselves together. Only Nathan knew that he was and why they were. He was too frightened to be concerned about wetting himself though. Besides, he was already prepared for accidents. Agent Martin on the other hand was not and slowly loosing his mind. His only response was to shake off his fierce headache. His clothes felt loose on his shoulders and around his former beer gut. Of course, that wasn’t his concern.
“What are you dossers doing in me dorm room,” Conner shouted at the two strangers.
“This isn’t your dorm. It’s Nate’s apartment,” the old woman teased him a little, “in fact, we’re not even close to the Euro Region.”
“You’re not a full shilling, lady. Of course we’re in the-,” Agent Martin was now as tall as the old woman, his head was spinning again, “the… eh, where’s me sweet oul doll?”
“Owl doll,” Nathan was confused by the Irish slang.
“You know, the lass that was just here,” Agent Martin looked about, “she was ‘bout ye high, blond, has an enormous pair of-”
Agent Martins spaced out for half a minute. He cracked a smile and started walking around like he was drunk. Which his body thought it was… Nathan didn’t notice it, but Martin’s hair was getting it’s old color back and his mustache was falling out. What Nathan did notice was that Conner’s belt was now far too big to stay on his waist. It (along with his hat) fell to the ground after only a few steps. Agent Martin soon registered that there was a draft. He woke up again, noticing an older man and a really old woman talking (he guessed) to each other. He didn’t really care for what they were saying.
“What’s happening to him,” the man stepped back, shaking like a purse dog.
“Same thing that happened to you,” the old lady said, “although… I didn’t expect him to react like this.”
“Was Agent Conner a drunk,” the man said Conner’s name.
“Eh Waster,” Conner shouted at the guy, “Do I look like an agent to ya? Huh!?!”
“Mr. Martin,” the man shouted at him, "You have to rememb-"
“The names Conner, Mr. Martin’s me Dad’s name. But if ya wanna tussle, then…” Conner threw off his coat and took a swing at the scaredy cat when his head got woozy again, and he missed, “Stay stillz alloves yaz!”
Conner tottered around a little. He was having a hard time telling up from down. Hell, he couldn’t even tell that the pink elephants that he was seeing were not there. The date he thought it was, was when he was 20. He was finally finished with school, he and his buddies decided to go drinking. He thought that way at least. To hell with going to college. He’d just bunk off like he always wanted to as a young fella, maybe grow a mustache like his father.
“Aye, I’m so ossified…,” Conner sobered up as he regress a little more, “weird, I can’t remember going on the tear lately.”
Now Conner began to notice that he was feeling off. He wasn’t wearing this shirt a minute ago. Conner certainly noticed that he was pants-less and his legs were covered with sticky stuff and a thick layer of red hair. He wasn’t this hairy the day before… what was the day before again? Just when he thought he had it, he lost it. Come to think of it, the hair made him look like an… an… a…eh… he he he…
“Omph,” Conner laughed, drunk again at the age of sixteen, “I just shite meself like a babe!”
“Oh god, that’s gross,” some guy gagged, or at least Conner thought that it was a guy. He certainly wasn’t one of those furries that have been showing up in public lately.
“You never complained when it was you,” some old broad had… said something…what was it?
Conner forgot again as he regressed even further. In his eyes, now they were ‘some man’ and ‘some old lady’. The funny looking man was blushing and looked like he needed a Jack. That’s where 14 year old Conner was going a minute ago. Where was he now? This wasn’t school hallways. This wasn’t his house either. Conner was frightened. He realized that he was so frightened that he had used his pants as a Jack. He had long since forgotten when he actually had soiled himself. He was calmed a bit after his regression now slipped him back to his preteen years. Well, ‘calmed down’ wouldn’t be the correct term to use as he let his knickers drop down his legs and yelled…
“Lookit me,” hyped up on imaginary sugar, the small Conner threw his hands in the air as he ran atop the couch “I’m a Furry Ranger! Whoosh!”
The old woman laughed, this particular age was as unpredictable as ever. Even Nathan couldn’t help, but stop worrying, if but a moment. He remembered the Power Furries. It was an old cartoon series based off of an ancient archive from the Asian Region and some parts of the America Regions. He remembered watching the long running series up until “Furry Rangers: Lightspeed Rescue Dogs”. The entire franchise had lost popularity due to genetic sciences assisting in the creation of the real deal furries. Then he remembered that the preteen Conner was covered in bodily fluids.
“Hey, stop that,” Nate ran to catch the child. Which was a little easier, since Conner suddenly regressed and (would you believe it?) was drunk again!
At age eight, he had secretly stolen ale from his father’s stash. That was the first time that he had gotten drunk. And boy, he was plastered. He didn’t even notice that his undergarments were gone. He was now “in the nip” from the waist down. Not that it mattered, his shirt was as long as a nightgown on his current size. He just figured that he was getting up or going to bed. It changed every few seconds. He didn’t even care that he was being held by a stranger. In fact, he doesn’t and wont notice other people in the room anymore. At that age, Conner didn’t pay much attention to anything.
The old woman smiled again as she loved this part. Now that the former Agent was small enough, then the other effects of her brew would begin to take place.
At the age of six, Conner felt like he needed to use the Jack again, however that’s not what was happening. What Conner was feeling now was a long thin red tail growing from his rump. At the age of five, he giggled because his face tickled. He was growing whiskers upon his red furred cheeks. At the age of four his hands and feet were the next to change. Looking at them, young Conner thought that he was wearing special footie pajamas.
His head also changed. Ears moving to the top of his head and his face stretched itself out before his eyes. He didn’t care, he was three. He slowly moved his thumb to his mouth. There were some lingering thoughts from his former adult mind. Something about how he’s not supposed to suck his thumb. It didn’t look proper. This wasn't right. But it felt so natural and good, even though it tasted fuzzy and rough. Besides why would he care about how he loo…
Age two now, he snuggled the person holding him. He was tired and this person’s arms were so warm. The blanket was a little itchy, but it was soft too. He was safe in what he thought was his parent’s arms. Not that it mattered if it was his parent’s. He wouldn’t know the difference at the year old stage. Conner’s feet pulled themselves up for a better position. Nate had to support the infant or else he’d drop the baby kitten furry. He made sure that he wouldn’t have to touch the former adult’s messy bare bottom. It did matter if Nathan did though. The final effect of the brew was one last wet ‘accident’.
“Oh god, not again,” Nate groaned at the baby’s release, “how much urine can one person have?”
“It’s only the spare material from the adult body,” the old woman took the child from Nathan, “you know how it is.”
“No, I really don’t,” Nathan was about to take off his soiled shirt, “please leave.”
“No, you’re going to have to take care of him,” the old woman quickly bounced the baby, “even though he’s a little cutie… I have plans tonight.”
“But…”
“It’s only until morning,” the woman glared at the young man, “plus it will be easier to take care of him than it would be to take care of a skunk boy like you were.”
“But you’re the one who,” Nathan stopped, he really didn’t like the idea, but he didn’t want to be regressed by the witch again either. He took the child back from her,
“Good boy,” the old woman smiled as she left the apartment.
Nathan scratched the back of his head as he took another look at the cat child. From the cat ears to his little pawed feet, little kitty Conner was very cute. It was impossible to tell that he used to be an Agent at all. A human sure, a national Agent no.
“I guess we both need a change and a bath now, huh?”
Conner’s cat eyes stared blankly into space, his long tail swished lightly. He didn’t register the question given to him. He couldn’t have. Not at eight months, he was far too young. His adult mind was lost for the rest of the night.
“Okay, so these are elderflowers,” I held up the vanilla white flowers. They were so small that only eight or nine clusters of these flowers could make a decent bouquet. The store owner was only using them as decorations. The only thing that I could read on the entire display was the price tag that said that it costs 4 x10^1 ql. I didn’t know if that was high or cheep for this wine. All I knew was that wine was usually expensive.
“You’re lucky today,” Vinni held up a pair of the red tagged bottles, “they’re having a two for one sale today.”
“But I only need one,” I took the extra bottle away.
“You might as well try it before you give it to the girl.”
“I don’t drink. Alcohol tastes awful to me,” I stuck out my tongue, “besides I’m pranking her, not dating her.”
“I’m buying and I say we’re getting two,” Vinni took another bottle, “besides, I deserve to treat myself to some.”
“Yeah, but look at that price. It looks high.”
“What are you, a cheep stake? It’s only 40 ql,” Vinni put a hand to his head, “All the more reason to take two.”
“Okay, but then I only owe you 20 blambers for A bottle.”
“You know that you owe me more than that.”
Vinni led the way to the register of the store. The cashier was a little distracted by the vidscreen that was playing the current news reports. The sound was off, but the small store kept the captions on for people to read. The lady at the counter shouted when we got there.
“I can’t believe this,” she threw her fists in the air, “lousy dirty rotten sore loser!”
“What crawled up your shorts,” Vinni asked placing the bottles on the counter.
“They’re calling a foul on Ripper De Beauregard,” the woman pointed refulssy at the screen.
“What kind of foul,” I asked her, I really was interested.
“Galahad’s saying that Ripper drugged him before the fight and that the drugs were what caused him to loose control of his body,” she slammed her fist on the counter, “Damn it. Now they’re even declaring Galahad as the winner.”
“What? I saw that fight, Ripper didn’t cheat. Even the announcer knew what Ripper did. Everyone could clearly see that Valiant Galahad was tripped up and bull tied by that Spider’s String.”
“It’s called Spider’s Line,” Vinni snapped at me, then turned to the woman, “Can you just ring us up, please?”
“Sorry,” the lady huffed, as she scanned the two bottles, “Besides, it doesn’t matter if he did or not. Galahad’s claim has value since cameras can’t pick up the Spider’s Lines.”
“Hello,” Vinni was getting irritated, “my bill…”
“That will be 45 blambers,” she continued, “God! That Galahad gets me so riled up. Every time he loses he cries foul and the officials insists that he’s the winner.”
“That’s crazy!”
“Don’t I know it,” she leaned down on the counter, “but you know what I think?”
“No. What,” I asked.
“I don’t care. Push the stupid total button,” Vinni didn’t share my enthusiasm.
“I think that the televised fights are all rigged,” the woman took out a sheet that was printed online, “See these numbers? Galahad may have the public’s heart, but all of his opponents were the favorite in the betting rings for the past eighteen months.”
“Never mind I’ll do it myself,” Vinni reached over and pressed the appropriate keys on the register. He then scanned his card in.
“I thought that gambling was illegal,” I looked up at her.
“It is. Now approve my credits already and I don’t need a receipt,” Vinni pulled me to follow him, “let’s go!”
We were walking for a little while before I attempted to ask the question that was on my mind. I didn’t get the chance, sense Vinni could sense that I had one.
“Look, Gambling is illegal,” Vinni stopped walking and looked over his shoulder, “officially at least. Unofficially however, it’s how many people make a living and most Agents will overlook it if you share most of your profits with them. We all try to keep it hush-hush, but everyone in Kernel City knows about it.”
“Actually, I’m wondering what crawled up your shorts,” I scratched my head, “Why aren’t you angry about the fight results being altered?”
“Because I hate Furry Fighter fights okay,” Vinni pointed at me, “In fact, after this prank of yours, Furries will be taboo. Got it?”
“No, I don’t get it.”
“Then think of it this way. If you don’t shut up about it,” Vinni raised the bags, “then I’m going to smash these bottles upside your head and say that you attacked me for my credit card.”
“Look, if I wanted your credit card, I wouldn’t fight you for it,” I said holding up his card in my left hand.
“What the? I could have sworn that I,” Vinni checked his wallet, “how did you?”
“You left it on the counter,” for the first time since meting Vinni, I lied.
To be continued…
This is a ©opyrited Co-op Creation
Characters © Cobalt Raccoon (Rusty Mudstix)
Furry Fighters (Let the Fur Fly!) Universe © Anonymous Writer
Today’s quote is brought to you, in part, by - Edgar Allan Poe
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Rusty's understanding is developing a bit more and growing the more he spends time in this new world. This time, Rusty's learning the huge differences between our culture and that of Kernel City. "The Collapse", the Currency and the Geymin's Dating Service? Just to name a few… Whatever. The main focus Rusty has right now is finding a job and earning some Blambers. Still, you can't hire someone who doesn't exist, now can you?
As a side plot: Agent Conner Martin (policeman from the last part) is investigating the vigilante case that had (quite literally) dropped in his lap. Agent Martin would have never guessed that his investigation would led him to a different criminal entirely, a sweet old lady with a not so sweet… tea?
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Furry Fighters!
Let the Fur Fly!
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Continuing Part 2: “Seconds Come and Go by Chance.”
Universe’s Concept and Original Story-line by “Anonymous Writer”
Documenter of the following is “Cobalt Raccoon”
_______________________________________________________________
As a Warning: "Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality." - Edgar Allan Poe
______________________________________________________________________
One of the things that I missed the most about being a writer was the total control of time. Sure a single day could last for months on end, but we were also able to skip hours by simply writing, “a few hours later”. Now, as a mortal character, I had to wait just like everybody else. Hours were hours and I was bored out of my mind. I couldn’t even go see a movie or something while I waited.
During the four hours, I had plenty of time to look around the world that I was in. The mall wasn’t the whole world, but it certainly provided enough insight of what this world social environment was like. The date was fnua 8, 194 V.C., which was read “June 8th, 194 AC”.
The year period "A.C." stands for “After Collapse”. Whatever this “Collapse” was, there were no detailed records of it. The only thing that I learned about it was that it had erased all the history of the world before "AC". This world was able to recover from it, but at great price. They had technology, but had no clue where it came from. Some types of technology was lost forever, but other more advance types were able to be reverse engineered.
One of the results of the Collapse, the whole world now works under significantly less governments and countries and they all exchange the same currency known as Blambers. Blambers were some kind of smooth blue crystals from what I could see. I knew that it was because, they displayed these smooth blue crystals everywhere that most people would display money. People use credit cards more than the actual jewels. They also displayed prices as if they were multiples of ten, like this: 16x102 ql. = 1600 Blambers. Come to think of it, the price tags were the only things that I could read. And they spoke wonders.
“You can’t buy this,” I read off of the shelves, “Get a job you lazy bum. Wow, even the price of gum is insulting me at only four Blambers too.”
The store that I was currently in was called ‘WebCjast’ (or as the locals read it, ‘MapCrest’). I’ve already been in there half a dozen times. No matter where I wondered to around the mall, I always somehow wound up back at the MapCrest store. Well, that and I wanted Chelsea to know that I was still nearby. I asked a two dozen stores and a few more restaurants if they were hiring. None of them were. Every needed position was filled. Which was to be expected. The background writes itself, therefore there are no problems (outside of that which effects or is effected by the main character’s story line).
“Sir,” one of the employees tapped me on the shoulder, “are you just going to window shop all day?”
The people at the MapCrest store wore black pants and shoes. They were required to wear a white dress shirt with a black tie if they were male. I hadn’t seen what the females got to wear, and I wondered if they even hired them there. This particular employee had clean cut short black hair. He wasn’t much older than my current age. He had a piercing in his right ear and a golden bird clip on his tie. The creepiest thing about him was his emerald eyes. If you’ve seen them, you’d swear that they were bending the light around them. Those were the only things that made him unique compared to the standards uniformed MapCrest employee.
“I don’t have much choice,” I read his name tag, “Cornelius? I can’t get a job anywhere.”
“Well, did you stop to think that it might be how you’re dressed?”
“Why? What’s wrong with how I’m dressed,” I didn’t think that there was anything wrong with t-shirts or jeans. Well, so long as they’re not ill fitting. Clearly, I wasn’t exactly saying wonders about being responsible either.
“Well, for starters, I wouldn’t hire someone who looks like a trampy vagabond,” Cornelius laughed, “Didn’t your parents teach you how to dress for an interview?”
I was about to answer, but then I remembered that I needed to stick to character. Still, I could use that to my advantage.
“No, I’m an orphan,” I rubbed the back of my head, “I’ve been on my own for most of my life.”
“Then why the heck are you so clean cut?”
“I’m doing what I can,” I dug in my bag, “and agencies will only help you so far. Can’t really say that I can trust any of them after sending me out to get mugged. Just look at what some random creeps did to my toothbrush.”
Cornelius backed up when he saw it. He also got a good view of the rest of the contents.
“They just took me off the street, dug in my bag, took anything of value and then they tried to… to,” I shuttered to think about it, “you don’t want to know.”
“Let me guess, they tried to hit on you and you didn’t like it.”
“Of course not,” I squealed in a high voice, but recomposed myself, “how’d you know that they did that?”
“Let’s see,” Cornelius pointed at the articles of clothing in my bag, “a dirty white T-shirt, a messed up handkerchief and I’m assuming that you had these plus those torn up jeans on when you got ‘picked up’…”
Cornelius snickered to himself about some inside joke that he had yet to reveal to me.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing, it’s just no surprise that you got picked up and hit on, when you were dressed like a hooker.”
“A what?”
"The clothes look like trampy to begin with, but a handkerchiefs tied anywhere is the signal that a hooker is 'open for business',” Cornelius laughed his fair share and asked,“you seriously didn’t know that?"
“No. Why didn’t anyone tell me sooner?”
“Most people prefer not to speak to tramps,” Cornelius shook his head, “and frankly you’re the trampiest that I’ve seen, even if you are in normal clothes.”
“Well, I have always taken pride in being a mutt,” I joked to myself. Like you, Cornelius didn’t know where that statement came from, “Sorry, inside joke. At least, that helps explain what I’ve been doing wrong.”
“Who in the world raised you? Whoever it was didn't do a very good job of it.”
“Well, no one really,” I didn’t lie, no one in this world raised me, “I’ve been taking care of myself, especially since I got to… wherever this is.”
“You don’t even know where you are,” Cornelius laughed loudly, “Kernel City is posted practically everywhere.”
“Kernel City, huh? It would be easier if I could read…,” I didn’t realize what I just admitted for a few seconds.
“You can’t even read,” Cornelius continued to laugh.
“Hey, stop laughing, It’s embarrassing enough as it is.”
“Did you really expect me not to,” Cornelius stifled his laugh and counted on his fingers, “First, you dress like a tramp. Then I find out you can’t read. Next you’ll tell me that you’re flat broke and homeless.”
“Um…,” I didn’t have time to answer, he knew.
“Mother of pearl,” Cornelius put a hand to his forehead, “you are hopeless. How in the world did you survive this long?”
“Lucky, I guess,” I laughed, “My old job kept me going, but my luck ran out.”
“What job did you have before?”
“I, well…,” I thought quickly, but there was no scene in lying too much, “I used to be a writer, but that had… complications.”
“I thought you were illiterate.”
“I didn’t say that I was. I just can’t read anything.”
“But you can write?”
“Yes,” I said before I remembered, “And no…”
“You’re not making sense. Either you do or you don’t.”
“I used to be able to write, but now I can’t.”
“And why is that?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I slipped my backpack back on, “Let’s just leave it at that, okay.”
“Well, If you were a writer, do you have some of your work with you?”
“My written work isn't on me,” I tapped my head, "But I always have them stored up here."
“Then,” Cornelius reached into his shirt pocket for one of his pens, “You wouldn’t mind showing me what you can do, write?”
“I told you I can’t.”
“Just try,” he smiled, “You can fail a thousand times, but only need to succeed once- Edward Thomason.”
“Fine,” I swiped the pen, “I’ll show you what I mean.”
Cornelius found me a piece of paper and I pulled up a stool that they kept in the store. I got myself settled at the counter, pen in the ready. I paused. I had to be careful of what I wrote. I didn’t want to create something by accident. On the other hand, I had no clue what to write about either.
“So, any requests?”
“Pretend that it's your resume, so write things like your name, your old job and where you lived before?”
“Works for me,” I got started.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Side Plot: Written by Anonymous:
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Agent Conner Martin had decided to look into the tramp’s situation himself. He hadn’t told anyone where he was going, but he left an agent trainee to take his post at the mall. He wasn’t going to be gone that long and the mugging was right around the corner. The back alley didn’t have any clues to who the assailants were. The empty lot was completely sealed off from the street. If there were other witnesses, they’d have to of seen the criminals run off in the street. If that was true, then the witnesses would be long gone by now. Agent Martin looked up for any security monitors, but the lot had been abandoned long ago by the city. He would never find one.
Just then, the Agent recognized something. One of the buildings was an apartment complex. Surely, someone in there would have seen something. If there were witnesses, they’d be found there. The only thing was that he needed to knock on all nine stories worth of apartments on the back side. He better get started. Lucky for Agent Martin, most of the residents weren’t home. A few were at the game and most were out getting supplies at the time of the mugging. That’s when he came to apartment 3b, an elderly woman answered the door.
“Hello Agent,” the old woman grinned at the nice young man that had arrived at her doorstep. He was dressed so sharp in white, he was also earlier than expected…
“Good day, madam. Agent Conner Martin,” Agent Martin tipped his hat, “I’m look’n into a crime that occurred earlier today.”
“You mean all that ruckus down in the empty lot?”
“Then you heard something?”
“May-be,” the woman offered, “Please, come in Agent.”
“Thank you,” Agent Martin slowly entered the apartment. It was quite nice for such a run down building. The inside wasn’t all that special, but it certainly was cleaner than the one’s he visited before. The old woman liked to collect small dried up white flowers from what he could tell. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught that she was cooking a stew, when he had interrupted her, a rather large pot of it.
“Expect’n company miss,” Agent Martin leaned over to take a whiff of the stew.
“Oh, just my bridge club,” the old woman shooed him away from her small kitchen, “please sit down and I’ll get some tea.”
“Thank ya kindly, but I’m on duty,” Agent Martin flipped out his notepad.
“Nonsense,” the old woman smiled as she got out a tray of glasses, “I have to make some for my bridge club anyway.”
“Can ya tell me ‘bout what you heard?”
“Oh, all right,” the old woman waved a hand in the air before taking out a pitcher of tea, “around noon, I heard a big commotion outside. I remember it was noon because my old clock went off when it was all over.”
“Okay, before noon,” the agent wrote down, “and what did you hear exactly?”
“Just those hoodlums fighting amongst themselves. It even sounded like someone broke the fence,” she said as she poured enough tea for six people, “one of them was obnoxious too. He shouted something about thieves and souls, something like that. Then I remember them all becoming quiet followed by the others getting rambunctious about something.”
The old woman paused for a second trying to remember, “fury, fury. I think they screamed.”
“Oh, yes we know that one lad was scream’n ta high heaven,” Agent Martin made a note that the word ‘fury’ might have been ‘furry’.
“Course one of them got angry at the others,” the old woman nodded to herself, “He sounded just like Martha does when she’s told that she’s had enough… tea?”
The old woman offered a glass. The agent politely took it.
“Is there anyth’n else ya might of heard that could help identify the lads,” Agent Martin was getting uncomfortable with how the woman was watching him. He was about to drink as the old woman answered.
“One of the boys, he had this high shrilly voice when he got riled up,” the old woman gently laughed at the memory, while also patiently watching for the agent to take a sip, “which is funny, because he was the one calling the other’s cowards for running off.”
“You don’t say,” the agent stopped before he had even tasted the tea. He placed it back down, so he could write, “so he went after them.”
“No, he didn’t,” the woman shook her head, “I remember a few minutes later he shouted, ‘You could have at least dropped me some ‘catch’ for my troubles’… or was it slash? I really didn’t recognize the word he used.”
“Then the shrill’n person was the victim?”
“Not from what I heard,” she spoke as she now realized that this man wasn’t who she thought he was, “sounded to me like he was taunting them.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Meanwhile, not that far away…
I had just finished writing down, ‘My name is Rusty Mudstix. I’m a former infamous phantom thief back in Sherwood City.’ It was simple to write that. I had already decided that since he couldn’t read it anyway, that I might as well write the “truth”. That’s all I had written, when there was this sudden urge to-
“AHHCHUUOOOOooooooh!!!!!!!!!!!”
“God bless you,” Cornelius backed up.
“Sorry, don’t know where that sneeze came from,” I recomposed myself, “Somebody must be talking bad about me. Anyway, I’m done.”
“Let’s see then,” Cornelius took the page away from me, “I think I see the problem now.”
“I know…,” I sighed to myself, “it’s entirely unreadable.”
“No, I can read it just fine,” Cornelius smiled at me.
“You can read it!?!”
“Yes, it says, “Wh Uewa is jnsth wnqstix. I’w e jojwej injewons byeutow thiaj peck iu syajmooq cith.”
“Well, hardy har har har,” I sighed, a little in relief and a little in disappointment.
“I can’t help it if you don’t know how to write like a human being,” Cornelius crossed his arms again, “instead of this alien script, so what is it supposed to say?”
“What does it matter? If I can’t get a job, then I’m going to starve to death.”
“I guess if you want to learn how to write like a normal person,” Cornelius thought lightly, “then you’re going to have to work for me.”
“Wait, your giving me a job?”
“Not exactly, I said you’re working for me.”
“What’s the difference?”
“In one you will get paid for the work you do,” Cornelius tilted his hands like a scale, “the other, I will get paid for the work you do.”
“You want me to pay you to work for you? Why would I ever agree to that?”
“Three words,” Cornelius counted on his fingers starting with his pinkie, “You cannot read.”
“But I can’t pay you.”’
“No, but you can do housework in my apartment,” Cornelius nodded, placing a hand to his chin as he looked me over, “though you don’t look like a hard worker. I’ll make you an honest worker yet, Rusty.”
“Gee, I don’t know what to say,” I reached up to shake his hand, “except thank you so much.”
“Don’t thank me just yet,” Cornelius kept his arms crossed, “wait until you see the work that I’ll have you do.”
“Believe me, I wont complain,” I smirked, “too much at least.”
“It’s a deal then,” Cornelius took my hand, “My name’s Vinni Duncan.”
“Rusty Mu- wait Vinni,” I paused, “but your name tag says…”
“Cornelius is my birth name, but I preyfer Vinni,” Cornelius squeezed my hand hard, “now that you work for me, don’t ever let me hear you call me that.”
“Okay, I get it… ow,” I massaged my hand, when I remembered, “That reminds me, I have to call Chelsea.”
“I thought you said that you were alone?”
“I am, but this girl gave me her number,” I dialed the number I had folded in my pocket, “she was real nice and told me to call her after work. I guess that she was going to help me find a place to stay.”
“Are you sure that’s the reason she gave you her number?”
“Sure, why else would a girl give a total stranger her…,” I stopped when I heard the other end of the line being answered.
“Geymin’s Dating Service. Date didn’t show, Geymin’s the way to go,” a nonchalant secretary answered the other end, “My name is Bridget. How may I help you?”
“Oops, sorry. I must have misdialed,” I hung up quickly and tried the number again.
“Hello again honey,” the same woman answered. I hung up as I heard her voice.
“Hey, um would you mind reading her number for me,” I handed the napkin to Vinni.
“Let’s see…555-867-5309,” Vinni read for me.
I dialed and the line was answered without anyone speaking, “Hello? Chelsea?”
“Don’t hang up,” the same secretary sang, I could hear her file her nails as she spoke, “tell me, sweetie. A cute brunette gave you the eye and a number to call, right?”
“Um… yes?”
“Don’t be embarrassed hun, but she’s been doing that for months. She gives the guys she doesn’t want to see again our number to scare them off,” Bridget blew on her nails, “Would you like me to give you her address?”
“So many questions right now… uh…,” I thought for a moment, but Bridget had other priorities.
“Look, I’m tired of her giving guys our number. Frankly, this prank is bad for our business and it’s not fair to sweet guys like you. If you show up at her doorstep and let her know that I sent you, then she’ll stop. It will make you happy to see her and it will make me happy to see her stop, so everybody wins,” Bridget sounded like no pushover, “Now would you like her address?”
“Okay, I think that I get it,” I nodded, despite that she couldn’t see me, “But how do you know I’m not a rapist or stalker or something?”
“Because I know men,” Bridget paused before she spoke again, “You don’t feel like a bad person to me and my gut’s never wrong when it comes to guys. So would you like her address or not?”
“Sure,” I shivered. Whoever this Bridget was, she was giving me the willies.
“Okay, she lives at 1516 Waltz Lane, Apartment 3B,” Bridget puffed her nails again, “if you need any help getting there, it’s a stone throw from the Ravaflow Mall.”
“Okay, I’ll be sure to get her to stop.”
“Oh and honey,” Bridget caught my attention before I hung up, “two things… One, if you do turn out to be a rapist: I will hunt you down to the ends of the earth and torture you *with the most imaginative deeds that I can think of, until you have lost the ability to know if you’re alive anymore… Do I make myself clear?”
*(As a quick Note: For common decency, I didn’t write what she really said there. What she described would make Hannibal Lecter look like a child that only stole a cookie from the cookie jar. I’d like to keep this story somewhat at a mature level, not NC-14.)
“…yes maim,” I squeaked.
“Good…,” I could feel the instant that her scowl stopped, “oh and as for the second thing: do not bring her roses. She hates roses. I suggest you bring elderflower wine, though.”
“No roses, elderflower wine,” I nodded, “got it.”
“Let me know how it goes,” Bridget puffed again, “have a pleasant evening.”
“I’ll try, good-bye,” I shivered after I hung up.
“Need a change of pants there, Rusty?”
“No, I’m good,” I checked myself just in case, (she was that frightening), “yeah, I’m good.”
“What happened?”
“The number Chelsea gave me was a prank,” I thought about it for a moment.
“You’re far too trusting, you know that?”
“You don’t know me very well… do you,” I said in a very evil ‘innocent’ tone.
“Of course I don't,” Vinni didn’t catch the reference to my joke, “We’ve just met.”
“What I mean is… now that she pranked me, I’m now obliged to return the favor.”
“Should I be concerned,” Vinni watched as I put on my devious face.
“Not if you help me with a little favor,” I grinned, but stopped, “or two since I don’t know where Waltz Street is…”
“What are you planning?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Side Plot part 2: Written by Anonymous:
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The old woman’s grandfather clock chimed 6:00…
“Thank you for your time miss,” Agent Conner Martin stood up from the couch and tipped his hat, “I hope that I wasn’t too much trouble.”
“It was no problem Agent Martin,” the old woman looked to the clock. Her real guests would be arriving soon. The Agent had to leave before they got here or he’d scare them off. She’d also have to get that glass away from him.
“I better scurry out of here, ‘fore I frighten off your guests,” Agent Martin Joked.
“That would be nice,” the old woman nodded.
“I have one more apartment to check,” the Agent put away his notepad and picked up the glass of untouched tea. He felt bad about not drinking any of it, especially after such a nice old lady took the time to make it for him. She might be thinking that he didn’t appreciate her help.
“I’ll take that,” the old woman walked up to him.
“Okay,” the Agent took a quick sip and handed the glass back to her, “Well, I’m off!”
The old woman stopped, frozen in place. She thought that she was in the clear, but now she really couldn’t let the agent leave. And yet, she couldn’t think of what to say, even after he shut her front door. She quickly moved to the door, but he was already knocking on the next apartment over. She watched as he was invited in.
Agent Martin was practically falling into the doorway, “I’m trying to ID the lads involved. Did you happen to hear voices from that back alley outside your window?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” the neighbor nodded, “I did hear someone shouting earlier. Please come in Agent.”
Fearfully, the old woman reentered her home and closed the door behind her. She looked up at the her old fashioned clock. “Well, if it’s going to happen, then it will be in,” she sighed and counted down on her fingers, “Five, four, three, two…”
“Oh my god! What are you doing!”
“What are you go’n on ‘bout lad- SWEET MOTHER OF HOLY SHOW,” Agent Martin shouted loud enough that the whole apartment could hear him, “Quit gawk’n there, ‘nd leg it laddie!… Stop foster’n you bowsie ‘nd do someth’n or feck off!”
“I better go see what’s the matter,” the old woman’s sarcasm was clearly express in her statement. She knew exactly what had happened to Agent Martin. That was her special brew of tea. She was planning on using it that night when Agent Martin arrived. She thought that the Agent was one of the cosplaying strippers that she had ordered. Of course, she tried to play dumb until the man had a drink of her special tea. Then it turned out the Agent was real and had interest in that particular incident.
“I said feck off! I’ll do it meself,” Agent Martin shouted just as she opened the door of her neighbor’s. She smiled when she saw that the other side effects hadn’t kicked in yet. She had hoped that one sip wasn’t going to work. It was also deluded by the melted ice surely, it would have had a delayed reaction. No, her special mix was guaranteed to work after a minute and last for 12 hours. It would take a much larger amount of water to prevent it’s effects.
“Oh, my goodness,” she faked being surprised at the sight she had now seen…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Roughly two minutes earlier…
“Good day lad. I’m Agent Martin,” the Agent tipped his hat, “I’m here about an incident earlier today.”
“Well, I don’t know about anything that may have happened today,” the neighbor didn’t want to let the agent in, but it be worse if he refused cooperation, “what kind of incident?”
“It happened a little before noon,” Agent Martin put a hand on the seal, “a kid got jumped and a furry changed in order to save him. I’m trying to ID the lads involved. Did you happen to hear anyth’n strange from that back alley outside your window?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” the neighbor nodded, “I did hear someone shouting outside earlier. Please come in Agent.”
“Thank you la-,” Agent Martin’s head spun for a second as he stepped into the apartment, “Woo, I’m knackered.”
“Would you like anything? I have soda.”
“No mineral for me. I’ll be right as rain in a minute,” Agent Martin shook his head, not realizing that his body was slowly relaxing all of it’s minor muscles, “Now what can you tell me about the sounds that you-”
“Oh my god! What are you doing!”
“What are you go’n on ‘bout lad,” that’s when Agent Martin realized he lost control of his bladder, “SWEET MOTHER OF HOLY SHOW!!!”
“Quit gawk’n there ‘nd leg it laddie,” Agent Martin shouted at the man.
The owner of 3A responded by turning away and twiddled his thumbs.
“Stop foster’n you bowsie ‘nd do someth’n or feck off,” Agent Martin threw his notepad at him.
“Yes sir,” the man scurried to his bathroom for a towel. The Agent didn’t want to wait, but then again… what was he waiting for? Why did his legs feels so wet and warm? He looked down on himself, “Did I jizz in my pants?”
“Here’s a towel Agent,” a man shouted as he ran into the room.
“Thank you,” Agent Martin snatched the towel, and thought of his wet pants as some ‘brutal cod’.
Agent Martin tried to dry himself off, but he soon had forgotten what he was doing again. He felt weird, different and very scarlet for some reason. Why would he be scarlet? He’s at a pub with friends, right? Yeah, he was visiting his old drinking buddies and they pulled a prank on him. That one where they cut a small hole near the top of the glass you’re drinking, so that it spills out on your lap. Yeah, that’s what happened… the jerks.
“Here let me help you,” Agent Martin clearly ‘heard’ one of the guys say.
“I said feck off! I’ll do it meself,” the Agent pushed the guy away
“Oh, my goodness,” some old lady had entered from the front door, “what do we have here?”
“Pardon my language, madam,” Agent Martin looked at the woman. No sense effin’ and blindin’ in front of someone’s dear mother, even if she was just earwiging. Wait, where was he again?
“Please, no! I swear I didn’t tell him anything,” a man shouted from behind him.
“Tell who what,” his head spinning, Conner turned to the thirty-something year old man.
“I know you didn’t, Nate,” the old lady smiled at him, trying to let him know she meant it.
“Don’t tell me that you did it to him too.”
“No. The young fool took some of my special brew on his own,” the old woman waltzed her way into the room. She looked down at the pair of men, who were now unwittingly soiling themselves together. Only Nathan knew that he was and why they were. He was too frightened to be concerned about wetting himself though. Besides, he was already prepared for accidents. Agent Martin on the other hand was not and slowly loosing his mind. His only response was to shake off his fierce headache. His clothes felt loose on his shoulders and around his former beer gut. Of course, that wasn’t his concern.
“What are you dossers doing in me dorm room,” Conner shouted at the two strangers.
“This isn’t your dorm. It’s Nate’s apartment,” the old woman teased him a little, “in fact, we’re not even close to the Euro Region.”
“You’re not a full shilling, lady. Of course we’re in the-,” Agent Martin was now as tall as the old woman, his head was spinning again, “the… eh, where’s me sweet oul doll?”
“Owl doll,” Nathan was confused by the Irish slang.
“You know, the lass that was just here,” Agent Martin looked about, “she was ‘bout ye high, blond, has an enormous pair of-”
Agent Martins spaced out for half a minute. He cracked a smile and started walking around like he was drunk. Which his body thought it was… Nathan didn’t notice it, but Martin’s hair was getting it’s old color back and his mustache was falling out. What Nathan did notice was that Conner’s belt was now far too big to stay on his waist. It (along with his hat) fell to the ground after only a few steps. Agent Martin soon registered that there was a draft. He woke up again, noticing an older man and a really old woman talking (he guessed) to each other. He didn’t really care for what they were saying.
“What’s happening to him,” the man stepped back, shaking like a purse dog.
“Same thing that happened to you,” the old lady said, “although… I didn’t expect him to react like this.”
“Was Agent Conner a drunk,” the man said Conner’s name.
“Eh Waster,” Conner shouted at the guy, “Do I look like an agent to ya? Huh!?!”
“Mr. Martin,” the man shouted at him, "You have to rememb-"
“The names Conner, Mr. Martin’s me Dad’s name. But if ya wanna tussle, then…” Conner threw off his coat and took a swing at the scaredy cat when his head got woozy again, and he missed, “Stay stillz alloves yaz!”
Conner tottered around a little. He was having a hard time telling up from down. Hell, he couldn’t even tell that the pink elephants that he was seeing were not there. The date he thought it was, was when he was 20. He was finally finished with school, he and his buddies decided to go drinking. He thought that way at least. To hell with going to college. He’d just bunk off like he always wanted to as a young fella, maybe grow a mustache like his father.
“Aye, I’m so ossified…,” Conner sobered up as he regress a little more, “weird, I can’t remember going on the tear lately.”
Now Conner began to notice that he was feeling off. He wasn’t wearing this shirt a minute ago. Conner certainly noticed that he was pants-less and his legs were covered with sticky stuff and a thick layer of red hair. He wasn’t this hairy the day before… what was the day before again? Just when he thought he had it, he lost it. Come to think of it, the hair made him look like an… an… a…eh… he he he…
“Omph,” Conner laughed, drunk again at the age of sixteen, “I just shite meself like a babe!”
“Oh god, that’s gross,” some guy gagged, or at least Conner thought that it was a guy. He certainly wasn’t one of those furries that have been showing up in public lately.
“You never complained when it was you,” some old broad had… said something…what was it?
Conner forgot again as he regressed even further. In his eyes, now they were ‘some man’ and ‘some old lady’. The funny looking man was blushing and looked like he needed a Jack. That’s where 14 year old Conner was going a minute ago. Where was he now? This wasn’t school hallways. This wasn’t his house either. Conner was frightened. He realized that he was so frightened that he had used his pants as a Jack. He had long since forgotten when he actually had soiled himself. He was calmed a bit after his regression now slipped him back to his preteen years. Well, ‘calmed down’ wouldn’t be the correct term to use as he let his knickers drop down his legs and yelled…
“Lookit me,” hyped up on imaginary sugar, the small Conner threw his hands in the air as he ran atop the couch “I’m a Furry Ranger! Whoosh!”
The old woman laughed, this particular age was as unpredictable as ever. Even Nathan couldn’t help, but stop worrying, if but a moment. He remembered the Power Furries. It was an old cartoon series based off of an ancient archive from the Asian Region and some parts of the America Regions. He remembered watching the long running series up until “Furry Rangers: Lightspeed Rescue Dogs”. The entire franchise had lost popularity due to genetic sciences assisting in the creation of the real deal furries. Then he remembered that the preteen Conner was covered in bodily fluids.
“Hey, stop that,” Nate ran to catch the child. Which was a little easier, since Conner suddenly regressed and (would you believe it?) was drunk again!
At age eight, he had secretly stolen ale from his father’s stash. That was the first time that he had gotten drunk. And boy, he was plastered. He didn’t even notice that his undergarments were gone. He was now “in the nip” from the waist down. Not that it mattered, his shirt was as long as a nightgown on his current size. He just figured that he was getting up or going to bed. It changed every few seconds. He didn’t even care that he was being held by a stranger. In fact, he doesn’t and wont notice other people in the room anymore. At that age, Conner didn’t pay much attention to anything.
The old woman smiled again as she loved this part. Now that the former Agent was small enough, then the other effects of her brew would begin to take place.
At the age of six, Conner felt like he needed to use the Jack again, however that’s not what was happening. What Conner was feeling now was a long thin red tail growing from his rump. At the age of five, he giggled because his face tickled. He was growing whiskers upon his red furred cheeks. At the age of four his hands and feet were the next to change. Looking at them, young Conner thought that he was wearing special footie pajamas.
His head also changed. Ears moving to the top of his head and his face stretched itself out before his eyes. He didn’t care, he was three. He slowly moved his thumb to his mouth. There were some lingering thoughts from his former adult mind. Something about how he’s not supposed to suck his thumb. It didn’t look proper. This wasn't right. But it felt so natural and good, even though it tasted fuzzy and rough. Besides why would he care about how he loo…
Age two now, he snuggled the person holding him. He was tired and this person’s arms were so warm. The blanket was a little itchy, but it was soft too. He was safe in what he thought was his parent’s arms. Not that it mattered if it was his parent’s. He wouldn’t know the difference at the year old stage. Conner’s feet pulled themselves up for a better position. Nate had to support the infant or else he’d drop the baby kitten furry. He made sure that he wouldn’t have to touch the former adult’s messy bare bottom. It did matter if Nathan did though. The final effect of the brew was one last wet ‘accident’.
“Oh god, not again,” Nate groaned at the baby’s release, “how much urine can one person have?”
“It’s only the spare material from the adult body,” the old woman took the child from Nathan, “you know how it is.”
“No, I really don’t,” Nathan was about to take off his soiled shirt, “please leave.”
“No, you’re going to have to take care of him,” the old woman quickly bounced the baby, “even though he’s a little cutie… I have plans tonight.”
“But…”
“It’s only until morning,” the woman glared at the young man, “plus it will be easier to take care of him than it would be to take care of a skunk boy like you were.”
“But you’re the one who,” Nathan stopped, he really didn’t like the idea, but he didn’t want to be regressed by the witch again either. He took the child back from her,
“Good boy,” the old woman smiled as she left the apartment.
Nathan scratched the back of his head as he took another look at the cat child. From the cat ears to his little pawed feet, little kitty Conner was very cute. It was impossible to tell that he used to be an Agent at all. A human sure, a national Agent no.
“I guess we both need a change and a bath now, huh?”
Conner’s cat eyes stared blankly into space, his long tail swished lightly. He didn’t register the question given to him. He couldn’t have. Not at eight months, he was far too young. His adult mind was lost for the rest of the night.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Okay, so these are elderflowers,” I held up the vanilla white flowers. They were so small that only eight or nine clusters of these flowers could make a decent bouquet. The store owner was only using them as decorations. The only thing that I could read on the entire display was the price tag that said that it costs 4 x10^1 ql. I didn’t know if that was high or cheep for this wine. All I knew was that wine was usually expensive.
“You’re lucky today,” Vinni held up a pair of the red tagged bottles, “they’re having a two for one sale today.”
“But I only need one,” I took the extra bottle away.
“You might as well try it before you give it to the girl.”
“I don’t drink. Alcohol tastes awful to me,” I stuck out my tongue, “besides I’m pranking her, not dating her.”
“I’m buying and I say we’re getting two,” Vinni took another bottle, “besides, I deserve to treat myself to some.”
“Yeah, but look at that price. It looks high.”
“What are you, a cheep stake? It’s only 40 ql,” Vinni put a hand to his head, “All the more reason to take two.”
“Okay, but then I only owe you 20 blambers for A bottle.”
“You know that you owe me more than that.”
Vinni led the way to the register of the store. The cashier was a little distracted by the vidscreen that was playing the current news reports. The sound was off, but the small store kept the captions on for people to read. The lady at the counter shouted when we got there.
“I can’t believe this,” she threw her fists in the air, “lousy dirty rotten sore loser!”
“What crawled up your shorts,” Vinni asked placing the bottles on the counter.
“They’re calling a foul on Ripper De Beauregard,” the woman pointed refulssy at the screen.
“What kind of foul,” I asked her, I really was interested.
“Galahad’s saying that Ripper drugged him before the fight and that the drugs were what caused him to loose control of his body,” she slammed her fist on the counter, “Damn it. Now they’re even declaring Galahad as the winner.”
“What? I saw that fight, Ripper didn’t cheat. Even the announcer knew what Ripper did. Everyone could clearly see that Valiant Galahad was tripped up and bull tied by that Spider’s String.”
“It’s called Spider’s Line,” Vinni snapped at me, then turned to the woman, “Can you just ring us up, please?”
“Sorry,” the lady huffed, as she scanned the two bottles, “Besides, it doesn’t matter if he did or not. Galahad’s claim has value since cameras can’t pick up the Spider’s Lines.”
“Hello,” Vinni was getting irritated, “my bill…”
“That will be 45 blambers,” she continued, “God! That Galahad gets me so riled up. Every time he loses he cries foul and the officials insists that he’s the winner.”
“That’s crazy!”
“Don’t I know it,” she leaned down on the counter, “but you know what I think?”
“No. What,” I asked.
“I don’t care. Push the stupid total button,” Vinni didn’t share my enthusiasm.
“I think that the televised fights are all rigged,” the woman took out a sheet that was printed online, “See these numbers? Galahad may have the public’s heart, but all of his opponents were the favorite in the betting rings for the past eighteen months.”
“Never mind I’ll do it myself,” Vinni reached over and pressed the appropriate keys on the register. He then scanned his card in.
“I thought that gambling was illegal,” I looked up at her.
“It is. Now approve my credits already and I don’t need a receipt,” Vinni pulled me to follow him, “let’s go!”
We were walking for a little while before I attempted to ask the question that was on my mind. I didn’t get the chance, sense Vinni could sense that I had one.
“Look, Gambling is illegal,” Vinni stopped walking and looked over his shoulder, “officially at least. Unofficially however, it’s how many people make a living and most Agents will overlook it if you share most of your profits with them. We all try to keep it hush-hush, but everyone in Kernel City knows about it.”
“Actually, I’m wondering what crawled up your shorts,” I scratched my head, “Why aren’t you angry about the fight results being altered?”
“Because I hate Furry Fighter fights okay,” Vinni pointed at me, “In fact, after this prank of yours, Furries will be taboo. Got it?”
“No, I don’t get it.”
“Then think of it this way. If you don’t shut up about it,” Vinni raised the bags, “then I’m going to smash these bottles upside your head and say that you attacked me for my credit card.”
“Look, if I wanted your credit card, I wouldn’t fight you for it,” I said holding up his card in my left hand.
“What the? I could have sworn that I,” Vinni checked his wallet, “how did you?”
“You left it on the counter,” for the first time since meting Vinni, I lied.
To be continued…
This is a ©opyrited Co-op Creation
Characters © Cobalt Raccoon (Rusty Mudstix)
Furry Fighters (Let the Fur Fly!) Universe © Anonymous Writer
Today’s quote is brought to you, in part, by - Edgar Allan Poe
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