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nitewrighter · 4 years

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Gency Week Day 7: “Forest”

GOOOODDD Remember how I said this fic was passing like a kidney stone? I just needed to get this fic out of my system but I couldn’t write anything other than shitposts and chatfics for DAYS. So sorry for any sloppiness. The Russian Taiga, Lone Wolf Hanzo, Pregnancy-detecting wolves, and abusive childhoods making unreliable narrators of us all.

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The four of them had been driving for several hours. The sky was gray and the trees whipped by the van’s windows in a seemingly endless whirl of dark-blue green and gray. It was a cool summer in the Taiga, the air dense with oxygen and the moisture of the pines, drenching the interior of the lungs with a clean cold freshness with every breath.

“So these guys aren’t part of the Hanzo spy network?” said McCree, rolling his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Must you call it a spy network?” said Hanzo.

“It is sort of a spy network,” Mercy piped up from the backseat.

“Not everyone I came into contact with in my travels is some... master of espionage,” said Hanzo, “I just... promised I would return here someday and well, so long as we’re still in this area of Russia--”

“For the other spies in the spy network,” McCree cut in.

“...as long as we’re still in Russia, I should make good on that promise,” said Hanzo.

“And?” said Genji, expectantly. Mercy and McCree exchanged glances. Genji at this point had made it a frequent habit to pull Hanzo off to the side and converse-slash-bicker with him in Japanese, but it seemed to be getting Hanzo to open up more to them.

“And... I thought... it might be enjoyable,” said Hanzo.

“And it’s going to be great--” Genji half-overlapped with Hanzo as he spoke.

Hanzo lifted his chin sightly at the sight of one sign in Russian, “The next turn,” he said, and McCree nodded. The next turn was onto an unpaved road, and the whole van rumbled with what was clearly an overly weathered mag-lev cable underneath the dirt. The road twisted deep into the pines, and Genji’s visor brightened.

“You know what this reminds me of?” said Genji as the van rumbled.

“Mm?” Hanzo looked over his shoulder at him.

“The back roads Father took into Shirakami Sanchi back when he was training us--do you remember?” said Genji.

Hanzo snorted a little, “Don’t worry, this won’t be that bad,” said Hanzo.

“...‘That bad?’” Genji tilted his head but Hanzo perked up as they pulled up to a large sign arching over the road.

“We’re here,” the slight smile in Hanzo’s voice was unmistakeable as McCree parked the van. The four of them stepped out and stretched, Mercy pulling on a jacket in the chilly forest air. She gave a glance up to the sign.

“Tsarapatsosna Gray Wolf Reserve,” Mercy read the arching sign, she looked back at Hanzo, “Wolf reserve?” but Hanzo was already walking under the sign towards a log-cabin styled office with several fenced areas branching off of it. Mercy looked to McCree and McCree just shrugged.

A bell rang on the door of the office as Hanzo stepped into it. There was a late 20-something woman with short-cropped periwinkle dyed hair and oversized noise-cancelling headphones scrolling through a tablet at the desk. McCree examined the office--it was about what you would expect from a remote conservation outpost--outdated technology, disheveled filing, a musky smell of taxidermy emanating from a stuffed mink looking down at them from atop a filing cabinet. The girl with the massive headphones didn’t even look up until Hanzo rang the bell on the desk. She pushed her headphones up off of one ear but then her eyes brightened at the sight of a familiar face.

“Hanzo?” one corner of her mouth quirked up in a grin, “Is that you?”

Hanzo gave a smiling nod and a high pitched, “Ha!” escaped her as she pushed up from her desk and brought her headphones down around her neck like a torc. “It’s been too long! Ilya’s going to go crazy!”

“I like the new color, Kira,” said Hanzo, motioning to his hair.

“And I love this!” said Kira, stepping around the desk and pointing at Hanzo’s undercut, “So ‘cool guy,’ yeah?” Her Russian accent was just thick enough for her to hit her consonants in an appealingly hard way.

Hanzo chuckled. “I learned from the best,” said Hanzo.

Kira scoff-laughed and gave him a playful punch in the arm. Her glance trailed over to McCree, Genji, and Mercy. “Your friends?”

“This is my brother, Genji, and my friends, Angela, and Jesse,” said Hanzo, gesturing at them.

“Howdy,” McCree gave an awkward wave.

“Brother?” Kira repeated and looked over at Genji, “You had a brother this whole time!?”

“He is hard to keep in contact with!” quipped Genji.

Kira snorted. “Da, at least my idiot brother sticks around, but Ilya’s been mooning over Hanzo ever since he left, I think he’s the one starting half the howls around here.”

“Leaving a trail of broken hearts everywhere you go, huh Hanzo?” said McCree

“We never---” Hanzo started but the door opened and a man looking a bit older than Kira with a nose bridge piercing and his hair piled in a chestnut bun briskly stepped in.

“Kira, чей фургон снаружи? У нас не было--” the man caught himself off as he made eye contact with Hanzo. “HANZO!” he lunged forward and caught Hanzo in a big bear hug which Hanzo was, shockingly, receptive to.

“It’s good to see you too, Ilya,” said Hanzo, patting him on the back.

“You barely write anymore! You spend 2 months here and then disappear! We worry so much and all I have is postcards!” said Ilya, bracing his hands on Hanzo’s shoulders.

“Postcards?” McCree mumbled under his breath.

Ilya gasped, “Your hair!”

“That’s what I said!” said Kira.

“Is a good look!” said Ilya.

“I hope my friends and I aren’t causing too much of a disturbance dropping in unannounced like this--” Hanzo started.

“Eh, no, it’s slow today,” said Ilya. He looked over at McCree, Genji and Mercy, “Your friends?”

“Jesse, Genji, and Angela,” said Kira, gesturing at each of them to fill him in, “Genji’s his brother.”

“You have a brother!” Ilya clapped his hands together but his sights trailed over to Genji’s scarred face. Hanzo’s stomach tightened for a minute, but Ilya quickly switched gears back to his jovial self rather than ask about the origins of the scars. He cleared his throat. “Ilya Novikov. You’ve already met my charming sister, Kira.”

Kira gave a wave from where she was leaning against the desk.

“You and your friends want to see the boys? They missed you.” said Ilya.

“We would love to,” said Hanzo.

“Waivers,” said Kira, holding up several papers completely in Russian.

“Ah, yes, waivers,” said Ilya catching himself.

After about three minutes of winging some Russian-to-English translations and Ilya feverishly promising that the wolves would not, in fact, “eat their faces,” the four of them had their waivers signed.

Ilya clapped his hands together, “Good! Good! Come! They will be so excited!”

He rushed out the door and Hanzo gave a glance back to McCree, Genji, and Mercy. “Sorry, I should have let you answer as well.”

“No, this is great!” said Genji, “I’d love to meet the wolves you worked with!”

“I’d like to,” said Mercy, “But I’m still... processing all this.”

“Yeah--Okay, okay, okay--back up,” said McCree, taking his hat off as they walked out the door after Hanzo, “You... you spent 2 months in a Russian wolf reserve!?”

“Much of their permanent residents are actually wolfdogs,” said Hanzo, walking briskly to keep up with Ilya.

“A Russian wolf reserve,” McCree repeated, walking after him.

“...remote location, heated cabins, just enough plumbing to get by, work to keep me occupied,” Hanzo looked over at McCree and Mercy, who were looking at him completely dumbfounded, “You didn’t think I was spending the whole time sleeping under bridges and quietly disposing of the bodies of my would-be assassins?!”

“Well, this is a side of you I’m glad to see,” said Mercy, folding her arms with a smile.

“Who doesn’t like a dog person?” said McCree with a grin as they caught up with Ilya, who was standing outside a chain-link fence that spanned a large area dotted with pines, but where the duff of pine needles had clearly been packed down more with both human and wolf footsteps.

“Lots of wolfdogs with the Crisis,” Ilya explained as they walked along the fence of the enclosure, “Omnics displace people, pets run away, nature reclaims abandoned towns, dogs fuck with the wolves, make wolfdogs. This enclosure is all the older ones. More used to people. Good for kids. Good for bringing funding.”

“Ah, we’re getting the fluffy tourist treatment,” said McCree.

“Is still big animals!” said Ilya. He suddenly perked up and pivoted back at them, walking backwards. He seemed to give a quick glance over at everyone’s outfit. “Good clothing. Yes. No danglies--not too tight--Jesse, your name was?”

“Yes?” said McCree.

“No hats,” said Ilya, and McCree took off his hat and set it on a supply locker near the enclosure, “The wolves. They like to steal things. And then tear them apart. Then bury them,” Ilya suddenly perked up. “Ah! Miss Angela! Important question: You are pregnant?” said Ilya, looking at Mercy.

“Excuse me?!” said Mercy reddening.

“My apologies, my English is ehhh....” Ilya made a ‘so-so’ motion with his hand, “What I’m saying is--The wolves, they know when you are pregnant. They act weird. They bring you food. They always know.”

Mercy’s mouth drew to a thin, crooked line with her bemusement, “No, I’m not pregnant,” she said with a slight chuckle.

“No hats and pregnancy detection. Got it,” said McCree, putting his hands on his hips.

A large brown wolfdog with three legs hop-walked in from the trees. It spotted Hanzo and suddenly bound towards the chain-link fence, rising up on its back legs and rattling the fence as it put one paw on it.

“Shoko!” said Hanzo, putting his hand to the chain-link and letting the wolf-dog sniff it, “She’s still here?”

“Of course!” said Ilya, “This is her home!”

The wolfdog whined and rattled the chain-link, drawing the attention of her pack, who all slowly padded in from the various tree and shrub covered areas they were sniffing about.

“Hanzo, you should go in first, get them warmed up to people, yeah?” said Ilya.

“Of course,” said Hanzo, stepping in. The gate was constructed in sally-port fashion, with another gate inside a fenced off area so that Hanzo could have the gate shut behind him before entering the enclosure. As soon as he stepped through that second gate he was beset on all sides by massive barking, sniffing bodies, roiling around him and yipping and some even prancing and rearing on their hind legs playfully at him. Mercy and Genji and McCree watched as Hanzo’s expression melted into pure warmth and even sputtered bouts of laughter as the wolves and wolfdogs sniffed and whined and butted into him. Hanzo, apparently well practiced in maneuvering with the pack’s attention on him, managed to shift the mass of furry bodies away from the sally port and he chatted to them, slipping between English and Japanese and even some Russian he had presumably picked up in working in this place. McCree honestly could have just watched him all day but Ilya elbowed him and gestured into the enclosure with a thumb. Mercy looked over at Genji, a slight smile on his scar-notched lips.

“We never got to have dogs, growing up,” said Genji, very quietly.

“Come on! Come on!” said Ilya, gesturing them in one at a time.

McCree entered and instantly a section of the pack swarming Hanzo broke off to sniff him. McCree nearly lost his balance as a wolf with splotchy-patterned fur knocked into him from the side.

“Oh they like you!” Ilya shouted from outside the fence.

Because he smells like Hanzo, thought Genji, stepping in to the enclosure after McCree. The wolves ears pricked up with the screech of the metal gate swinging, and a dozen brown, black, and yellow eyes regarded Genji with some curiosity. Genji moved to hold out his prosthetic hand, caught himself, then extended his organic hand. One silver wolf gave his hand a wary sniff before pushing his muzzle against Genji’s palm. Once the four of them were thoroughly sniffed, the pack broke apart slightly, several wandering off to resume sniffing or scratching at pines indifferent to their human visitors, but a good portion of them hung around, eager for pets and roughhousing.

“They are a lot bigger than they seem in the documentaries, aren’t they?” said Mercy as a cream-colored wolf stuck its full muzzle into the monopocket of her hoodie while a black wolfdog sniffed at her heels. The wolves seemed to be warming up to Genji as well, in spite of his prosthetics, sniffing at his jawline where his skin ended and cybernetic neck began. They were like dogs and yet not like dogs, sometimes remembering an aloof pride midway-through being pet and briskly walking away, but then coming back when they realized that that very distance they created was being respected. I can see why Hanzo would like you, thought Genji, scratching a wolf that wanted to be scratched, but didn’t want Genji to make eye contact while he was doing it. He glanced up at Hanzo, half-wrestling with Shoko, and the words Hanzo had said earlier hung in Genji’s mind like a loose thread off a sweater.

This won’t be that bad.

Genji glanced over to Mercy and McCree, still well-occupied with the wolfdogs swarming them, and walked over to Hanzo.

“Hanzo?” said Genji, dropping to a squat next to Hanzo as he rubbed Shoko’s belly.

“Yes?” said Hanzo, scratching the three-legged wolfdog under her chin.

“Sorry, I’m just... trying to clear something up--What you said back in the van... you didn’t like Shirakami-Sanchi?” said Genji.

“You’re not supposed to like it. Survival isn’t a game,” said Hanzo, glancing up at Genji. Shoko rolled herself back onto her stomach and pushed up under Hanzo’s arm to try and get his attention.

“I thought we did pretty well,” said Genji.

“Well you got to go play at being the agile hunter charging after squirrels and I had to actually find fresh water and build a fire for us,” said Hanzo, digging his hands into the ruff of fur at Shoko’s neck.

“...I thought you were okay with that,” said Genji.

“Well in a sense, yes, it kept you out of my hair, but I was also worried you’d do something stupid and hurt yourself and Father wouldn’t be there to rush to your rescue, so it would just be me, and---” Hanzo caught himself and his hand paused, still half-sunken into wolf fur. He looked up at Genji. “I’m sorry,” said Hanzo.

“No, I--I get it,” said Genji, glancing off.

He sighed and pulled his hand away, prompting Shoko to make a protesting growl-whine, “It’s wasn’t your fault. You were too young for it anyway. Father was mostly testing me.”

“...I thought it was the first time Father thought I could do something,” said Genji. I thought, I thought, I thought, the more Genji said the words the stupider he felt.

“He probably thought it would build character,” Hanzo conceded, “Of course it was just a fun adventure in the woods for his favorite.”

“But you didn’t like it,” said Genji.

Hanzo looked at Genji for a few seconds. “You, Genji. You were his favorite.”

A sputter of laughs escaped Genji but quickly faded as he read Hanzo’s face. “Oh you... you actually think that,” said Genji.

“Think that?! It was obvious!” said Hanzo, “Father always liked you better because you took after Mother more--that’s why he went easier on you.”

“Went easy on-- He just thought he couldn’t trust me with anything! He thought I was a failure! You were the perfect first-born!” said Genji.

“I wasn’t his son, I was his heir! He was only ever... molding me to be like him! He actually smiled with you! He called you ‘Sparrow!’”

“Sparrow was an insult,” said Genji, plainly.

Hanzo’s brow crinkled and his eyes pinched with confusion. “What? No it wasn’t.”

“‘Genji, you never apply yourself to anything. You’re always flitting between meaningless distractions. This way and that. Like a sparrow,’” Genji imitated Sojiro’s tone almost perfectly.

Hanzo glanced down, “No, no, that can’t be right,” he muttered, “Sparrows are lucky!”

“Sparrows are pests,” said Genji.

“You were always laughing!”

“Well, yes,” said Genji, he rubbed the back of his neck, “I... got very good at laughing things off. I’m--I’m still good at it.”

Hanzo felt a shudder linger between his shoulder blades when he thought about how easily Genji had laughed at him saying he was the favorite. Both now realized that the rest of the wolves were giving them a wide berth. Three still crowding Mercy and one getting a vigorous belly rub from McCree.

“I’m sorry,” said Hanzo, “I...had not known.”

“I didn’t know either,” said Genji, “I always assumed you and father got along because you did everything right. You even won every sparring match.”

“Because I was bigger,” said Hanzo, “Those weren’t fair to you, either.”

Shoko pushed her muzzle against the back of Hanzo’s shoulder for attention.

“Perhaps we should...” Hanzo trailed off.

“Talk about this when we’re not surrounded by wolves?” said Genji.

“Yes,” said Hanzo, glancing off.

Genji pushed himself up from his squat and walked off, giving Hanzo his space. Upon seeing whatever tension between them was dissipating, several wolves immediately swarmed Genji for attention. Just running his hands through their fur was a relief. He watched as McCree chatted with Hanzo quietly. McCree apparently comforting Hanzo over the newest revelation.

I thought you knew, thought Genji, I thought I was a joke to you, too...

I thought.

“Genji?” Mercy stepped next to him as Genji was absentmindedly scratching the side of an older, sleepy wolfdog’s face, “Were you and Hanzo just arguing?”

“It’s fine,” said Genji, “We’re fine.”

“Are you sure?” said Mercy. One corner of Genji’s mouth tugged up in a not-smile. She really was so protective of him when it came to Hanzo.

“It was... just about this trip we took when we were younger,” said Genji.

“The Shirakami trip you mentioned back in the van?” said Mercy.

“It wasn’t really a trip, it was part of our training,” said Genji, “Wilderness survival. Standard stuff. 5 days of just me and Hanzo roughing it in the woods, making our own lean-tos, that sort of thing...” Genji trailed off.

“How old were you?” said Mercy.

“Hanzo was twelve,” said Genji.

“...so you were nine,” said Mercy, her brow was crinkling.

“Are you okay?” said Genji.

“Just you and Hanzo?” Mercy, “Not your father?”

“Of course,” said Genji with a shrug, and he noticed the color drain from Mercy’s face, “What?”

“Genji, you were a 12 year old and a 9 year old left alone in the woods for five days, that’s horrific,” said Mercy.

“Every generation of the Shimada did it in some capacity,” said Genji, “And I already had plenty of training before---” he caught himself as he looked up into Mercy’s eyes, “...Oh. That’s... that’s not something families do with their kids, is it?”

“No,” said Mercy, “No it isn’t.”

“Right...” Genji looked down.

“So the argument was about the trip?” said Mercy.

“It... it turned into being more about father,” said Genji, “I guess...we both assumed he was amazing to the other when the truth was, he was terrible to both of us in different ways.”

Mercy touched his shoulder, “You were both children...”

Genji huffed a little. “I think we both wanted to believe he was good, deep down. He was strong, certainly. He made the world feel like it had a certain... order to it. That the clan’s way was the truth of the world.”

“It takes time,” said Mercy, “Even when you get enough space and perspective, it still takes a while to figure out who you are outside of a situation like that.”

Genji brought his hand over hers. “It still scares me, sometimes, like, what do I accept as normal that’s nightmarish for other people?” He glanced off, “And... and I want to remember good things about our childhood--I want to believe there are some... some strings of family love that were always there. Maybe father did love us... but he only knew how to show it in the way it was shown to him...he may not have even known--I may not even know--Am I--?” he cut himself off as he looked into her eyes.

Mercy stooped over him put her free hand against the side of his face, and gently kissed his forehead. “Genji,” she said, “You are one of the kindest, strongest, and most patient people I’ve ever met. And you know yourself. And you’re constantly working to be a better version of yourself. That’s one of the reasons why you tried so hard to bring Hanzo back into your life--would it be easier if Hanzo wasn’t in your life? Yes, but... I think for you, it’s not about wanting what’s easy.”

“Maybe I’m just dwelling on this because I’m scared, no matter how hard I worked to get here, to get better, I’m so scared of repeating that cycle,” said Genji.

“You won’t,” said Mercy, sitting down next to him,“This is happening because you want to break a cycle, and... learning things like this is a part of it. This is new ground for everyone. Of course it’s scary.”

Genji looked over at Hanzo, kneading his knuckles into the the thick fur of a wolf-dog’s neck with his face scrunched at the wolf licking his face. McCree walked up and helped haul him to his feet before both of them nearly tripped over another wolf butting into them from behind.

“He has gotten a lot better,” said Genji.

“And it’s going to keep getting better, sure there will be hiccups, but you both want this,” said Mercy, “That’s what’s important.”

Genji just quietly smiled at that. “We’re going to talk about it more when we get back,” said Genji.

“I think that’s a good idea,” said Mercy, “And if it’s any consolation, the wolves confirmed I’m not pregnant.”

Genji looked at her oddly, with one thick eyebrow arched with amusement.

“So we don’t have to worry about that yet, at least,” said Mercy, folding her arms.

“Yet?” said Genji.

Mercy just gave him a smile and a shrug, and Genji snorted and leaned his head on his shoulder. He kept his fingers dug into the wolf’s fur, breathing in the pine-cooled air.

#gency #some background mchanzo #gencyweek

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ancientbooshartifacts · 5 years

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The Even Stranger Tale of the Crack Fox

Author: PlanetBanjo

Year: 2008

Rating: NC-17

Characters: The Crack Fox

Thud. Thud. Thud. The rubbish bags land heavily somewhere above, waking me. Vermin. I sigh heavily, switch on my cine-film projector and sip some cat’s blood. Artic foxes fuck and flicker across a make-shift screen. Soon I’ll make you wear a little dress and hurt you. Soon. ^~*~^ Elderberry Wood bored me rigid today. Dante drove me to distraction with his incessant ranting. Yesterday, he shot a man clean out of a tree just for ‘looking a bit ginger’. I warned him that we can’t have humans taking an interest in a badger, especially not one with racist leanings and a rifle. OK, so there was the horrendous incident with the shovels but no matter how much Dante attempts to justify his actions, I shall always decline to agree with him. And there’s dear Nicholas with his fixation with tennis. I admire his tenacity and dedication to the sport yet his unwavering determination that a rodent will play at Wimbledon is becoming a little repetitive and grating. Poor misguided Nicholas. His habit of continually pissing himself plays havoc with his tennis whites. All so dreadfully dreary. I can’t shake off the feeling that life elsewhere is so much more interesting. ^~*~^ My cousin, Jack Cooper, sent me a letter! Jack’s an urban fox. He often tells me stories about London Town and the people he meets there. I must say, those town fellows sound rather over-familiar types. He once told me about an experience he had whilst staying in a peculiar-sounding place where animals are held captive so that humans can come and look at them. Jack said there was a tall, shifty-eyed chap with a moustache who worked at this odd place and that the man had tried to touch his cock. When this chap said he just wanted to clean him up, Jack said ‘no’ and tried to bite him but then he was given something that sent him into a deep slumber. Jack says that he doesn’t recall what happened afterwards but he was sure it was very bad indeed. He said the moustached fellow often passed by his cage and gave him a sinister sideways glance that made his hackles rise. My cousin is now free of the animal prison and lives on the streets of Dalston. He says he’s happy there and that his diet is better than the one he endured in Hackney. He advised me that a diet of fried chicken, false nails and crack pipes leads to acute tummy shame. However, Jack’s letter only served to increase my feelings of general ennui. Life here is dull dull dull. ^~*~^ Today I took a ride on my penny farthing along Leafy Lane and decided to rest a while on a grassy knoll. As I cast a disinterested gaze around me, I caught sight of a discarded magazine lying in a nearby hedgerow. Its glossy coloured pages fluttered in the breeze, sending out waves of a curious smelling perfume. I leant across and reached into the bush, tugging it free. Upon wiping the dirt from the cover, I saw that the magazine was called CHEEKBONE and so I sat down beneath a willow tree to read it. It is not like the usual magazines that I find tossed into the bushes. There are many photographs of people inside its pages and they talk of restaurants and nightclubs and music. And they are all wearing very nice clothes. The magazine is very exciting. I have already read it several times, over and over and over and over. I think I would like to go to London Town, one day. ^~*~^ I am on a train to London! Dante and Nicholas were resolutely against me going away. They said: “Jerome, this is a big mistake. You’ll be back here in a fortnight with your sorry tail between your legs.” Dante hit me hard with the butt of his rifle, as if to change my mind but I insisted that I want to see more of the world and that I must take this opportunity to sample the lifestyle I have seen in CHEEKBONE magazine. I told my friends that if I spend one more afternoon punting along the river through Cambridge Town then I would eat my own ears in pure frustration. After all, if all the stories Jack has told me are true, the life of an urban fox will be far more stimulating than an existence spent entirely in Elderberry Wood! So, I have new clothes, which are just like the ones worn by the people in CHEEKBONE and I have applied a little of the perfume contained inside the paper flap on one of its pages. I assume all people in London smell this way? ^~*~^ Oh, this situation is quite intolerable! I have visited all the labour exchanges in this part of town and yet there are no vacancies! Do these humans not recognise a hard-working fox of good breeding and intelligence when they see one? If my cousin were not an urban fox, I would blame those grubby town creatures for giving my species a bad reputation with their nightly rattling and scattering of dustbins and their yapping and yelping in back gardens. Should I wrap myself in plastic carrier bags and wear rotting fruit on my head? Would they employ me then? Would that be more acceptable? And Jack was right - the edible pickings here are atrocious. A young fox cannot survive on a diet of saturated fat and sticky sauce sachets. I must have freshly-made cucumber sandwiches and drinking fresh spring water, not this abomination on the taste buds! Isn’t it enough that I have to battle with the rancid humans that live on the street for the best scraps? They scuttle around in their filthy blankets like common vermin, scurrying amongst the rubbish, which means I often miss out on obtaining the better take-away leftovers. These people are thoroughly unpleasant and they smell nothing like the paper flaps of my magazine. This really isn’t cricket. ^~*~^ Three weeks in London now and nothing. Trying to survive on wits and wile alone is proving arduous, even for a fox of my calibre. Winter is drawing in and the nights grow colder. There are no snug burrows to retreat to when the black frost creeps across the pavements. I spend my days wandering aimlessly, growing increasingly grubby and despondent and sleeping under railway arches until I am shoo-ed rudely away by the Street People. My clothes grow filthy and worn. I pawned my monocle to pay for a few nights in a hostelry. The people there gave me hot soup and blankets. They found my copy of CHEEKBONE and told me that the people in its pages were immoral. They said a young fox shouldn’t believe everything he sees in fashion magazines and then they showed me some pamphlets. The pamphlets were filled with brightly-coloured drawings of a man with a beard and a flowing gown. He had light coming out of his hands and people looked up to him and smiled. My copy of CHEEKBONE magazine, constantly in my pocket, is now tattered and torn. Where on earth do I find the people inside its pages? ^~*~^ Finally, my fortunes have changed! Whilst sifting through the meagre pickings at the rear entrance of ‘Dixie Fried Chicken’, my eye fell upon a scrap of local newspaper that carried the following advertisement. ‘WANTED – FURRY FRIENDS FOR SELECT NEW CLUB’. Well, I’m furry! And I’m seeking a select club! So I spruced myself up a little and went along to the address to see what it was all about. The gentleman running ‘The Tufty Club’, Mr. Soames, was very hospitable. He warmly welcomed me into his office and gave me some freshly-cooked chicken and clean water, which I devoured hungrily. There were pictures on the office walls just like the ones in CHEEKBONE! He was a little evasive when I pressed him on the matter of wages and hours but I expect this will all be worked out as we go along. Then he provided me with a small cash advance, gave me instructions about the kind of clothes I will be expected to wear and told me that I could start tomorrow. Apparently I am exactly what the club is looking for! I’m still not sure exactly what I’m going to be doing there but...I’ve got a job! ^~*~^ What a night! There were lots of flashing lights and lots of smiling people and loud, loud MUSIC! At first I was a little wary about what I had to do. Lots of men with moustaches and white vests stared at me. Was this the place Jack had told me about in his letter? One of the men approached me and he held out a little glass pot, telling me to sniff it. He said it would help me work better. Well, I pressed my snout cautiously to that little pot and - WWOOOOOOOO!!! I felt really fine and the world was full of colours and the man span me round and held me in his arms and I was dancing! I danced all night and into the morning in my little white vest! And there were lots of other men who also danced with me and Jack shouldn’t have been so scared of that man with a moustache because he didn’t want to hurt me! He helped me feel good with his sniffy-pots! All I have to do is dance on a little podium and shake my tail around and let the men stroke me! Ha ha! These are fun-fun times! ^~*~^ Mr Soames pays extra attention to me. He lets me sleep in a nice warm cupboard in his flat. He says that he has a special job he would like me to do, and that he will pay me twice my hourly wage if I do it. I am not sure what my hourly wage is – there has been a cash-flow problem, apparently, which has resulted in a slight delay in my payment – but he assures me it will be easy work and that the money will be very good indeed. He is a kind man. I am happy to perform any extra tasks he has, especially if it pays well. Who knows? One day I might have enough money to have my own flat, and then Jack and I shall have dinner parties for other sophisticated intellectuals. We shall be proper urban foxes about town! ^~*~^ This evening, Mr. Soames showed me the job he wanted me to do. He invited me into his office after my shift. He said it wouldn’t take long. He asked me to remove my trousers and then told me to stand on all fours on top of his desk and face the wall. I was a little cautious but he had told me the job would pay well, so I complied. As I faced forward, I heard him undo the belt on his trousers. He gently took hold of my tail and pressed his large warm belly against my haunches. I tensed a little as I felt the hot, wet tip of something long and hard rubbing against my fox-anus. I gave a startled yelp as he pushed the hot wet thing – which I rapidly released was his man-cock – right inside me, sliding it in deep with a groan. I struggled against him but he held me fast, stroking my fur, telling me to be quiet and not to worry. Then he pushed himself against me, back and forth, making lots of grunting sounds that reminded me of Nicholas playing tennis. I dug my claws into the desk surface and gazed up at the people in the photos around the office walls, concentrating on their smiles, trying to bear the pounding at my rear, telling myself this job would pay well. After a few minutes, Soames gave a gargled scream. He tugged his cock out of me, hurriedly refastening his trousers, tossed 100 euros on to the desk and left the room. I delicately stepped down from the desk, hitched up my garments and collected the money. What a very interesting experience this is turning out to be! ^~*~^ The stupid creature screeched as I grabbed and twisted its neck, its front paws scrabbling frantically in mid-air, claws protruding sharply. I gritted my fangs and smashed its head hard against a brick wall. The cat’s body went limp in my grasp, its eyes rolling shut. With my syringes, I slit its throat and watched its blood begin to trickle slowly from the wound. As I licked at the warm viscous liquid, I noticed the tag around its neck read ‘Puffin’. Puffin shouldn’t have taken what wasn’t his. ^~*~^ Last night after work, Mr Soames introduced me to another man who wanted me to do a special job for him, too. I told the man that I felt a little weary after a night’s podium dancing and that I needed to rest. He laughed and said he had something that would help me stay awake, adding that he would pay me 200 euros if I went to his flat right away. The man gave a wide smile from beneath his large moustache. He reassured me that all I would have to do was wear a little dress and dance for his friends. It sounded easy enough. ^~*~^ if I have an entire paw of needles then I can take more drugs and I can forget about the cold and the wet and the terrible hunger because I’ve eaten nothing but old bottles of shampoo and squeezed-up tubes of toothpaste and pieces of shit for the last four weeks I’m not proud of it but when you’re hungry and you’re on the streets and you’ve got nothing to eat but handfuls of human faeces and a fox has got to do what a fox has to do and the Street People talk of a drug that’s so powerful that a single drop can make you King of the World and everyone will do your bidding but I don’t know because they are bombed out of their tiny minds for most of the time and what a ridiculous idea a drug that can give you special power over everyone and everything and who the hell would want power over those shambolic filthy creatures who spend all day gulping their electric soup and having fights and is this really what mankind has become it would be so easy to get them to do anything I wanted them to do ^~*~^ I can’t...I can’t do this anymore. The men never stop. They give me their special powders and they pound at me for hours and... They never stop. So I’m running away. Back to the streets. I can’t go back to Elderberry Wood. Dante and Nicholas will laugh at me and constantly remind me they were right. ^~*~^ The green-toothed man in the filthy blanket had it coming. His neck...it broke...beneath my claws. It broke...so easily. As easy as a cat. Then I plunged my syringes and pushed them deep into the veins of his throat and I watched in fascination as he screamed and struggled beneath me. I felt the pulse in his neck gradually fade away. A misty vapour formed around his mouth as he gave his last breath. FIDDLE-DEE-DIE. I see now that Dante was right. Humans are vermin and must be destroyed. Why didn’t I ever listen to him? ^~*~^ Thud. Thud. Thud. I watch and I listen. And I see the small man put the large glass bottle into his special cupboard and he locks it away. Then he gives the key to the pretty man who looks like a lady. I will rule these pathetic creatures. I will command them. So I wait. My time will come. I watch and I wait.

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #the crack fox

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