clank-clank-clank-thunk.

“Why in all the god's names did it have to be the 'e' key?” Friday growled, reaching forward with his thick ursine fingers to unjam the offending hammer. The typewriter was possibly the last Underwood on the entire coast. It had cost him a year's savings to buy from the antique shop, and finding the ribbon to keep it running was just short of bankrupting him.

It was in perfect condition. Buying it fresh in its cardboard box, the bear had been smiling all the way home as he'd planned out his vacation in the mountains. It was only after he'd gotten out here, without another soul for a day's walk, to discover the gods' thrice dammed 'e' key had been misformed, jamming every time he used it.

A deep breath, he fought to calm himself. This wasn't helping. The whole reason he'd come out here in the first place was to find some peace and quiet, to help him focus. He had three days left to write his book. Three days, that was it.

There weren’t many publishers left in V-town now, the market for books had fallen drastically since the Cataclysm, but they'd been willing to take him on, give him one chance. All Friday had to do was produce a manuscript by next week. Piece of cake, he'd had it all but finished a month ago. Just type it up nice and pretty with his new typewriter, make a few last revisions, and figure out what in the gods' names the ending was going to be...

Clank-clank-clank-clank-thunk.

With a roar of impotent rage rivalled only by sports fans watching their team lose a [i]sure-to-win game[i], Friday sent the typewriter hurtling across the cabin to smash against the far wall with a muffled thud. Two cartwheeling bounces later it was left lying on the dirt floor, scuffed but still in one piece.

“This is my big break!” he screamed at it. “I should be done by now, sitting out in the sun and eating raspberries!”

Other than a soft, taunting click as the 'e' finally fell back into place, the Underwood had nothing to say.

It took every ounce of the bear's strength not to send his chair flying the same way the typewriter had. Even then he liked to think it cowered ever so slightly as he stood. For just an instant the pleasant daydream of beating the infernal machine into submission with the rough-hewn pine chair slipped through his mind, but he forced it aside.

Three paces and he was at the door of the cabin. There really wasn't much to it, a rustic single room structure held together with wooden pegs and moss. No power, no running water, and nothing but a small cast iron range in one corner for both cooking and warmth.

At that at least Friday could smile. It was more retro than he'd been expecting when he'd agreed to rent it for a week, but it had grown on him none the less. The realtor whispering a rumour that the hunter's alpha weekended up here in a cabin like this one made the bear feel a touch more swashbuckling.

Like he really was getting in touch with nature – though the pile of dehydrated and preprepared camp rations sitting in the corner said otherwise.

A soft push and the heavy wooden door swung open with nothing more than a sigh. He stepped out into the sunlight, letting the warmth soak into the thick brown fur of his face.

The campsite was as spartan as the cabin. A small picnick table the bear took his meals at, a stump for chopping wood, and a path leading back to the city. Not a power-plug or fast food outlet to be seen.

Off in the distance the bear could hear the chuckle of a small mountain stream. It ran cold and fast, just deep enough to swim in. He'd spent far too much time lounging in that stream, as if he were part otter.

A sigh and he took a seat at the picnick table. “How in the gods' names am I supposed to write a book without using the letter 'e'?” He snorted and rolled his eyes. “I could always turn it into a swashbuckling yarn and shout 'Aarg!' all the time...”

Lost in thought, he didn't even notice as he began to worry a hole in the table with one claw, not until a snap announced the board falling to the ground.

“And... what do you want to bet they're going to charge me for that?”

“Nothing you won't be able to afford once you get your best seller out,” a voice responded from behind him.



This is just a quick thank-you piece for Friday/Dandin for helping me on a particular project...
There will likely be several more instalments, but in irregular intervals.