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More from Walt46
Listed in Folders
Very Fawnedly Yours
© 2013 by Walter Reimer
(All characters courtesy of
EOCostello, 
MercMarten and 
Major Matt Mason. Any resemblance between characters depicted herein and any real person, living or dead, is too bad for them.)
The setting is Spontoon Island, in the story section Let's Doe It (Let's Fall In Love).
Art by
turnbolt
__________________________________________________
Part 25.
Gwladys:
“He did WHAT!?”
Hmm. Whatever my mate found in his daily dispatch box apparently wasn’t sitting very well with him.
It might – just – succeed in putting him off his breakfast.
“Who did what, dear?”
“Your . . . your blasted fawn!”
“What’s Reggie supposed to have done now?”
“Here! Read for yourself!” A piece of paper was hurled in my general direction, nearly coming to rest on my freshly buttered croissant. I moved the plate a bit.
After sipping at my tea I laid aside the morning edition of Le Temps and picked up the report. “So? Reggie decided to hold a board meeting outside? What’s so bad about that?”
“What's so BAD about it, woman? It's all part of his plot!"
I had to sigh. Not this again. "And what plot might that be?"
“The plot by your idiot fawn to RUIN me!"
“Joss, you know perfectly well there's no plot to ruin you. There's no plot at all. Reggie doesn't think that way."
"Just a series of vignettes."
I let this pass. “Josslyn – my dear mate – you’re overlooking something.”
“Eh?”
“If you are ruined, so am I. And I don’t think OUR fawn would think of ruining US.”
He actually put aside the report he was reading and gaped at me, openmouthed.
“Now, I’m sure that the weather in London was quite nice, so Reggie decided a change of scenery would be good – “
“Those blasted cretins on the Board were probably asleep. Probably lulling them into agreeing to the most outlandish things.”
I refused to allow this to drop. "Joss, if you are ruined, I am ruined."
"Eh?"
"You say ‘ruin,’ Joss. What does that mean? There are many ways you can be ruined, Joss. But you wouldn't fall alone. No matter how you define ‘ruin,’ it will hit us both."
“Yes?”
“Yes. Whether you're bankrupt, or driven mad, it will affect me. Badly. I am, ironically, your best defense against getting deposed." Having fired my last salvo, I picked up the newspaper again.
"HAH! Unless YOU'RE in on the plot!"
I put down the newspaper again. At this rate, I’ll need the evening edition before long.
“Are you seriously suggesting, Joss, that I would ruin myself?" Before he could reply I added, “Joss, whether you were financially ruined, or went mad like your sire, it would be more than I could bear. And I wouldn't stand for any fur who would try either." I sipped my tea and put the cup down gently. “Now, stop being so paranoid. Honestly, you’re as bad as Iosif Starling.”
"I'm not paranoid, blast you! I'm careful.”
“You're paranoid, dear heart."
"I'm not like that blasted Iosif Starling."
"I readily believe that, Josslyn. For one thing, he doesn't eat as much. For another, you plan better than he does. For a third, I'm still here and not edited out of photographs." I smiled. "Which reminds me: you were caricatured in an issue of Krokodil last month."
"What?!"
"Yes, as some sort of octopus-like cervine with a bevy of bejeweled doxies hanging on each limb. Absurd, of course."
"I'll buy the paper and fire that cartoonist!"
"I rather doubt, Josslyn, that the Politburo are interested in selling. They rather like having a monopoly on the press."
"Then I'll write a letter to the Times, see if I don't!"
"Number 725 in a multi-year series. And they've published how many? Two? And both were heavily edited."
Joss stopped gaping at me, and started grumbling.
"And do stop grumbling so loudly, Joss. People will think there's an earthquake."
I reached across the table and patted his paw consolingly. “Don't be sore, Josslyn. You do vastly better than any of those Russian planners. You have competent underlings. Like your fawn."
"GAAAHHH!"
"Don't yell, so, Josslyn. You'll make the windows shatter."
“The Board are a bunch of blockheads who couldn’t think their way out of a wet paper sack – “
“All the more reason to have someone reasonable at the head of the table, don’t you think?”
“GAAAHHH!”
***
Reggie:
True to form, the sunny weather didn’t last, so the next Board meeting was indoors.
A couple members looked disappointed.
With Miss Haversham’s and Mrs. Rodgers’ help I was managing to get through all of the reports and assorted files. Good Lord, it’s no wonder the Sire is so irritated all the time if he has to put up with this all the time.
“Just one more, Mr. Buckhorn.”
“You said that the last time, Miss Haversham.”
“Well, there are actually two more.”
I laughed. “Do you do this to my father as well?”
Mrs. Rodgers allowed herself a smile. “Your father usually insists there is always more, Mr. Buckhorn.”
“Ah. An inspiration to us all.”
I flipped open the file and read it.
Then paused.
I set it aside, then dug through the pile of other folders, and took out two more.
I opened them and compared it to the first one.
The two secretaries just looked at each other, then at me, and waited.
“Would you two mind terribly,” I asked, “if I could take these three home with me and looked at them a while? Say, over the weekend?”
“Not at all, Sir,” Mrs. Rodgers said. “You’re the Vice-Chairman, and in charge until Lord Josslyn comes back from France.”
“Thank you.”
***
Gwladys:
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t consider paranoia a bad thing in its proper place. In fact, once upon a time I relied on it as a survival trait.
But I simply had to bring Joss up short. His incessant raving about our fawn is starting to sound like he may have deeper problems. A job for Sigmund Fraud, if you could convince him to get close to my mate with anything short of a ten-foot pole.
Although the thought of Josslyn covered with spots from being poked with a ten-foot pole cheered me up as I got ready to face the day after a rather tiring breakfast.
The day went by as most of the days do on the Riviera, nice and quiet, with furs seeing and being seen. I even managed to get some sun out by the pool and was gratified to see several mels admiring this old carcass of mine.
A good (though moderate) diet and exercise are the keys to that.
That night Joss and I were, well, where we usually are after dinner.
That is, I was in the casino, and Joss was in the casino’s dining room. He was having his normal post-prandial snack, an unspoken commentary on the cuisine. He normally doesn’t complain about the quality, of course, but always says something derogatory about the portions offered.
The staff tolerates him, although I heard a Cordon Bleu chef muttering “Diable d’un Anglais” after one tirade.
As for myself, I give myself a small allotment of funds for entertainment purposes. Most of it goes to the baccarat tables, and the others at the table are known for decorum.
“Hello, DARLINGS!”
My ears went flat as what was almost a piercing shout hit the relative quiet of the casino.
I turned to see a pair of older furs, canines, framed in the doorway. They seemed to be husband and wife, him in a tuxedo and her in a very nice evening gown.
The effect was a bit spoiled by her shout and the battered and slightly mildewed-looking yachting cap on his head. He whisked the cap off his head and tossed it in the direction of the coat check girl as he said, “Come along, Dahling, and let’s have a bit of fun, eh?”
The man had a Harvard accent broad enough to build the Bellevue-Stagford on.
I went back to my cards as the couple swept forward.
Then I paused and looked again.
The mel seemed familiar, and then I had it.
“Paul duCleds?”
He was in the act of lighting a cigarette in a short holder, and he paused. His wife dug an elbow in his ribs and laughed before she said, “Paul, WHAT have you been DOING behind my back?”
He grinned at his wife’s sally and focused on me through a wisp of cigarette smoke. “Do I know you?”
“Probably not,” I said, “but I think your brother does – that is, if you’re Paul duCleds.”
“The one and only.”
I smiled. “Gwladys Buckhorn. I know your brother Pierre.”
“Pete!” When he grinned I saw the resemblance clearly.
He went straight up and took my paw, giving it a firm shake. “Any friend of Pete’s – so long as she’s as beautiful as you, my dear.”
I had gotten to my hooves and saw the look in the old dog’s eyes. I smiled and held up my paw to show him my rings. Down, boy.
He got the hint and laughed. “This is my darling wife, Eunice.”
Eunice and I hugged. She then gave me a critical look and said, “Darling, LOOK at you! You look simply SMASHING! But WHERE is your husband, my dear? Don’t tell me you’re a WIDOW at your age!”
I laughed. I didn’t think she was just drunk – just overly exuberant. “He’s having a snack in the dining room.”
“Buckhorn?” Paul said. He looked uncertain as he thought, snapping his fingers before saying exultantly, “Got it! You’re Jolly Josslyn’s wife aren’t you?”
“I wouldn’t exactly call him jolly, but – “
“It’s just a little joke we have out in Delahare.”
“Very little. You know, I had heard a rumor that you had passed away."
He leaned close and whispered conspiratorially, "Don't tell my lawyers, but I was thinking of playing dead for tax purposes."
His idea of a conspiratorial whisper was clearly heard by everyone else at the baccarat table. I signaled to the croupier that I was done as I asked, “Doesn't that put a crimp on your social life, being fiscally dead?"
“Just don’t tell President Long.”
“Done.”
Paul snapped his fingers again, then shooed away two waiters that seemed to materialize out of thin air. “Your son stood best man at my boy’s wedding back in March!”
“Yes, Reggie was best man.”
“And Leslie was BEST man at your son’s wedding,” Eunice chimed in.
“That’s true.”
“So where is your mate, my dear?” Paul asked.
I guessed he wasn’t quite as inebriated as I’ve seen Pierre – although I heard he’s a lot steadier now that he’s married. “I said, he’s in the dining room, having a snack – “
“Oh, so you did, so you did! I’ll just go on in and introduce myself.” Before I could say anything, he swept straight past me, making a beeline for the dining room.
I gaped at him, then looked at Eunice. “I think we should follow him.”
“Oh, YES! I’m SURE your husband will be simply THRILLED to meet Paul!”
“Oh yes,” I said half to myself, “thrilled straight down to his hooves.”
<PREVIOUS><FIRST><NEXT>
© 2013 by Walter Reimer
(All characters courtesy of
EOCostello, 
MercMarten and 
Major Matt Mason. Any resemblance between characters depicted herein and any real person, living or dead, is too bad for them.)The setting is Spontoon Island, in the story section Let's Doe It (Let's Fall In Love).
Art by
turnbolt__________________________________________________
Part 25.
Gwladys:
“He did WHAT!?”
Hmm. Whatever my mate found in his daily dispatch box apparently wasn’t sitting very well with him.
It might – just – succeed in putting him off his breakfast.
“Who did what, dear?”
“Your . . . your blasted fawn!”
“What’s Reggie supposed to have done now?”
“Here! Read for yourself!” A piece of paper was hurled in my general direction, nearly coming to rest on my freshly buttered croissant. I moved the plate a bit.
After sipping at my tea I laid aside the morning edition of Le Temps and picked up the report. “So? Reggie decided to hold a board meeting outside? What’s so bad about that?”
“What's so BAD about it, woman? It's all part of his plot!"
I had to sigh. Not this again. "And what plot might that be?"
“The plot by your idiot fawn to RUIN me!"
“Joss, you know perfectly well there's no plot to ruin you. There's no plot at all. Reggie doesn't think that way."
"Just a series of vignettes."
I let this pass. “Josslyn – my dear mate – you’re overlooking something.”
“Eh?”
“If you are ruined, so am I. And I don’t think OUR fawn would think of ruining US.”
He actually put aside the report he was reading and gaped at me, openmouthed.
“Now, I’m sure that the weather in London was quite nice, so Reggie decided a change of scenery would be good – “
“Those blasted cretins on the Board were probably asleep. Probably lulling them into agreeing to the most outlandish things.”
I refused to allow this to drop. "Joss, if you are ruined, I am ruined."
"Eh?"
"You say ‘ruin,’ Joss. What does that mean? There are many ways you can be ruined, Joss. But you wouldn't fall alone. No matter how you define ‘ruin,’ it will hit us both."
“Yes?”
“Yes. Whether you're bankrupt, or driven mad, it will affect me. Badly. I am, ironically, your best defense against getting deposed." Having fired my last salvo, I picked up the newspaper again.
"HAH! Unless YOU'RE in on the plot!"
I put down the newspaper again. At this rate, I’ll need the evening edition before long.
“Are you seriously suggesting, Joss, that I would ruin myself?" Before he could reply I added, “Joss, whether you were financially ruined, or went mad like your sire, it would be more than I could bear. And I wouldn't stand for any fur who would try either." I sipped my tea and put the cup down gently. “Now, stop being so paranoid. Honestly, you’re as bad as Iosif Starling.”
"I'm not paranoid, blast you! I'm careful.”
“You're paranoid, dear heart."
"I'm not like that blasted Iosif Starling."
"I readily believe that, Josslyn. For one thing, he doesn't eat as much. For another, you plan better than he does. For a third, I'm still here and not edited out of photographs." I smiled. "Which reminds me: you were caricatured in an issue of Krokodil last month."
"What?!"
"Yes, as some sort of octopus-like cervine with a bevy of bejeweled doxies hanging on each limb. Absurd, of course."
"I'll buy the paper and fire that cartoonist!"
"I rather doubt, Josslyn, that the Politburo are interested in selling. They rather like having a monopoly on the press."
"Then I'll write a letter to the Times, see if I don't!"
"Number 725 in a multi-year series. And they've published how many? Two? And both were heavily edited."
Joss stopped gaping at me, and started grumbling.
"And do stop grumbling so loudly, Joss. People will think there's an earthquake."
I reached across the table and patted his paw consolingly. “Don't be sore, Josslyn. You do vastly better than any of those Russian planners. You have competent underlings. Like your fawn."
"GAAAHHH!"
"Don't yell, so, Josslyn. You'll make the windows shatter."
“The Board are a bunch of blockheads who couldn’t think their way out of a wet paper sack – “
“All the more reason to have someone reasonable at the head of the table, don’t you think?”
“GAAAHHH!”
***
Reggie:
True to form, the sunny weather didn’t last, so the next Board meeting was indoors.
A couple members looked disappointed.
With Miss Haversham’s and Mrs. Rodgers’ help I was managing to get through all of the reports and assorted files. Good Lord, it’s no wonder the Sire is so irritated all the time if he has to put up with this all the time.
“Just one more, Mr. Buckhorn.”
“You said that the last time, Miss Haversham.”
“Well, there are actually two more.”
I laughed. “Do you do this to my father as well?”
Mrs. Rodgers allowed herself a smile. “Your father usually insists there is always more, Mr. Buckhorn.”
“Ah. An inspiration to us all.”
I flipped open the file and read it.
Then paused.
I set it aside, then dug through the pile of other folders, and took out two more.
I opened them and compared it to the first one.
The two secretaries just looked at each other, then at me, and waited.
“Would you two mind terribly,” I asked, “if I could take these three home with me and looked at them a while? Say, over the weekend?”
“Not at all, Sir,” Mrs. Rodgers said. “You’re the Vice-Chairman, and in charge until Lord Josslyn comes back from France.”
“Thank you.”
***
Gwladys:
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t consider paranoia a bad thing in its proper place. In fact, once upon a time I relied on it as a survival trait.
But I simply had to bring Joss up short. His incessant raving about our fawn is starting to sound like he may have deeper problems. A job for Sigmund Fraud, if you could convince him to get close to my mate with anything short of a ten-foot pole.
Although the thought of Josslyn covered with spots from being poked with a ten-foot pole cheered me up as I got ready to face the day after a rather tiring breakfast.
The day went by as most of the days do on the Riviera, nice and quiet, with furs seeing and being seen. I even managed to get some sun out by the pool and was gratified to see several mels admiring this old carcass of mine.
A good (though moderate) diet and exercise are the keys to that.
That night Joss and I were, well, where we usually are after dinner.
That is, I was in the casino, and Joss was in the casino’s dining room. He was having his normal post-prandial snack, an unspoken commentary on the cuisine. He normally doesn’t complain about the quality, of course, but always says something derogatory about the portions offered.
The staff tolerates him, although I heard a Cordon Bleu chef muttering “Diable d’un Anglais” after one tirade.
As for myself, I give myself a small allotment of funds for entertainment purposes. Most of it goes to the baccarat tables, and the others at the table are known for decorum.
“Hello, DARLINGS!”
My ears went flat as what was almost a piercing shout hit the relative quiet of the casino.
I turned to see a pair of older furs, canines, framed in the doorway. They seemed to be husband and wife, him in a tuxedo and her in a very nice evening gown.
The effect was a bit spoiled by her shout and the battered and slightly mildewed-looking yachting cap on his head. He whisked the cap off his head and tossed it in the direction of the coat check girl as he said, “Come along, Dahling, and let’s have a bit of fun, eh?”
The man had a Harvard accent broad enough to build the Bellevue-Stagford on.
I went back to my cards as the couple swept forward.
Then I paused and looked again.
The mel seemed familiar, and then I had it.
“Paul duCleds?”
He was in the act of lighting a cigarette in a short holder, and he paused. His wife dug an elbow in his ribs and laughed before she said, “Paul, WHAT have you been DOING behind my back?”
He grinned at his wife’s sally and focused on me through a wisp of cigarette smoke. “Do I know you?”
“Probably not,” I said, “but I think your brother does – that is, if you’re Paul duCleds.”
“The one and only.”
I smiled. “Gwladys Buckhorn. I know your brother Pierre.”
“Pete!” When he grinned I saw the resemblance clearly.
He went straight up and took my paw, giving it a firm shake. “Any friend of Pete’s – so long as she’s as beautiful as you, my dear.”
I had gotten to my hooves and saw the look in the old dog’s eyes. I smiled and held up my paw to show him my rings. Down, boy.
He got the hint and laughed. “This is my darling wife, Eunice.”
Eunice and I hugged. She then gave me a critical look and said, “Darling, LOOK at you! You look simply SMASHING! But WHERE is your husband, my dear? Don’t tell me you’re a WIDOW at your age!”
I laughed. I didn’t think she was just drunk – just overly exuberant. “He’s having a snack in the dining room.”
“Buckhorn?” Paul said. He looked uncertain as he thought, snapping his fingers before saying exultantly, “Got it! You’re Jolly Josslyn’s wife aren’t you?”
“I wouldn’t exactly call him jolly, but – “
“It’s just a little joke we have out in Delahare.”
“Very little. You know, I had heard a rumor that you had passed away."
He leaned close and whispered conspiratorially, "Don't tell my lawyers, but I was thinking of playing dead for tax purposes."
His idea of a conspiratorial whisper was clearly heard by everyone else at the baccarat table. I signaled to the croupier that I was done as I asked, “Doesn't that put a crimp on your social life, being fiscally dead?"
“Just don’t tell President Long.”
“Done.”
Paul snapped his fingers again, then shooed away two waiters that seemed to materialize out of thin air. “Your son stood best man at my boy’s wedding back in March!”
“Yes, Reggie was best man.”
“And Leslie was BEST man at your son’s wedding,” Eunice chimed in.
“That’s true.”
“So where is your mate, my dear?” Paul asked.
I guessed he wasn’t quite as inebriated as I’ve seen Pierre – although I heard he’s a lot steadier now that he’s married. “I said, he’s in the dining room, having a snack – “
“Oh, so you did, so you did! I’ll just go on in and introduce myself.” Before I could say anything, he swept straight past me, making a beeline for the dining room.
I gaped at him, then looked at Eunice. “I think we should follow him.”
“Oh, YES! I’m SURE your husband will be simply THRILLED to meet Paul!”
“Oh yes,” I said half to myself, “thrilled straight down to his hooves.”
<PREVIOUS><FIRST><NEXT>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Cervine (Other)
Size 932 x 1280px
File Size 257.5 kB
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