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More from Seskra_The_Spider
PART 1: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/14215672
PART 2: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/14288697/
PART 3: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/17543966/
I stare at the pages of my notebook for another second before I silently pass the pen to Erea.
"Why are you giving me this?" she asks, politely confused.
"Because this part's your story, not mine." I simply reply.
She seems hesitant for a moment and casts an uncertain glance in my direction. But eventually she presses the pen to the page, and slowly she begins to write.
...
Several years ago…
"You can't live with 'em. You can't live without 'em.
There's something irresistible-ish about 'em.
We grin and bear it 'cause the nights are long.
I hope that somethin' better comes along."
The music went in one ear and out the other as I casually twirled the ice around in my drink. Christ, today had been a long day. It was nice to finally unwind with a shot or two of the good stuff down at Mabel's. Me and Mabel go back a long ways --back to when I first moved here, as a matter of fact-- and we always had great banter. Like just now, when she told me they were closing for the night.
"Sorry hun." she said, turning off the jukebox. "Last call was half an hour ago, remember?"
Okay, so maybe 'a shot or two' doesn't quite cover it. It was 1:30 in the morning and I had been here since… Eight o’clock? Seven? Either way, I swear it felt like I'd just got off my shift. I looked up from my Moscow Mule just in time to see a dark brown tail slip out the front door: as usual, I was the last to leave.
"Sure thing." I answered, and I downed what was left of my drink in one long gulp. Standing up was a bit of a challenge, but I cheated by leaning on my tail for support. Walking was trickier though, and when I tried to grab one of the tables I slipped and banged my elbow hard against the wood. Mabel gave me a look that I couldn't quite make out and said something I can't quite remember (hey, I was drunk, alright?) but out the door I went.
Immediately rain snaked down my throat and began to soak through my top. I'd forgotten how bad the weather was lately, and a heavy shower came pouring down on top of me. I buttoned up my coat as best I could and headed home, with one hand on the wall at all times. Said wall would occasionally be replaced by large windows that emanated a warm, alluring red glow, and inevitably the person behind the glass would be a young girl wearing little more than a smile and a pair of thigh-highs. Cute lil' things, for sure, but I'd never been particularly tempted; a pretty smile and a perky chest was never quite enough to hide the look in their eyes when they saw my face. Their smile would droop for just half a second and their eyes would drift to the side as they instinctively wanted to stare, yet at the same time tried not to. That look told me everything I needed to know.
Not that I was particularly suited to a night of lucrative lovemaking, mind you. However much liquor I was holding, it was simply too much, and I'd only just made it past the last window before my knees buckled and I covered the sidewalk in lime-scented vomit. The lovely aromas of bile and alcohol mingled in my nostrils and burnt my tongue. I tried turning my mouth upwards so that the rain could wash out some of the sick, but all that accomplished was sending the last remnants back down my throat, and then back up again shortly thereafter.
I spent a few moments there --hands on the wet pavement, puke dripping down my chin-- as I wondered exactly which life choices had led to this moment. Luckily the cold rain snapped me out of it before I could reach any meaningful insights (heaven forbid) and I shakily got back to my feet. Staying upright was a daunting challenge, but my nose appreciated the increased distance from the pavement so I decided to bear with it and press on home.
When I finally got back to my apartment building I whispered a silent 'thank you' to no one in particular for the fact that we had elevators, and I wouldn't have to climb three flights of stairs in my current state. But when I got to my front door, I could tell something was wrong: strange noises were coming from within my apartment - glass clinking, cutlery rattling, and an odd rustling I couldn't quite identify. Getting the key into the lock took no small amount of focus, but somehow I managed it without making a sound. I took a deep breath (which was perhaps not the greatest idea, given the taste that still lingered in my mouth) and threw open the door.
I… I don't actually know what exactly happened next. None of the lights were on, and my vision was blurred to begin with, so all I really had to go on was the sound of porcelain breaking, and that same odd rustling noise now amplified by several degrees. Then there was a furious stomping that lingered painfully in my ears, and then nothing. I turned on the lights, and after my eyes had finished explaining how bright and unpleasant a decision that had been, turned them off again. Stepping into my kitchen, I could see the shattered remains of a porcelain bowl near the table. Something audibly *crunched* beneath my feet, and upon closer examination I found the contents of a long-forgotten box of cereal strewn across the floor. Whoever had broken into my home had been making themselves a late-night snack.
A fresh chill cutting across my sopping clothes informed me that a window was open somewhere. I followed a trail of muddy hoofprints across the living room and into my bedroom, where the window in question was letting in a barrage of rain. But as I leant in to close it, I was reminded for the first time in forever that this was actually the window underneath which my fire escape was located: the pieces were slowly starting to fall into place as I deposited my soaking wet coat onto a chair and stepped back into the living room. In the wall on my left-hand side, opposite the window and the television, was a small walk-in closet. I never used it for much other than hanging up bed sheets that I kept telling myself I was gonna fold one of these days, but tonight the door was ever so slightly ajar, and a faint trail of hoofprints stopped just in front of it. My tongue instinctively flicked out and caught the intruder's scent, and what it told me was rather surprising (if slightly muddled by the alcohol). Gently seating myself on the armrest of my couch, I pondered for a moment what to do.
"I know you're in there." I finally said, and my suspicions were confirmed by a short gasp that was quiet but not quiet enough. "I know you came in through the window by the fire escape, I know you tried to make yourself some dinner just now, and I know you got some horns on that shaggy head of yours."
You don't need a tongue as good as mine to recognize the smell of wet goat. Trust me: you really don't.
"I also know your parents are gonna be really damn angry about this if they have to find out the hard way."
Granted: the differences in smell between an adult goat and a prepubescent one are a little more subtle. So I suppose the tongue came in handy for that one.
"No they won't." said a high-pitched trembling voice. "They wouldn’t care."
It was only six words, but they managed to say an awful lot. The voice was considerably higher than I expected, but that wasn't even the first thing I noticed. No: the voice was, for lack of a better word, shivering. Not just the quick shallow shivers that come with being wet and cold, but also the long unmistakable shivers that come with honest-to-God fear. It was a very odd feeling: knowing that the little caprine burglar on the other side of that door was utterly terrified.
Of course, the words themselves spoke volumes as well: no child this young would say that about their parents unless they meant it.
"You're gonna call the police, aren't you?" asked the voice, in a bitter mix of resignation and accusation.
"...That would be the responsible thing to do, wouldn't it?" I replied slowly. "But I'll let you in on a little secret, kiddo: I am not friggin' sober right now, and I get the feeling that if I called the cops with booze on my breath and a missing kid in my closet it would only do more harm than good for the both of us. And even if it didn't, my landlord has been itching for an excuse to throw me out, and he'd gleefully frame this as me letting someone stay here for free if he knew. So no, truth be told: I am not gonna call the police."
Silence hung throughout the apartment for a full minute, save for the gentle pitter-patter of rain against the window. Then, very slowly, a young child's hand wrapped itself around the closet door, and opened it ever so slightly. The fingertips, dainty though they were, all ended in thick black hardness: a miniature hoof stood atop each finger. Then from out of the darkness came a large inquisitive eye peering around the door. It was grey, much like the fur that surrounded it --albeit slightly darker-- and it unapologetically stared at me in the way children's eyes so often do.
"So what are you going to do?" I was finally asked.
"That depends. Did you break my bowl and ruin my carpets?"
"N- Yes ma'am. I'm really, really sorry about that… Please don't get mad."
"I'm not. Not yet anyway, cause at least you’re being honest. Now tell me: did you run away from home?"
The question lingered in the room for a long time before the kid finally answered.
"...Yes ma'am. And I'm not going back."
"I'll be the judge of that."
"I climbed up the fire escape looking for food and a place to sleep. I tried some of the apartments downstairs, but their windows were all locked. I wasn't trying to steal anything, I swear."
"I believe you." I said, and I really did too. I also mentally cursed myself for not locking the damn windows, and added it to the list of reasons why I'd rather not have my landlord learn about any of this. "But couldn't you have gone to friends or family or something?"
A silent sigh escaped the closet as the grey eye sunk downwards. "I don’t really have any friends. And my family's the whole reason I ran away in the first place."
"And why is that?"
In response, the hand at long last pushed open the door, and I was finally allowed to see the strange little creature that had so suddenly entered my life. She looked about eleven or twelve, thirteen at the most, and wore an oversized grey raincoat that was dripping rainwater into my closet. Her fur was light grey and shaggy and similarly soaked to the bone, and she had a pair of 4-inch horns on top of her head - one of which had a little pink ribbon tied around it. She looked innocent and scared… and significantly more girly than I had been anticipating. Literally the first thing a snake's tongue will tell when it picks up someone's smell is what kind of business they've got going on between their legs, and what I was seeing was not lining up with what I was smelling.
That is, until I noticed a dark bruise underneath the other eye that had been hidden until now.
Everything clicked into place more or less at once, and when it did I immediately took pity on the poor thing. It didn't take a genius to figure out what her family thought of her being this feminine, or how they treated her over it.
She was about to speak again when I held up a finger and asked, "Are you scared of me, little girl?"
"...Yes ma'am." she replied, though she looked me in the eye while she did.
"Then I'll tell you what. That bedroom over there" I said, pointing to the open door on my left, "has got a deadbolt on the inside, plus that fire escape you oh so cleverly used to get in here. So if you're scared of me or of anything else, you can sleep in there safe and sound."
"Wait," the girl said, looking terribly confused, "You're actually gonna let me stay here?"
"At least for tonight, yeah." came my reply, and the more I said the words out loud the more they seemed to make sense. "I am not up for sorting this out right now, and Lord knows I'm not sending a little girl back into that in the middle of the night." I said, indicating the increasingly awful weather outside. "So you can have the bed, and I'll just crash here on the couch."
I punctuated this last remark by falling backwards onto the sofa and finally giving my sore back the relief it had been craving for the past several hours. I was curious to see what she would do with the offer I'd presented, when a loud rumbling sound permeated through the room, courtesy of her stomach. Without even looking up, I said "There’s a half-eaten pizza in the fridge if you don't mind mushrooms. Don't worry about the mess on the floor: we'll deal with it tomorrow."
There was a moment of what I assume was silent indecision before the same stomping noise I heard earlier rang throughout the apartment again, though this time it was headed towards the kitchen rather than away from it. A few seconds later the stomping came back again, this time carrying the scent of cheese and mushrooms.
"Thank you so much, ma'am." said the girl who, despite the sincerity in her voice, still wisely kept something of a safe distance between me and her.
"My name is Erea, not "ma'am". And I don't want those dirty hooves messing up my sheets, so you better wash up before heading to bed, alright?"
"Yes ma'am. Er- I mean, yes Erea."
She went into the bedroom with a slice of pizza already stuck between her teeth. But after I'd heard the *click* of the deadbolt sliding into place, I spoke up loud enough for her to hear through the wall.
"One more thing. What's your name, kiddo?"
Almost immediately came the reply, "My name is Nadine."
"Alrighty then. Goodnight Nadine."
...
...
...
I look down at Seskra, while she looks up at me. Neither of us says anything until finally, she quietly asks, "Her name is Nadine?"
I just nod, and her face dips down to look at the page. And after a moment, a gentle sobbing fills the room.
"That's such a lovely name." she says, while I hold her as tight as I can.
Merry Christmas.
PART 2: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/14288697/
PART 3: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/17543966/
I stare at the pages of my notebook for another second before I silently pass the pen to Erea.
"Why are you giving me this?" she asks, politely confused.
"Because this part's your story, not mine." I simply reply.
She seems hesitant for a moment and casts an uncertain glance in my direction. But eventually she presses the pen to the page, and slowly she begins to write.
...
Several years ago…
"You can't live with 'em. You can't live without 'em.
There's something irresistible-ish about 'em.
We grin and bear it 'cause the nights are long.
I hope that somethin' better comes along."
The music went in one ear and out the other as I casually twirled the ice around in my drink. Christ, today had been a long day. It was nice to finally unwind with a shot or two of the good stuff down at Mabel's. Me and Mabel go back a long ways --back to when I first moved here, as a matter of fact-- and we always had great banter. Like just now, when she told me they were closing for the night.
"Sorry hun." she said, turning off the jukebox. "Last call was half an hour ago, remember?"
Okay, so maybe 'a shot or two' doesn't quite cover it. It was 1:30 in the morning and I had been here since… Eight o’clock? Seven? Either way, I swear it felt like I'd just got off my shift. I looked up from my Moscow Mule just in time to see a dark brown tail slip out the front door: as usual, I was the last to leave.
"Sure thing." I answered, and I downed what was left of my drink in one long gulp. Standing up was a bit of a challenge, but I cheated by leaning on my tail for support. Walking was trickier though, and when I tried to grab one of the tables I slipped and banged my elbow hard against the wood. Mabel gave me a look that I couldn't quite make out and said something I can't quite remember (hey, I was drunk, alright?) but out the door I went.
Immediately rain snaked down my throat and began to soak through my top. I'd forgotten how bad the weather was lately, and a heavy shower came pouring down on top of me. I buttoned up my coat as best I could and headed home, with one hand on the wall at all times. Said wall would occasionally be replaced by large windows that emanated a warm, alluring red glow, and inevitably the person behind the glass would be a young girl wearing little more than a smile and a pair of thigh-highs. Cute lil' things, for sure, but I'd never been particularly tempted; a pretty smile and a perky chest was never quite enough to hide the look in their eyes when they saw my face. Their smile would droop for just half a second and their eyes would drift to the side as they instinctively wanted to stare, yet at the same time tried not to. That look told me everything I needed to know.
Not that I was particularly suited to a night of lucrative lovemaking, mind you. However much liquor I was holding, it was simply too much, and I'd only just made it past the last window before my knees buckled and I covered the sidewalk in lime-scented vomit. The lovely aromas of bile and alcohol mingled in my nostrils and burnt my tongue. I tried turning my mouth upwards so that the rain could wash out some of the sick, but all that accomplished was sending the last remnants back down my throat, and then back up again shortly thereafter.
I spent a few moments there --hands on the wet pavement, puke dripping down my chin-- as I wondered exactly which life choices had led to this moment. Luckily the cold rain snapped me out of it before I could reach any meaningful insights (heaven forbid) and I shakily got back to my feet. Staying upright was a daunting challenge, but my nose appreciated the increased distance from the pavement so I decided to bear with it and press on home.
When I finally got back to my apartment building I whispered a silent 'thank you' to no one in particular for the fact that we had elevators, and I wouldn't have to climb three flights of stairs in my current state. But when I got to my front door, I could tell something was wrong: strange noises were coming from within my apartment - glass clinking, cutlery rattling, and an odd rustling I couldn't quite identify. Getting the key into the lock took no small amount of focus, but somehow I managed it without making a sound. I took a deep breath (which was perhaps not the greatest idea, given the taste that still lingered in my mouth) and threw open the door.
I… I don't actually know what exactly happened next. None of the lights were on, and my vision was blurred to begin with, so all I really had to go on was the sound of porcelain breaking, and that same odd rustling noise now amplified by several degrees. Then there was a furious stomping that lingered painfully in my ears, and then nothing. I turned on the lights, and after my eyes had finished explaining how bright and unpleasant a decision that had been, turned them off again. Stepping into my kitchen, I could see the shattered remains of a porcelain bowl near the table. Something audibly *crunched* beneath my feet, and upon closer examination I found the contents of a long-forgotten box of cereal strewn across the floor. Whoever had broken into my home had been making themselves a late-night snack.
A fresh chill cutting across my sopping clothes informed me that a window was open somewhere. I followed a trail of muddy hoofprints across the living room and into my bedroom, where the window in question was letting in a barrage of rain. But as I leant in to close it, I was reminded for the first time in forever that this was actually the window underneath which my fire escape was located: the pieces were slowly starting to fall into place as I deposited my soaking wet coat onto a chair and stepped back into the living room. In the wall on my left-hand side, opposite the window and the television, was a small walk-in closet. I never used it for much other than hanging up bed sheets that I kept telling myself I was gonna fold one of these days, but tonight the door was ever so slightly ajar, and a faint trail of hoofprints stopped just in front of it. My tongue instinctively flicked out and caught the intruder's scent, and what it told me was rather surprising (if slightly muddled by the alcohol). Gently seating myself on the armrest of my couch, I pondered for a moment what to do.
"I know you're in there." I finally said, and my suspicions were confirmed by a short gasp that was quiet but not quiet enough. "I know you came in through the window by the fire escape, I know you tried to make yourself some dinner just now, and I know you got some horns on that shaggy head of yours."
You don't need a tongue as good as mine to recognize the smell of wet goat. Trust me: you really don't.
"I also know your parents are gonna be really damn angry about this if they have to find out the hard way."
Granted: the differences in smell between an adult goat and a prepubescent one are a little more subtle. So I suppose the tongue came in handy for that one.
"No they won't." said a high-pitched trembling voice. "They wouldn’t care."
It was only six words, but they managed to say an awful lot. The voice was considerably higher than I expected, but that wasn't even the first thing I noticed. No: the voice was, for lack of a better word, shivering. Not just the quick shallow shivers that come with being wet and cold, but also the long unmistakable shivers that come with honest-to-God fear. It was a very odd feeling: knowing that the little caprine burglar on the other side of that door was utterly terrified.
Of course, the words themselves spoke volumes as well: no child this young would say that about their parents unless they meant it.
"You're gonna call the police, aren't you?" asked the voice, in a bitter mix of resignation and accusation.
"...That would be the responsible thing to do, wouldn't it?" I replied slowly. "But I'll let you in on a little secret, kiddo: I am not friggin' sober right now, and I get the feeling that if I called the cops with booze on my breath and a missing kid in my closet it would only do more harm than good for the both of us. And even if it didn't, my landlord has been itching for an excuse to throw me out, and he'd gleefully frame this as me letting someone stay here for free if he knew. So no, truth be told: I am not gonna call the police."
Silence hung throughout the apartment for a full minute, save for the gentle pitter-patter of rain against the window. Then, very slowly, a young child's hand wrapped itself around the closet door, and opened it ever so slightly. The fingertips, dainty though they were, all ended in thick black hardness: a miniature hoof stood atop each finger. Then from out of the darkness came a large inquisitive eye peering around the door. It was grey, much like the fur that surrounded it --albeit slightly darker-- and it unapologetically stared at me in the way children's eyes so often do.
"So what are you going to do?" I was finally asked.
"That depends. Did you break my bowl and ruin my carpets?"
"N- Yes ma'am. I'm really, really sorry about that… Please don't get mad."
"I'm not. Not yet anyway, cause at least you’re being honest. Now tell me: did you run away from home?"
The question lingered in the room for a long time before the kid finally answered.
"...Yes ma'am. And I'm not going back."
"I'll be the judge of that."
"I climbed up the fire escape looking for food and a place to sleep. I tried some of the apartments downstairs, but their windows were all locked. I wasn't trying to steal anything, I swear."
"I believe you." I said, and I really did too. I also mentally cursed myself for not locking the damn windows, and added it to the list of reasons why I'd rather not have my landlord learn about any of this. "But couldn't you have gone to friends or family or something?"
A silent sigh escaped the closet as the grey eye sunk downwards. "I don’t really have any friends. And my family's the whole reason I ran away in the first place."
"And why is that?"
In response, the hand at long last pushed open the door, and I was finally allowed to see the strange little creature that had so suddenly entered my life. She looked about eleven or twelve, thirteen at the most, and wore an oversized grey raincoat that was dripping rainwater into my closet. Her fur was light grey and shaggy and similarly soaked to the bone, and she had a pair of 4-inch horns on top of her head - one of which had a little pink ribbon tied around it. She looked innocent and scared… and significantly more girly than I had been anticipating. Literally the first thing a snake's tongue will tell when it picks up someone's smell is what kind of business they've got going on between their legs, and what I was seeing was not lining up with what I was smelling.
That is, until I noticed a dark bruise underneath the other eye that had been hidden until now.
Everything clicked into place more or less at once, and when it did I immediately took pity on the poor thing. It didn't take a genius to figure out what her family thought of her being this feminine, or how they treated her over it.
She was about to speak again when I held up a finger and asked, "Are you scared of me, little girl?"
"...Yes ma'am." she replied, though she looked me in the eye while she did.
"Then I'll tell you what. That bedroom over there" I said, pointing to the open door on my left, "has got a deadbolt on the inside, plus that fire escape you oh so cleverly used to get in here. So if you're scared of me or of anything else, you can sleep in there safe and sound."
"Wait," the girl said, looking terribly confused, "You're actually gonna let me stay here?"
"At least for tonight, yeah." came my reply, and the more I said the words out loud the more they seemed to make sense. "I am not up for sorting this out right now, and Lord knows I'm not sending a little girl back into that in the middle of the night." I said, indicating the increasingly awful weather outside. "So you can have the bed, and I'll just crash here on the couch."
I punctuated this last remark by falling backwards onto the sofa and finally giving my sore back the relief it had been craving for the past several hours. I was curious to see what she would do with the offer I'd presented, when a loud rumbling sound permeated through the room, courtesy of her stomach. Without even looking up, I said "There’s a half-eaten pizza in the fridge if you don't mind mushrooms. Don't worry about the mess on the floor: we'll deal with it tomorrow."
There was a moment of what I assume was silent indecision before the same stomping noise I heard earlier rang throughout the apartment again, though this time it was headed towards the kitchen rather than away from it. A few seconds later the stomping came back again, this time carrying the scent of cheese and mushrooms.
"Thank you so much, ma'am." said the girl who, despite the sincerity in her voice, still wisely kept something of a safe distance between me and her.
"My name is Erea, not "ma'am". And I don't want those dirty hooves messing up my sheets, so you better wash up before heading to bed, alright?"
"Yes ma'am. Er- I mean, yes Erea."
She went into the bedroom with a slice of pizza already stuck between her teeth. But after I'd heard the *click* of the deadbolt sliding into place, I spoke up loud enough for her to hear through the wall.
"One more thing. What's your name, kiddo?"
Almost immediately came the reply, "My name is Nadine."
"Alrighty then. Goodnight Nadine."
...
...
...
I look down at Seskra, while she looks up at me. Neither of us says anything until finally, she quietly asks, "Her name is Nadine?"
I just nod, and her face dips down to look at the page. And after a moment, a gentle sobbing fills the room.
"That's such a lovely name." she says, while I hold her as tight as I can.
Merry Christmas.
Category Story / All
Species Goat
Size 120 x 87px
File Size 50 kB
She did. I considered writing a follow-up to this that's just vignettes of Nadine & Erea getting used to living with each other, and I will still probably do that at some point, but right now the main thing I want to get to is Seskra meeting Nadine. That's something I've been running through my mind over and over for a long time now, and I think it's finally time.
I couldn't agree more. :) I like reading these, especially at the rate they've been appearing. it's like a serial vignette in a small-time independent zine. really makes me dip into a nostalgia about the "good ol' days" that never actually existed but I can't help feeling like they did, and where I pretended the world was like a 1930's noir film so I can remember it with fedoras and trench coats.
and I'm getting way off topic now, wow. .///. how did that even happen?
and I'm getting way off topic now, wow. .///. how did that even happen?
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