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Thursday Prompt: Masquerade
by Walt46
Writer / Degenerate
8 years ago
Masquerade
A Thursday Prompt story
© 2018 by Walter Reimer
Prompt: Masked foxes
“Tequila and absinthe, dude? Again? What are you thinking?” That’s my friend Harvey, he’s a rabbit like me and he sets up great parties.
I dip an ear at him. “Naw, dude, I learned my lesson.”
“You did?” He nodded. “Good, that stuff was effed up.”
“Yeah, it was effed up.” And it was effed up, too. “It was so effed up – “
“How effed up was it?” a passing doe asked.
I missed swatting her cute little powder-puff tail. “It was so effed up that my bed turned into a temple and a sheep just kept swimming around.”
Harvey’s heard this before. “Dude, that was effed up.”
“Yeah. I’m glad it turned to be just a sheep trick. But no more of that stuff for me.” I held up my glass. “Just vodka and that lemon-lime stuff.” My nose twitched as the breeze in the room wafted a scent my way. “Herb?”
“Yeah?”
“No, not you,” I tell the cat, “I can smell someone smoking herb.”
“Oh,” Herb said. He sniffed the air and said, “Cool,” before wandering off to investigate the source of the smell. He had a beer in his paw. I took another hit off my drink and decided to follow Herb to the herb. Nothing like a little smoke to mellow the soda and vodka.
It was a great party and Harvey’s place was packed. If you wanted to dance to some hip-hop, that was in the living room. Rock and roll? Front bedroom. One guy in the kitchen had brought an MP3 player, and Steel Raptor was blasting away in the kitchen. A couple guys were waving knives around in there.
Not cool. There might have been a demonic ritual in the back yard, but it was just the barbecue.
There was so much smoke coming out of the back bedroom that you’d think the place was on fire. I came walking up with Herb just as this giraffe stumbled out, just barely whacking his head on the frame and mumbling “That’s great herb.” He crumpled to the floor, finally managed to get his hooves under him, and staggered off to the bathroom.
Herb just grinned and said to me, “Here, hold my beer,” and disappeared into the smoke cloud.
I was looking for somewhere to put the beer when the cute doe from earlier walked out and leaned against the wall. She smiled up at me. “Beep, beep,” she said.
“Cool,” I said, taking a drink of my drink. “Hey, girl.”
“Hey.”
“You’re not wearing pants.” I was getting great contact off all that smoke and the vodka was dirty dancing with the herb.
Great herb.
She blinked at me and looked down, then giggled. “It was the giant miracle carrot,” and she slid down the wall and curled up.
I crouched down and poked her on her butt. Cute butt. “Huh?” I said.
Her eyes suddenly opened and I was so startled I almost spilled my drink. “Giraffes can't enjoy coffee because it's cold by the time it reaches their stomach,” she said, “but you never think about that, because you only think about yourself.” She closed her eyes and started to snore.
“Keep it real, little doe,” I said.
I heard her mumble, “Does being real make my butt look big?”
Another wave of smoke came out of the bedroom, along with a lot of giggling and one or two yips.
Great herb. I took the last drink out of my cup and walked into the bedroom.
The place had a thick haze of smoke right at nose height and it seemed to head straight to my nose. “That’s great herb,” I said, and a few of the people passing the bong around agreed. “Gimme a hit,” and someone passed up the pipe. I was about to take a hit when my ears swiveled.
“Ceci n’est pas une pipe.”
I finished taking the hit – great herb, went down smooth and made my toes curl – and looked at the bed, then squinted. “Oh, hi, little woolly dude.”
Sitting on pillows with his back against the headboard was the same sheep from last time. He wasn’t naked, though, but the loud shirt and bathing trunks almost made me wish he was naked. Wait, what? Naw, I don’t swing that way. “Great herb, huh?”
“Yeah, it’s great herb,” I said. “Great party.”
The sheep nodded and raised his cup. “No absinthe and tequila, dude?”
“No, dude, that stuff’ll kill you.”
He nodded wisely, the clouds of smoke around him nodding in time. “That’s cool, dude.” He smiled then and suddenly he had a mask in one paw. “Makes you smart enough to be a fox.” He put the mask on.
Yeah, it was a fox mask.
“Cool mask.”
“Thanks. I see there’s no outfoxing you.”
I squinted through the smoke. “Hey, woolly dude.”
“Yeah?”
“Why can’t you not be a smartass?”
The sheep started bopping on his pillow seat as hip-hop music started filtering through the clouds of smoke. “Yeah, well, I’m not a donkey.”
“You’re not?”
“Nope.” He giggled and took another hit through his mask. “But yeah, I gotta be a smartass, actually. C’mon, little fox, put on your mask.”
“Huh? I’m no fox, dude, I’m a rabbit.” I pointed. “And you’re a sheep.”
“I’m a fox.” He tipped his head and asked, “When you wear a mask, dude, do you wear the mask – or does the mask wear you?”
I raised my empty cup so I could point at him, and stopped.
I was holding a fox mask in my paw.
“Dude, that’s effed up,” I said.
A fox stumbled past me, headed for the door. “Hey.”
The guy was wearing Herb’s faded Crawford Crabs t-shirt and board shorts. “Oh, hey dude,” he said. “Great herb, huh? Really great stuff . . . I need to get another beer . . . “ The fox managed to get out of the bedroom on the second try. He had a fluffy red fox-brush.
There were about five other people in the room, sprawled and piled on the bed or curled up on the floor.
They were all foxes.
One was curled around something, and giggling and mumbling in his sleep. “What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s a fox, dude,” the sheep said.
“No, what’s that he’s curled around?”
“Are you sure it’s not curled around him?” the sheep giggled, his brush wagging back and forth. “It’s a giant miracle carrot.”
I looked again.
Wow.
Yeah, it’d be a miracle.
“Yeah, it’d be a miracle,” I said. I tossed the mask on the bed. “I’m going to get another drink.” The doorway looked like it was a mile away and tilting slowly to the – to the left, I think.
“Dude,” the sheep-fox said, “that’s effed up.” He took another hit off his pipe and let the smoke ease out his pointed muzzle while his brush wagged.
“It isn’t effed up. I’m not a fox,” and I think I made it out of the bedroom.
The living room was packed with foxes, paws and brushes held high as they danced to the hip hop. I think they were playing Yeah I Tappt That, but it was too loud. I made it to the table that had the drinks and started making another vodka and lemon-lime.
“Hey dude,” Harvey said, “you’re not making absinthe and tequila again, are you? That stuff’s effed up.”
“No, dude, that stuff’s effed up,” and I took a drink.
Harvey was a fox.
“Dude, put your mask on,” he said. “We’re all foxes tonight, and this party’s getting good.” He stumbled off and started dancing as a brief cloud of smoke rolled through.
I sniffed.
Great herb.
I needed a drink. My throat was getting dry from all the smoke. I raised the cup to my mouth.
My cup was a fox mask.
“This is effed up,” I said, and I put on the mask. I fixed another drink, drank it, and then went to join the people dancing in the living room.
End
A Thursday Prompt story
© 2018 by Walter Reimer
Prompt: Masked foxes
“Tequila and absinthe, dude? Again? What are you thinking?” That’s my friend Harvey, he’s a rabbit like me and he sets up great parties.
I dip an ear at him. “Naw, dude, I learned my lesson.”
“You did?” He nodded. “Good, that stuff was effed up.”
“Yeah, it was effed up.” And it was effed up, too. “It was so effed up – “
“How effed up was it?” a passing doe asked.
I missed swatting her cute little powder-puff tail. “It was so effed up that my bed turned into a temple and a sheep just kept swimming around.”
Harvey’s heard this before. “Dude, that was effed up.”
“Yeah. I’m glad it turned to be just a sheep trick. But no more of that stuff for me.” I held up my glass. “Just vodka and that lemon-lime stuff.” My nose twitched as the breeze in the room wafted a scent my way. “Herb?”
“Yeah?”
“No, not you,” I tell the cat, “I can smell someone smoking herb.”
“Oh,” Herb said. He sniffed the air and said, “Cool,” before wandering off to investigate the source of the smell. He had a beer in his paw. I took another hit off my drink and decided to follow Herb to the herb. Nothing like a little smoke to mellow the soda and vodka.
It was a great party and Harvey’s place was packed. If you wanted to dance to some hip-hop, that was in the living room. Rock and roll? Front bedroom. One guy in the kitchen had brought an MP3 player, and Steel Raptor was blasting away in the kitchen. A couple guys were waving knives around in there.
Not cool. There might have been a demonic ritual in the back yard, but it was just the barbecue.
There was so much smoke coming out of the back bedroom that you’d think the place was on fire. I came walking up with Herb just as this giraffe stumbled out, just barely whacking his head on the frame and mumbling “That’s great herb.” He crumpled to the floor, finally managed to get his hooves under him, and staggered off to the bathroom.
Herb just grinned and said to me, “Here, hold my beer,” and disappeared into the smoke cloud.
I was looking for somewhere to put the beer when the cute doe from earlier walked out and leaned against the wall. She smiled up at me. “Beep, beep,” she said.
“Cool,” I said, taking a drink of my drink. “Hey, girl.”
“Hey.”
“You’re not wearing pants.” I was getting great contact off all that smoke and the vodka was dirty dancing with the herb.
Great herb.
She blinked at me and looked down, then giggled. “It was the giant miracle carrot,” and she slid down the wall and curled up.
I crouched down and poked her on her butt. Cute butt. “Huh?” I said.
Her eyes suddenly opened and I was so startled I almost spilled my drink. “Giraffes can't enjoy coffee because it's cold by the time it reaches their stomach,” she said, “but you never think about that, because you only think about yourself.” She closed her eyes and started to snore.
“Keep it real, little doe,” I said.
I heard her mumble, “Does being real make my butt look big?”
Another wave of smoke came out of the bedroom, along with a lot of giggling and one or two yips.
Great herb. I took the last drink out of my cup and walked into the bedroom.
The place had a thick haze of smoke right at nose height and it seemed to head straight to my nose. “That’s great herb,” I said, and a few of the people passing the bong around agreed. “Gimme a hit,” and someone passed up the pipe. I was about to take a hit when my ears swiveled.
“Ceci n’est pas une pipe.”
I finished taking the hit – great herb, went down smooth and made my toes curl – and looked at the bed, then squinted. “Oh, hi, little woolly dude.”
Sitting on pillows with his back against the headboard was the same sheep from last time. He wasn’t naked, though, but the loud shirt and bathing trunks almost made me wish he was naked. Wait, what? Naw, I don’t swing that way. “Great herb, huh?”
“Yeah, it’s great herb,” I said. “Great party.”
The sheep nodded and raised his cup. “No absinthe and tequila, dude?”
“No, dude, that stuff’ll kill you.”
He nodded wisely, the clouds of smoke around him nodding in time. “That’s cool, dude.” He smiled then and suddenly he had a mask in one paw. “Makes you smart enough to be a fox.” He put the mask on.
Yeah, it was a fox mask.
“Cool mask.”
“Thanks. I see there’s no outfoxing you.”
I squinted through the smoke. “Hey, woolly dude.”
“Yeah?”
“Why can’t you not be a smartass?”
The sheep started bopping on his pillow seat as hip-hop music started filtering through the clouds of smoke. “Yeah, well, I’m not a donkey.”
“You’re not?”
“Nope.” He giggled and took another hit through his mask. “But yeah, I gotta be a smartass, actually. C’mon, little fox, put on your mask.”
“Huh? I’m no fox, dude, I’m a rabbit.” I pointed. “And you’re a sheep.”
“I’m a fox.” He tipped his head and asked, “When you wear a mask, dude, do you wear the mask – or does the mask wear you?”
I raised my empty cup so I could point at him, and stopped.
I was holding a fox mask in my paw.
“Dude, that’s effed up,” I said.
A fox stumbled past me, headed for the door. “Hey.”
The guy was wearing Herb’s faded Crawford Crabs t-shirt and board shorts. “Oh, hey dude,” he said. “Great herb, huh? Really great stuff . . . I need to get another beer . . . “ The fox managed to get out of the bedroom on the second try. He had a fluffy red fox-brush.
There were about five other people in the room, sprawled and piled on the bed or curled up on the floor.
They were all foxes.
One was curled around something, and giggling and mumbling in his sleep. “What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s a fox, dude,” the sheep said.
“No, what’s that he’s curled around?”
“Are you sure it’s not curled around him?” the sheep giggled, his brush wagging back and forth. “It’s a giant miracle carrot.”
I looked again.
Wow.
Yeah, it’d be a miracle.
“Yeah, it’d be a miracle,” I said. I tossed the mask on the bed. “I’m going to get another drink.” The doorway looked like it was a mile away and tilting slowly to the – to the left, I think.
“Dude,” the sheep-fox said, “that’s effed up.” He took another hit off his pipe and let the smoke ease out his pointed muzzle while his brush wagged.
“It isn’t effed up. I’m not a fox,” and I think I made it out of the bedroom.
The living room was packed with foxes, paws and brushes held high as they danced to the hip hop. I think they were playing Yeah I Tappt That, but it was too loud. I made it to the table that had the drinks and started making another vodka and lemon-lime.
“Hey dude,” Harvey said, “you’re not making absinthe and tequila again, are you? That stuff’s effed up.”
“No, dude, that stuff’s effed up,” and I took a drink.
Harvey was a fox.
“Dude, put your mask on,” he said. “We’re all foxes tonight, and this party’s getting good.” He stumbled off and started dancing as a brief cloud of smoke rolled through.
I sniffed.
Great herb.
I needed a drink. My throat was getting dry from all the smoke. I raised the cup to my mouth.
My cup was a fox mask.
“This is effed up,” I said, and I put on the mask. I fixed another drink, drank it, and then went to join the people dancing in the living room.
End
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Rabbit / Hare
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42.6 kB
It's a sign of the times, man, a zeitgeist, that I get the late-'70s stream of consciousness style and most of the cultural references.
Tell that sheep I don't wanna buy no steenking mattress!
I think Our Narrator's going to be happy that it's not his apartment.
I should be worried about you...
V.
But imagine how embarrassed all the partygoers will be the next morning when they all wake up hung over and with plastic cups stuck over their muzzles?
V.
Still, I'd rather trip on FA than T&A. Wait, T&A is supposed to mean Tequila and...
Uhhhh, never mind.
I need some tea.
Tea.
Good tea.
Tea is good.