FA+
Shop
177
Views
Views
1
Favorites
Favorites
Category
Artwork (Digital) / Fantasy
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 798 x 217
File Size 35.2 kB
Report this content
More from GemExchange
Listed in Folders
Festivale of Fools Event 2020 Entry
By Tiribi
Please check out and favorite the original post here!
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1KXbUHwCTlQAhQFIopZ823Z-jP0np27bcb_fu9C1mUS0/edit
Don't Wanna Be Left Out, Do You?
Jail.
It was unbelievable. It was unreal. Jailed, and for what?
Sam laid himself flat on the harsh iron bench, set into the wall at the back of the holding cell. His paws hung off the end, and his knuckles brushed the dusty brick -- the thin lining of brick and mortar that separated him from the festival outside.
It was the night of the festival, and they'd put him in jail.
He could hear the party outside -- the raucous ruckus, party horns and party poppers and party...partying. He heard a faint trumpeter, no doubt making hella tips, and he was pretty sure he heard one of those fart balloons go off.
Through the tiny window, set high in the wall, the lights from torches and candles and paper lanterns shone in, in all their flickering splendor and fantastic, brilliant colours. Sam could even still smell the foods, battered, fried, caked in sugar -- save for the pies, of course, which were mostly cream.
Sam heard voices raise in excitement, and he pursed his lips. Everyone was out there, from shooters (like him!) to crafters, and here he was.
In.
Jail.
Sam didn't even really know what disturbing the peace was supposed to mean on a day like this. He didn't know what the cops had done with his bag, or his hat that jingled and jangled, and he definitely didn't know what they had done with his skrewt. Or the slingshot.
The slingshot was a particularly delicate piece of machinery, on account of its size. Sam didn't have a very big skrewt, and the little buddy didn't terribly like having things touching his legs, so getting the harness to fit had been a challenge.
Getting the skrewt to fire the thing had been even harder, of course -- but Sam still hoped it wasn't broken.
A particularly loud belt from the trumpet outside broke over the crowd cheering, and Sam released an exasperated, kittenish roar, buried in the back of his throat. He sat upright, swinging his big, plodding paws back to the floor, and shuffling his costumed butt off the bench.
His tail swung with agitation as he paced to the bars.
"Helloooo?" he called, voice high and pleading as he leaned close, as his fingers wrapped around the solid metal.
His voice echoed, and he swore -- he swore -- he heard an insect sing weakly back.
Bastards. Probably out enjoying the festival, too!!
"Heeeellooooo?" he called again. "I've really thought about what I've done, and I'm ready t--"
He smushed his face up against the bars, and felt his whiskers push through with a slight, muted pop!
His eyes went wide, pupils blown.
Oh.
Ohhhh....
Sam's pupils narrowed to slits as his lips curled. He pushed his face, furry whiskers and all, through the gap between the wide metal bars, and slowly snuck his arm through. Even his big paws fit, and he laughed, disbelieving, as shoulder after shoulder smushed through the gap.
Well. After all, right...
What was one more misdemeanor, for the Festival of Fools?
By Tiribi
Please check out and favorite the original post here!
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1KXbUHwCTlQAhQFIopZ823Z-jP0np27bcb_fu9C1mUS0/edit
Don't Wanna Be Left Out, Do You?
Jail.
It was unbelievable. It was unreal. Jailed, and for what?
Sam laid himself flat on the harsh iron bench, set into the wall at the back of the holding cell. His paws hung off the end, and his knuckles brushed the dusty brick -- the thin lining of brick and mortar that separated him from the festival outside.
It was the night of the festival, and they'd put him in jail.
He could hear the party outside -- the raucous ruckus, party horns and party poppers and party...partying. He heard a faint trumpeter, no doubt making hella tips, and he was pretty sure he heard one of those fart balloons go off.
Through the tiny window, set high in the wall, the lights from torches and candles and paper lanterns shone in, in all their flickering splendor and fantastic, brilliant colours. Sam could even still smell the foods, battered, fried, caked in sugar -- save for the pies, of course, which were mostly cream.
Sam heard voices raise in excitement, and he pursed his lips. Everyone was out there, from shooters (like him!) to crafters, and here he was.
In.
Jail.
Sam didn't even really know what disturbing the peace was supposed to mean on a day like this. He didn't know what the cops had done with his bag, or his hat that jingled and jangled, and he definitely didn't know what they had done with his skrewt. Or the slingshot.
The slingshot was a particularly delicate piece of machinery, on account of its size. Sam didn't have a very big skrewt, and the little buddy didn't terribly like having things touching his legs, so getting the harness to fit had been a challenge.
Getting the skrewt to fire the thing had been even harder, of course -- but Sam still hoped it wasn't broken.
A particularly loud belt from the trumpet outside broke over the crowd cheering, and Sam released an exasperated, kittenish roar, buried in the back of his throat. He sat upright, swinging his big, plodding paws back to the floor, and shuffling his costumed butt off the bench.
His tail swung with agitation as he paced to the bars.
"Helloooo?" he called, voice high and pleading as he leaned close, as his fingers wrapped around the solid metal.
His voice echoed, and he swore -- he swore -- he heard an insect sing weakly back.
Bastards. Probably out enjoying the festival, too!!
"Heeeellooooo?" he called again. "I've really thought about what I've done, and I'm ready t--"
He smushed his face up against the bars, and felt his whiskers push through with a slight, muted pop!
His eyes went wide, pupils blown.
Oh.
Ohhhh....
Sam's pupils narrowed to slits as his lips curled. He pushed his face, furry whiskers and all, through the gap between the wide metal bars, and slowly snuck his arm through. Even his big paws fit, and he laughed, disbelieving, as shoulder after shoulder smushed through the gap.
Well. After all, right...
What was one more misdemeanor, for the Festival of Fools?
Category Artwork (Digital) / Fantasy
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 798 x 217px
File Size 35.2 kB
Comments