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The Rise of the Raccoon Queen
Or The Big Grey Fluffy Butt Matter
A Story of Faerie
© 2020 by M. Mitchell Marmel
(Additional characters by E.O. Costello and W.D. Reimer.)
Thumbnail art by
tegerio, color by 
marmelmm
Part Thirty-six.
Tali:
The smells in the stable included a woodsy odor with a vinegary tang to it. Of course, it was the smell of an ant’s wastes, which kind of spoiled the charm of it. Missy helped the stablepaws with harnessing the ants, Kora and Veyt, and we both climbed aboard.
I had synchronized the camouflage on our Corps uniforms, and to the uninitiated eye we were wearing identical black suits with white shirts, narrow black ties, and natty black fedoras.
I glanced over at Missy, who took up the reigns. My wolfess chum said, “It’s three leagues to the festival, we’ve fed the ants, got a half pack of beef jerky, it’s dark out, and – “
“We’re wearing sunglasses,” I said. I pointed. “Hit it.”
Missy snapped the ant-goad, and the two ants gronked.
We eased out of the stable into the dark streets of Eastness.
***
Winterbough:
You could certainly tell that the people of Eastness had been holding elections for a long time. Possibly as far back as the fall of the Aerie, and I was impressed when I left DelFurrio’s early on the morning of Deliverance Day to see the preparations.
A huge park between the Blue and Yellow Onoob rivers was the venue, with portable wooden outhouses set up overhanging the latter stream. As excellent a reason as any, I think, for the No Swimming signs that kept getting put up (and almost as enthusiastically torn down) by the locals. Carts sponsored by the various guilds were being set up, promising a wide variety of beer, distilled drinks, and baked sweet and savory treats to all of the hopefully paying customers. One ursine fellow was hawking a selection of fruit preserves and was happily serving out free samples of ‘Art’s Jam’ while a lutenist played.
The actual voting areas were cordoned off and patrolled by stern-faced members of the City Guard, with members of the city’s clerical staff moving scrolls around and setting up tables. People were already queuing up to vote. It all seemed very efficient to me, and I watched carefully because I wanted to write a report on the subject.
I don’t think you ever really get out of the habit once you start observing and noting things down.
A large stage had been erected for entertainments and for the various candidates to have one last chance to sway the minds of the voters. A group of similarly early risers were already gathered under some trees, arguing.
Michael and Fred had tagged along with me, and the mink observed, “They must be discussing post-ball.”
Fred gave him a look. “You’ve had your brain surgically removed, right?”
“No, I was born this way.”
“You do know that there are other things in life than post-ball.”
Michael doffed his boater and placed it over his heart. “This I know, but if there’s anything better, it needs to be rounded up immediately.”
[Note appended to manuscript: “See? I warned Tali not to let the two of you get together.”]
[Note appended to manuscript: “Michael? Why a warning, wolfess?”]
[Note appended to manuscript: “I told her, ‘Oh, Pantheon! Don't let that tube rat and the hat-rack get into a conversation. It'll create a magickal boredom dynamic that'll doom us all.’”]
[Note appended to manuscript: “Shaddap.”]
I suddenly reached out and tapped Michael on his shoulder before pointing off to the right. The mink followed the finger and grinned at me.
The Eastness Post-ball League was setting up a booth and two tents, intent on hawking memorabilia.
My ears swiveled and both the dog and mink flinched as I heard behind me, “You know, Missy, I've never told Corporal Winterbough about the alternity where post-ball matches are viewed as a sacred ritual.”
“Oh? Why’s that, Tali?” a certain wolfess asked in an entirely affected tone.
“Well, you have to consider what happens to the losers.” I turned in time to see the feline draw a claw across her throat, and both femmes chuckled as I rolled my eyes.
“That shows a lack of sportsfurship,” I said, looking the two of them over. “Why the Netherhells are you two dressed like that?”
Missy replied in a deadpan voice, “We’re on a mission from Fuma.”
I frowned. Their wardrobe had a marked shortage of colorful floral designs. “That makes no sense.”
“Yes, it does. You’ll see.”
“All will be revealed,” Tali said. “Now, you two – “
“We didn’t do anything!” Fred protested.
“It’s all lies!” Michael declared.
“Enough of that,” Tali snapped. “Are you deliberately trying to confuse the people here?” and she produced a piece of card that bore several lithographed metal buttons. Overcome with curiosity, I looked at a few of them.
‘In Your Guts, You Know He's Nuts.’
‘Now More Than Ever.’
I blinked at one of them. "What does 'Win With Wilkie' mean?"
Fred grumbled, “It means that someone got a little creative.” He gave his partner in twit-ness a glare.
"And this one?” Tali demanded, pointing at a button that simply read ‘AuH20.’
“Um, that's for the Guild of Alchemists?” Michael ventured.
“Really.”
“That's my answer, and I’m sticking to it.” The mink glanced around, trying to keep at least half an eye on his superior officer while checking for likely avenues of escape if he thought that a hasty retreat was required. Fred had taken about two steps backward so fast that I thought he’d pooked.
This netted a sharp glance from his Commander. “Where do you think you’re going?”
The canine merely saluted. “Just getting clear of the blast area, Ma’am.”
Tali was clearly unimpressed. “I doubt Lundmark’s Nebula would be far enough, Lieutenant.” Her ears and tail flicked and turned to see Michael staring past her, his mouth hanging open. “What?” she asked, turning to look.
Her double-take was perfectly justified.
Even I had to admit that I was impressed. Some of the various Wolf Queen impersonators were starting to filter in, several congregating around the souvenir tents or posing for artists. The one that had caught Michael’s undivided attention was a minkess, with deep ginger snap-colored fur and proportions that spoke of healthy diet and vigorous exercise. Her facsimile Wolf Queen regalia accentuated, rather than distracted from, her rather abundant charms.
Sergeant Sage caught herself staring and had the grace to look embarrassed.
[Note appended to manuscript: “At least I did. You were dragging your chin in the grass.”]
[Note appended to manuscript: “There’s no harm in looking, wolfess. It shows appreciation for The Lady’s works.”]
[Note appended to manuscript: “Uh huh.”]
“Um, Commander,” Michael ventured, “permission to – “
He stopped as Tali sighed and shook herself. “Yeah. Don’t get too distracted, okay? Corporal, do you see any sign of Ooo-er and the Raccoon Queen?”
I tore my gaze away from the display of scantily-armored pulchritude and started looking around. “I don’t see them yet,” I said, “but I think I’ll walk around and keep my eyes open for them.”
“Please do.”
***
Raccoon Queen:
“I feel silly in this.”
“You look fine.”
Ooo-er frowned at me and wriggled a little. “I’m not used to wearing anything, you know,” she grumbled, “especially this.” She ‘adjusted’ part of the metal bodice that I’d bought for her. “I still don’t know why – or how – you talked me into this.”
“Like I told you, there’s a lot of furs walking around here dressed like the Wolf Queen, and nearly all of them aren’t wolves. You’ll blend in and,” and I grinned, “you’re already a Princess, so why not an Otter Queen?”
Ooo-er stuck out her tongue. "Otter-ly ridiculous, you mean." We walked past a wall covered in notices, and I shook my head at one (“Man seeks dominant woman. Tell me to call you!”) while Ooo-er sighed, “Well, this armor’s not as big and stuffy as the dress the Sixth of His Name’s joke spell put me in.” Ooo-er glanced down at herself and smiled. “And I can swim in this – what are you thinking about? Is the Regalia talking to you?”
I shrugged. “I was thinking about someone, and the Regalia’s trying to play matchmaker.”
“I am,” the Regalia said cheerfully. “He’s really nice, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” I said in Elf-mind.
“Tall, strong, and – “
“That’ll be enough of that, please. We have things to do, you know.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” it said. “This is an interesting plan.”
“I just pray to Fuma it works.”
When we got to the fairgrounds, I was amazed at how many furs were here, with more on the way. Jongleurs and troubadours were milling around, and music was in the air. I put the Ring of Brightwater to my forehead and looked around (and sometimes through) the crowd. Right, the Master was there, with his Lowfolk friends; Sergeant was there with Tali, both dressed in some outlandish outfits; and – what?
I started laughing and Ooo-er asked, “What?”
“Wait for it . . . “
Several Elves clapped their paws over their ears as a few baglutes started to play.
Elves Don’t Lie; whoever was playing them were more talented than the wolves down in Glenallid.
***
Missy:
Everyone was having such a happy time that I wished Sunny had made the trip with us. As a “Wild Priestess” of the Brilliant Light, she would have loved her former home. And, I think, she would have been held in high honor by the Eastnessers.
The festival grounds were filling quickly, and the number of people wearing festive garb (or not; there was a group from the Temple of the Brilliant Light, conspicuous in the fact that they weren’t wearing a stitch of clothing) would make it harder to pick out a Klown at first glance. It helped, of course, that any fox we saw dressed like a clown was possibly a Klown.
[Note appended to manuscript: “Well, that was as clear as mud, wolfess.”]
[Note appended to manuscript: “Shaddap.”]
Unfortunately, Tali and I had gained a small coterie of followers who admired our costumes and, I guess, the attitude we were projecting.
I overheard one of them saying to a passer-by, “We’re getting the band back together,” and I wondered about that – until they all dragged baglutes from their Elfintories and started playing.
Tali began . . . giggling. I was about to ask her why, until I concentrated past the Pantheon-awful noise and listened to the lyrics.
Luckily, she tapped me on my shoulder before I could draw my sword from my Elfintory and give him something. When I glared at her she smiled and said, “Just put up with it. What’s this type of music called?”
“The Blahs.”
For some reason that made her start giggling again, and she wouldn’t tell me why.
***
Jhonni:
Expense account addendum: two stars, fifty dusks, for drinks and snacks at the Deliverance Day Fair.
I really didn’t know which to look at; the girls from the Hetaira’s Guild, or the Temple dancers.
Mind you, the hetairai were wearing only slightly more.
Being a bit taller (hah!) than most of my fellow Eastnessers, I tend to stand out, so after a few minutes I spotted Winterbough and Mason making their way through the crowd. “Looks like a good turnout,” the bear said.
I nodded. “Every time, it’s the same thing. People started voting as soon as the sun was up, and they’ll be at it till sunset.” I gestured with a paw. “Not all of the voting age furs in Eastness can gather in the park at the same time, which is why the voting lasts so long. There's an open-air market nearby, and everyone has the day off from work.”
“How do the clerks keep track?” Winterbough asked. “You know, to keep people from voting twice.”
“Well, Elves Don’t Lie, so that helps keep most people honest.” I pointed toward the bridge that was the only way onto the festival ground. “Furs scratch their names on large cabers at the edge of park as they leave, to show they voted. They're called exit poles."
I don’t know why Mason abruptly slapped his paw to his face.
Fred asked, “What the hell? Why is that voter putting that linked-metal thing in the ballot box?”
“Obviously a mail vote,” Michael replied.
Winterbough looked in the direction of the Brilliant Light’s booth. “What are those statues?” and he pointed at a rack of small figurines.
“Past priestesses are represented by small marble carvings,” I explained. “They’re known as the Stone Temple Prelates.” For some reason Mason slapped himself again and muttered something indistinct.
He recovered fast, though, and asked, “So what happens after everyone votes?”
A good question. “The winners from every district become the new Council, and they choose one of them to be the Governor. If he’s popular, he can usually get a majority to go along with him, and it helps if they can speak well.” I nodded at the stage, where Byrde was warming up. “Like him, for instance.”
Winterbough cracked his knuckles. “I guess it’s time to make introductions. What do you think, Matt?”
Mason smiled. “Let’s get the party started.”
***
Winterbough:
A number of furs had gathered to hear Byrde speak. I found this interesting, because a good number of them were native, Eastness foxes. One foreign fox, though, stood a short distance away and looking quite pleased with himself.
Everyone else was giving him a wide berth, largely because of his red, medal-bespangled uniform and impressive girth. Seriously, the little porker was an easy four feet across, and I judged he was maybe an inch shorter than me. He also had a monocle in his right eye, and his attention was focused on Byrde as the hawk started his sales pitch.
As a result of his concentration, he didn’t notice at first when I sidled up beside him. I leaned in and whispered, “Hoch der Plan.”
“HOCH DER PLAN!” he bellowed automatically, almost losing his monocle before blinking and looking around with his ears dipping in embarrassment. He saw me and did a violent double-take. “Tzo! Roebuck! Hyu vould not be zat enemy of ze Grrrreat Vulpitanian Republic, der Vinterbough?”
I smiled. “The odds are against it,” I pointed out. “There are maybe thousands, even hundreds of thousands, of roes throughout the Shining Land, so the odds that one particular buck would be standing here thinking about stuffing you in a dustbin are pretty small.”
The tod chuckled. “To be shure, but Hy did not become a Schmott And Learned Vulpine by not – “
“However, the laws of probability are in abeyance,” and I dropped the glamor, my tweed suit fading into my mint-green Elfhame Rangers uniform.
SALV Fatskweeks’ face went through a number of contortions, finally settling into an angry expression as he pulled a small whistle from a pocket and brought it to his lips.
Only to pause as a mink in a seersucker suit and straw boater stepped up onto the stage, pointed at Byrde and adopted a dramatic pose as he shouted, “OBJECTION!”
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
Or The Big Grey Fluffy Butt Matter
A Story of Faerie
© 2020 by M. Mitchell Marmel
(Additional characters by E.O. Costello and W.D. Reimer.)
Thumbnail art by
tegerio, color by 
marmelmmPart Thirty-six.
Tali:
The smells in the stable included a woodsy odor with a vinegary tang to it. Of course, it was the smell of an ant’s wastes, which kind of spoiled the charm of it. Missy helped the stablepaws with harnessing the ants, Kora and Veyt, and we both climbed aboard.
I had synchronized the camouflage on our Corps uniforms, and to the uninitiated eye we were wearing identical black suits with white shirts, narrow black ties, and natty black fedoras.
I glanced over at Missy, who took up the reigns. My wolfess chum said, “It’s three leagues to the festival, we’ve fed the ants, got a half pack of beef jerky, it’s dark out, and – “
“We’re wearing sunglasses,” I said. I pointed. “Hit it.”
Missy snapped the ant-goad, and the two ants gronked.
We eased out of the stable into the dark streets of Eastness.
***
Winterbough:
You could certainly tell that the people of Eastness had been holding elections for a long time. Possibly as far back as the fall of the Aerie, and I was impressed when I left DelFurrio’s early on the morning of Deliverance Day to see the preparations.
A huge park between the Blue and Yellow Onoob rivers was the venue, with portable wooden outhouses set up overhanging the latter stream. As excellent a reason as any, I think, for the No Swimming signs that kept getting put up (and almost as enthusiastically torn down) by the locals. Carts sponsored by the various guilds were being set up, promising a wide variety of beer, distilled drinks, and baked sweet and savory treats to all of the hopefully paying customers. One ursine fellow was hawking a selection of fruit preserves and was happily serving out free samples of ‘Art’s Jam’ while a lutenist played.
The actual voting areas were cordoned off and patrolled by stern-faced members of the City Guard, with members of the city’s clerical staff moving scrolls around and setting up tables. People were already queuing up to vote. It all seemed very efficient to me, and I watched carefully because I wanted to write a report on the subject.
I don’t think you ever really get out of the habit once you start observing and noting things down.
A large stage had been erected for entertainments and for the various candidates to have one last chance to sway the minds of the voters. A group of similarly early risers were already gathered under some trees, arguing.
Michael and Fred had tagged along with me, and the mink observed, “They must be discussing post-ball.”
Fred gave him a look. “You’ve had your brain surgically removed, right?”
“No, I was born this way.”
“You do know that there are other things in life than post-ball.”
Michael doffed his boater and placed it over his heart. “This I know, but if there’s anything better, it needs to be rounded up immediately.”
[Note appended to manuscript: “See? I warned Tali not to let the two of you get together.”]
[Note appended to manuscript: “Michael? Why a warning, wolfess?”]
[Note appended to manuscript: “I told her, ‘Oh, Pantheon! Don't let that tube rat and the hat-rack get into a conversation. It'll create a magickal boredom dynamic that'll doom us all.’”]
[Note appended to manuscript: “Shaddap.”]
I suddenly reached out and tapped Michael on his shoulder before pointing off to the right. The mink followed the finger and grinned at me.
The Eastness Post-ball League was setting up a booth and two tents, intent on hawking memorabilia.
My ears swiveled and both the dog and mink flinched as I heard behind me, “You know, Missy, I've never told Corporal Winterbough about the alternity where post-ball matches are viewed as a sacred ritual.”
“Oh? Why’s that, Tali?” a certain wolfess asked in an entirely affected tone.
“Well, you have to consider what happens to the losers.” I turned in time to see the feline draw a claw across her throat, and both femmes chuckled as I rolled my eyes.
“That shows a lack of sportsfurship,” I said, looking the two of them over. “Why the Netherhells are you two dressed like that?”
Missy replied in a deadpan voice, “We’re on a mission from Fuma.”
I frowned. Their wardrobe had a marked shortage of colorful floral designs. “That makes no sense.”
“Yes, it does. You’ll see.”
“All will be revealed,” Tali said. “Now, you two – “
“We didn’t do anything!” Fred protested.
“It’s all lies!” Michael declared.
“Enough of that,” Tali snapped. “Are you deliberately trying to confuse the people here?” and she produced a piece of card that bore several lithographed metal buttons. Overcome with curiosity, I looked at a few of them.
‘In Your Guts, You Know He's Nuts.’
‘Now More Than Ever.’
I blinked at one of them. "What does 'Win With Wilkie' mean?"
Fred grumbled, “It means that someone got a little creative.” He gave his partner in twit-ness a glare.
"And this one?” Tali demanded, pointing at a button that simply read ‘AuH20.’
“Um, that's for the Guild of Alchemists?” Michael ventured.
“Really.”
“That's my answer, and I’m sticking to it.” The mink glanced around, trying to keep at least half an eye on his superior officer while checking for likely avenues of escape if he thought that a hasty retreat was required. Fred had taken about two steps backward so fast that I thought he’d pooked.
This netted a sharp glance from his Commander. “Where do you think you’re going?”
The canine merely saluted. “Just getting clear of the blast area, Ma’am.”
Tali was clearly unimpressed. “I doubt Lundmark’s Nebula would be far enough, Lieutenant.” Her ears and tail flicked and turned to see Michael staring past her, his mouth hanging open. “What?” she asked, turning to look.
Her double-take was perfectly justified.
Even I had to admit that I was impressed. Some of the various Wolf Queen impersonators were starting to filter in, several congregating around the souvenir tents or posing for artists. The one that had caught Michael’s undivided attention was a minkess, with deep ginger snap-colored fur and proportions that spoke of healthy diet and vigorous exercise. Her facsimile Wolf Queen regalia accentuated, rather than distracted from, her rather abundant charms.
Sergeant Sage caught herself staring and had the grace to look embarrassed.
[Note appended to manuscript: “At least I did. You were dragging your chin in the grass.”]
[Note appended to manuscript: “There’s no harm in looking, wolfess. It shows appreciation for The Lady’s works.”]
[Note appended to manuscript: “Uh huh.”]
“Um, Commander,” Michael ventured, “permission to – “
He stopped as Tali sighed and shook herself. “Yeah. Don’t get too distracted, okay? Corporal, do you see any sign of Ooo-er and the Raccoon Queen?”
I tore my gaze away from the display of scantily-armored pulchritude and started looking around. “I don’t see them yet,” I said, “but I think I’ll walk around and keep my eyes open for them.”
“Please do.”
***
Raccoon Queen:
“I feel silly in this.”
“You look fine.”
Ooo-er frowned at me and wriggled a little. “I’m not used to wearing anything, you know,” she grumbled, “especially this.” She ‘adjusted’ part of the metal bodice that I’d bought for her. “I still don’t know why – or how – you talked me into this.”
“Like I told you, there’s a lot of furs walking around here dressed like the Wolf Queen, and nearly all of them aren’t wolves. You’ll blend in and,” and I grinned, “you’re already a Princess, so why not an Otter Queen?”
Ooo-er stuck out her tongue. "Otter-ly ridiculous, you mean." We walked past a wall covered in notices, and I shook my head at one (“Man seeks dominant woman. Tell me to call you!”) while Ooo-er sighed, “Well, this armor’s not as big and stuffy as the dress the Sixth of His Name’s joke spell put me in.” Ooo-er glanced down at herself and smiled. “And I can swim in this – what are you thinking about? Is the Regalia talking to you?”
I shrugged. “I was thinking about someone, and the Regalia’s trying to play matchmaker.”
“I am,” the Regalia said cheerfully. “He’s really nice, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” I said in Elf-mind.
“Tall, strong, and – “
“That’ll be enough of that, please. We have things to do, you know.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” it said. “This is an interesting plan.”
“I just pray to Fuma it works.”
When we got to the fairgrounds, I was amazed at how many furs were here, with more on the way. Jongleurs and troubadours were milling around, and music was in the air. I put the Ring of Brightwater to my forehead and looked around (and sometimes through) the crowd. Right, the Master was there, with his Lowfolk friends; Sergeant was there with Tali, both dressed in some outlandish outfits; and – what?
I started laughing and Ooo-er asked, “What?”
“Wait for it . . . “
Several Elves clapped their paws over their ears as a few baglutes started to play.
Elves Don’t Lie; whoever was playing them were more talented than the wolves down in Glenallid.
***
Missy:
Everyone was having such a happy time that I wished Sunny had made the trip with us. As a “Wild Priestess” of the Brilliant Light, she would have loved her former home. And, I think, she would have been held in high honor by the Eastnessers.
The festival grounds were filling quickly, and the number of people wearing festive garb (or not; there was a group from the Temple of the Brilliant Light, conspicuous in the fact that they weren’t wearing a stitch of clothing) would make it harder to pick out a Klown at first glance. It helped, of course, that any fox we saw dressed like a clown was possibly a Klown.
[Note appended to manuscript: “Well, that was as clear as mud, wolfess.”]
[Note appended to manuscript: “Shaddap.”]
Unfortunately, Tali and I had gained a small coterie of followers who admired our costumes and, I guess, the attitude we were projecting.
I overheard one of them saying to a passer-by, “We’re getting the band back together,” and I wondered about that – until they all dragged baglutes from their Elfintories and started playing.
Tali began . . . giggling. I was about to ask her why, until I concentrated past the Pantheon-awful noise and listened to the lyrics.
Luckily, she tapped me on my shoulder before I could draw my sword from my Elfintory and give him something. When I glared at her she smiled and said, “Just put up with it. What’s this type of music called?”
“The Blahs.”
For some reason that made her start giggling again, and she wouldn’t tell me why.
***
Jhonni:
Expense account addendum: two stars, fifty dusks, for drinks and snacks at the Deliverance Day Fair.
I really didn’t know which to look at; the girls from the Hetaira’s Guild, or the Temple dancers.
Mind you, the hetairai were wearing only slightly more.
Being a bit taller (hah!) than most of my fellow Eastnessers, I tend to stand out, so after a few minutes I spotted Winterbough and Mason making their way through the crowd. “Looks like a good turnout,” the bear said.
I nodded. “Every time, it’s the same thing. People started voting as soon as the sun was up, and they’ll be at it till sunset.” I gestured with a paw. “Not all of the voting age furs in Eastness can gather in the park at the same time, which is why the voting lasts so long. There's an open-air market nearby, and everyone has the day off from work.”
“How do the clerks keep track?” Winterbough asked. “You know, to keep people from voting twice.”
“Well, Elves Don’t Lie, so that helps keep most people honest.” I pointed toward the bridge that was the only way onto the festival ground. “Furs scratch their names on large cabers at the edge of park as they leave, to show they voted. They're called exit poles."
I don’t know why Mason abruptly slapped his paw to his face.
Fred asked, “What the hell? Why is that voter putting that linked-metal thing in the ballot box?”
“Obviously a mail vote,” Michael replied.
Winterbough looked in the direction of the Brilliant Light’s booth. “What are those statues?” and he pointed at a rack of small figurines.
“Past priestesses are represented by small marble carvings,” I explained. “They’re known as the Stone Temple Prelates.” For some reason Mason slapped himself again and muttered something indistinct.
He recovered fast, though, and asked, “So what happens after everyone votes?”
A good question. “The winners from every district become the new Council, and they choose one of them to be the Governor. If he’s popular, he can usually get a majority to go along with him, and it helps if they can speak well.” I nodded at the stage, where Byrde was warming up. “Like him, for instance.”
Winterbough cracked his knuckles. “I guess it’s time to make introductions. What do you think, Matt?”
Mason smiled. “Let’s get the party started.”
***
Winterbough:
A number of furs had gathered to hear Byrde speak. I found this interesting, because a good number of them were native, Eastness foxes. One foreign fox, though, stood a short distance away and looking quite pleased with himself.
Everyone else was giving him a wide berth, largely because of his red, medal-bespangled uniform and impressive girth. Seriously, the little porker was an easy four feet across, and I judged he was maybe an inch shorter than me. He also had a monocle in his right eye, and his attention was focused on Byrde as the hawk started his sales pitch.
As a result of his concentration, he didn’t notice at first when I sidled up beside him. I leaned in and whispered, “Hoch der Plan.”
“HOCH DER PLAN!” he bellowed automatically, almost losing his monocle before blinking and looking around with his ears dipping in embarrassment. He saw me and did a violent double-take. “Tzo! Roebuck! Hyu vould not be zat enemy of ze Grrrreat Vulpitanian Republic, der Vinterbough?”
I smiled. “The odds are against it,” I pointed out. “There are maybe thousands, even hundreds of thousands, of roes throughout the Shining Land, so the odds that one particular buck would be standing here thinking about stuffing you in a dustbin are pretty small.”
The tod chuckled. “To be shure, but Hy did not become a Schmott And Learned Vulpine by not – “
“However, the laws of probability are in abeyance,” and I dropped the glamor, my tweed suit fading into my mint-green Elfhame Rangers uniform.
SALV Fatskweeks’ face went through a number of contortions, finally settling into an angry expression as he pulled a small whistle from a pocket and brought it to his lips.
Only to pause as a mink in a seersucker suit and straw boater stepped up onto the stage, pointed at Byrde and adopted a dramatic pose as he shouted, “OBJECTION!”
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Housecat
Size 1233 x 1280px
File Size 192.7 kB
Listed in Folders
The one that had caught Michael’s undivided attention was a minkess, with deep ginger snap-colored fur and proportions that spoke of healthy diet and vigorous exercise. Her facsimile Wolf Queen regalia accentuated, rather than distracted from, her rather abundant charms
Someone needs to draw that (not me)!!
Also, gotta agree with the Master, "Watch, but don't touch."
Someone needs to draw that (not me)!!
Also, gotta agree with the Master, "Watch, but don't touch."
This scene from the The Blues Brothers:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WZ3zZ-aWi6U
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WZ3zZ-aWi6U
Blues Brothers... the genuine one. Tali and Sage’s outfits are Jake and Elwood’s and the Mission from Fuma, the Eastness Foxes and the dark and we’re wearing sunglasses are all often quoted scenes from the movie just slightly redone.
If you have not watched the movie recently then it is time to do so again... but then I may be just a bit biased. The Valhalla Cinema in Richmond and then later in Northcote used to show the movie once every week for over a decade and some friends and I used to go see it quite a few times every year... sometimes dressed as characters but never as the Illinois Na**... sorry Eastness Vulpines.
If you have not watched the movie recently then it is time to do so again... but then I may be just a bit biased. The Valhalla Cinema in Richmond and then later in Northcote used to show the movie once every week for over a decade and some friends and I used to go see it quite a few times every year... sometimes dressed as characters but never as the Illinois Na**... sorry Eastness Vulpines.
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