FA+
Shop
538
Views
Views
2
Favorites
Favorites
Category
Story / General Furry Art
Species Cheetah
Size 120 x 93
File Size 64 kB
Report this content
More from Walt46
Listed in Folders
Apotheosis
A Spontoon Island story
© 2005-2023 by W. D. Reimer and M. Mitchell Marmel
All characters © their respective creators
Thumbnail art by
sailoranna, color by 
Major Matt Mason
Three.
The roads were better than they had been back in the Thirties, and young Frank had called a cab to take them all to the water taxi stand. The children would look after the house until the older furs returned.
“I had planned on coming out here this spring,” Willow said as the water taxi made its way to Meeting Island, “but with business and – well, there were just too many distractions.” She looked upset about that, and Rosie hugged her consolingly while Reggie awkwardly took one of his wife’s paws.
“Hey, kiddo, it’s okay,” Rosie said, tucking a strand of headfur behind one ear. “After all, you and your Dad said the important things while he was still alive . . .”
***
13SEPTEMBER19440617 MSGSTART FROM ROSALIE STAGG C/O LUCHOWS MEETING ISLAND SPONTOON ISLAND INDEPENDENCIES TO REGGIE AND WILLOW BUCKHORN BELLEVUE-STAGFORD HOTEL PHILA PENNA USA LE VIEUX GALLANT S’EN VA STOP REPEAT LE VIEUX GALLANT S’EN VA STOP COME SOONEST STOP ROSIE STOP MSGENDS
***
"Le vieux gallant s’en va." A shaking Willow read the telegram again. "Darling, we need to take a little trip . . ."
***
"Hang the travel restrictions, we're going to California!"
***
"Major duCleds, you have a . . . visitor."
***
"Les, I need a favor."
"Am I going to regret this?"
"Probably, yes."
***
The funeral home was an old house, rumored to be the former home of Stagg’s former chief. The director, a somber feline in a suit, showed them in and stood by the doorway.
The casket was open, and Willow’s breath caught in her throat as she looked down at her father’s face. “He looks so . . . peaceful now,” she said quietly, and turned to weep against Reggie’s chest as he hugged her, looking down at the buck.
“He was a fine fellow,” Reggie said. “I put him through perfect hell all those years ago, then I up and married his daughter. I’m really surprised he didn’t come after me with a shotgun.”
Despite herself, Rosie giggled. “He wouldn’t have had to,” she pointed out. “Brush would have.”
“True for telling,” Reggie said with his usual smile. He glanced away from the casket and looked at the flowers that now flanked it. A single flag hung from a pole near Stagg’s head, and Reggie squinted at it. “Is that - ?”
“Yes, it’s the old New Haven flag,” Rosie said. “He wanted it there.”
Willow sniffled and looked at the flag, then at Rosie. “Did you know,” she said, “that New Haven hasn’t said a word about his death?”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” Rosie said flatly. “The Red Fist gave up on trying to kill him, so they’re going to ignore him and see if he goes away.” She grinned bitterly. "S'okay, though. Two-thirds of those mamserim have already been fitted for asbestos underwear by now."
"¡SI!" a voice chirped behind them. "The Puño Rojo pendejos, they boorn een HELL!"
Rosie, Willow and Reggie turned, only to be overwhelmed by a flood of duCledses. Les, Inocenta and their offspring surrounded the three, hugs, kisses and words of condolence flowing freely. After a while, Les excused himself, saying cryptically that he "had to make some arrangements."
***
Two days later, a funeral cortege set out from the funeral home on Meeting Island, headed for St. Paul’s Church on Casino Island. The larger church had been selected at the request of the government, and, after much debate, had been approved by the deceased several years earlier. St. Paul’s would be the venue for the public funeral, while the chapel of St. Anthony’s would be the site of the family-only funeral and the interment.
Stagg’s coffin had lain in the funeral home until the appointed time, and was now closed and draped in the pre-Revolutionary flag of New Haven as a symbol of his service to that nation. Rosie added in an aside to Willow, “It’s also a thumb in the eye of those Red Fist bastids.” Grace nodded solemn agreement.
Eight brawny constables in formal uniform bore the flag-draped coffin on their shoulders, preceded by the senior Wise One of the Spontoons and followed by the members of the Stagg, Buckhorn and Brush families. Rosie, Willow and their daughters were all dressed and veiled in black, while Reggie and the young bucks wore black suits.
Ciss Lopp and her son Benjy had arrived late from Rain Island, the doe having managed to wangle a flight on a Naval Syndicate transport. Her son, now a manager at a small lumber company in Seathl, showed that she too had been more than a little close to her old boss – he was taller and thinner than most of the bucks in her family tree, and his fur was shorter and coarser. His fur markings were also those of a whitetail deer.
Orrin Brush, a bit thinner than he had been decades ago and with gray marking his muzzle and cheekruffs, still looked smart in his Chief Constable’s uniform with his wife and sons at his side. Uniformed constables flanked the road, and saluted the cortege as it made its way to the dock.
It was a short trip by barge to Casino Island where the cortege resumed its journey, this time to the blowing of conch shells as priestesses chanted prayers. From another part of the island the distant snap of firecrackers and the atonal crash of cymbals and gongs signaled that the Chinese population was holding their own funeral for Stagg. The families entered the church, and took their places before the coffin was brought in and placed upon the catafalque just before the altar.
Several members of the Althing took their places in the pew directly behind where the families sat, some fidgeting as the church filled. A lone figure, dressed in a modish woman’s business suit and skirt, but still in traditional mourning white, slipped in and sat in the extreme rear of the building. The red panda femme’s headfur bore a few gray streaks, but she had insisted on coming in order to, as she half-jokingly put it to her husband, “Make sure he’s dead.”
Her husband's offer to accompany her with a wooden stake and mallet for this purpose had been politely declined.
Rosie, glancing around, noticed something odd. Inocenta duCleds and her girls Rosa, Maria, and Francesca (Girls? Hah! They're all twenty-something if they're a day now! When'd THAT happen?), dressed somberly, occupied a nearby pew, but Leslie duCleds and his son, Leslie Pierre, were nowhere to be seen. What the hell?
A Funeral Mass was sung, and the priest who performed the service mounted to the pulpit. “My friends, it is customary at this time to deliver the eulogy, but several people have asked to say a few words.” He nodded and stepped aside to make way for a portly badger as he stood. The fur looked to be suffering from the heat in his stiffly brocaded ceremonial uniform as he opened a small portfolio.
“I have been authorized to deliver the following message,” he said in a thick British accent. “’It has come to Our attention that Franklin Junius Stagg has died at his home in the Spontoon Islands and, in recognition of his great services to Our dominions in both war and peace, know that We, Edward the Ninth, do confer upon Franklin Junius Stagg the Order of the British Empire. Done in Our palace at Westminster, this 19th of July, 1960. Signed, Edward, Rex et Imperator.’”
The British Ambassador stepped down and presented a small case containing the medal and citation to Rosie. As he sat down, Reggie turned to Willow and whispered, “Well, at least he didn’t stutter like Eddie does.”
Willow stepped on his hoof.
The second fur was a tall brown deer, now stooped and gray with age and assisted up to the pulpit by his ramrod-straight son. Henri Grandcerf and the new Comte du Deux-Bois were dressed in full uniform, and the aged Marshall bowed to the families before doffing his kepi and bowing to the coffin. Straightening, he opened a folder and cleared his throat before saying in a quavering voice, “I have been sent by the President of France, with the following: ‘In recognition of his efforts during two world wars, the Republique Francaise cannot find words enough to praise Franklin Stagg. Now that he is beyond the vanity of medals and orders, I beseech his surviving family to accept my thanks and those of a grateful nation. Signed, Charles de Gull, President de Republique.” Grandcerf was assisted from the podium, and he and his son stopped and gravely saluted the coffin. He walked over to Rosie and he gallantly bowed and kissed her paw before being escorted to his seat.
There was a barking cough and a slight commotion, and Rosie turned to see Brush stand up. He patted his wife Kiki’s paw, then straightened his Chief Constable’s uniform and strode to the podium. He paused, looking down at his feet for a moment before looking up at the crowd.
“Those o’ you who know me know I ain’t one fer speeches,” he said, and his ears dipped slightly as several people chuckled. “But I was asked, so here I am.
“I’m here to say a word about Franklin Stagg. Now, when I first met him, I wasn’t so sure about him. But I’ll tell ya all, he was th’ best cop I ever met. He was a good friend, always had a kind word fer m’wife and kits,” and he paused abruptly, closing his eyes briefly. “He taught me a lot, an’ I’ll miss him.”
The fox stepped away, faced the coffin, and every constable in the church stood and copied his motions as Chief Constable Orrin Brush saluted his onetime superior. Dropping his paw to his side, Brush stiffly made his way back to his seat, exchanging a few whispered words in Spontoonie with his wife.
Rosie sat up and dried her eyes as Willow stood, smoothed her dress and walked up the steps. “I, um, have a telegram to read,” the doe said quietly as she pulled a piece of paper from her purse. “’The law enforcement fraternity has lost one of its best and ablest defenders, and I have lost my best friend. I wish I could attend this service, but I know that I shall be meeting Franklin personally soon enough. Do not fear for Franklin Stagg’s soul, for if anyone was sure of his place in Heaven, it would be him. Signed, Allan Minkerton.’” Willow hurriedly made her way back to Reggie’s side, where she buried her face against his shoulder and wept.
Benjamin Marcus Lopp stood up then, taking a folded paper from his mother’s paw and hugging her as she burst into fresh tears, holding a pawkerchief to her eyes. He twitched his whiskers nervously as he stood at the podium and said, “My mother was asked by the Chief Syndic of Rain Island to deliver this message. She, well . . . I’ll speak in her place – for my father.” He swallowed and glanced at the paper. “The Governing Syndicate of the Rain Island Anarchcracy is saddened to hear of the loss of Franklin Stagg, and offers its condolences to his family and friends. He will be remembered for his efforts on behalf of Spontoon and its allies.” The young buck blinked back tears as he stepped down to the coffin. He crossed himself in Russian Orthodox fashion and rejoined his mother.
Father Timothy, who had celebrated the funeral Mass earlier, approached the pulpit and smiled gently as he prepared to speak. “We come today to remember the life and accomplishments of Franklin Stagg,” he said.
“First, what can we say? He was a loving father, a devoted husband to both his wives, and an example of honor and integrity to all who knew him. He suffered, both for his nation and his family, and suffered such pains of the flesh, heart and soul that would surely rank him among the martyrs, had this been a less hurried age.
“But he recovered from that sickness of the soul. He married again, raised two fine fawns and lived to see them about to set forth upon their own journeys. He was more than a father to them – he was a friend and mentor. And he was overjoyed when his daughter married, and he was blessed to see his grandfawns.” Toni Tupua-Stagg hugged her two children, Frank and Jessica, as her husband Jerri consoled her.
“He never accepted citizenship here, and I believe that, deep down, he no longer thought of himself as a citizen of this country or that country. He was, to put it simply, a citizen of the world, and we can honor him as such.
“We here grieve with his family, but I think he would like it better if we remember his life and accomplishments, and think back with joy.”
Willow smiled, even as she dried her tears, and Rosie leaned against her as she cried. The priest finished his eulogy with a prayer, and stepped back as the pallbearers advanced upon the coffin.
Several rows back a middle-aged canine in formal Naval Syndicate uniform rose as the coffin was carried past him, and saluted gravely before turning to comfort his wife and their three children. The pallbearers emerged into bright July sunshine as a waiting crowd fell silent save for the chants of priestesses. The families followed the constables as they boarded the barge for the brief trip to St. Anthony’s.
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
A Spontoon Island story
© 2005-2023 by W. D. Reimer and M. Mitchell Marmel
All characters © their respective creators
Thumbnail art by
sailoranna, color by 
Major Matt Mason Three.
The roads were better than they had been back in the Thirties, and young Frank had called a cab to take them all to the water taxi stand. The children would look after the house until the older furs returned.
“I had planned on coming out here this spring,” Willow said as the water taxi made its way to Meeting Island, “but with business and – well, there were just too many distractions.” She looked upset about that, and Rosie hugged her consolingly while Reggie awkwardly took one of his wife’s paws.
“Hey, kiddo, it’s okay,” Rosie said, tucking a strand of headfur behind one ear. “After all, you and your Dad said the important things while he was still alive . . .”
***
13SEPTEMBER19440617 MSGSTART FROM ROSALIE STAGG C/O LUCHOWS MEETING ISLAND SPONTOON ISLAND INDEPENDENCIES TO REGGIE AND WILLOW BUCKHORN BELLEVUE-STAGFORD HOTEL PHILA PENNA USA LE VIEUX GALLANT S’EN VA STOP REPEAT LE VIEUX GALLANT S’EN VA STOP COME SOONEST STOP ROSIE STOP MSGENDS
***
"Le vieux gallant s’en va." A shaking Willow read the telegram again. "Darling, we need to take a little trip . . ."
***
"Hang the travel restrictions, we're going to California!"
***
"Major duCleds, you have a . . . visitor."
***
"Les, I need a favor."
"Am I going to regret this?"
"Probably, yes."
***
The funeral home was an old house, rumored to be the former home of Stagg’s former chief. The director, a somber feline in a suit, showed them in and stood by the doorway.
The casket was open, and Willow’s breath caught in her throat as she looked down at her father’s face. “He looks so . . . peaceful now,” she said quietly, and turned to weep against Reggie’s chest as he hugged her, looking down at the buck.
“He was a fine fellow,” Reggie said. “I put him through perfect hell all those years ago, then I up and married his daughter. I’m really surprised he didn’t come after me with a shotgun.”
Despite herself, Rosie giggled. “He wouldn’t have had to,” she pointed out. “Brush would have.”
“True for telling,” Reggie said with his usual smile. He glanced away from the casket and looked at the flowers that now flanked it. A single flag hung from a pole near Stagg’s head, and Reggie squinted at it. “Is that - ?”
“Yes, it’s the old New Haven flag,” Rosie said. “He wanted it there.”
Willow sniffled and looked at the flag, then at Rosie. “Did you know,” she said, “that New Haven hasn’t said a word about his death?”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” Rosie said flatly. “The Red Fist gave up on trying to kill him, so they’re going to ignore him and see if he goes away.” She grinned bitterly. "S'okay, though. Two-thirds of those mamserim have already been fitted for asbestos underwear by now."
"¡SI!" a voice chirped behind them. "The Puño Rojo pendejos, they boorn een HELL!"
Rosie, Willow and Reggie turned, only to be overwhelmed by a flood of duCledses. Les, Inocenta and their offspring surrounded the three, hugs, kisses and words of condolence flowing freely. After a while, Les excused himself, saying cryptically that he "had to make some arrangements."
***
Two days later, a funeral cortege set out from the funeral home on Meeting Island, headed for St. Paul’s Church on Casino Island. The larger church had been selected at the request of the government, and, after much debate, had been approved by the deceased several years earlier. St. Paul’s would be the venue for the public funeral, while the chapel of St. Anthony’s would be the site of the family-only funeral and the interment.
Stagg’s coffin had lain in the funeral home until the appointed time, and was now closed and draped in the pre-Revolutionary flag of New Haven as a symbol of his service to that nation. Rosie added in an aside to Willow, “It’s also a thumb in the eye of those Red Fist bastids.” Grace nodded solemn agreement.
Eight brawny constables in formal uniform bore the flag-draped coffin on their shoulders, preceded by the senior Wise One of the Spontoons and followed by the members of the Stagg, Buckhorn and Brush families. Rosie, Willow and their daughters were all dressed and veiled in black, while Reggie and the young bucks wore black suits.
Ciss Lopp and her son Benjy had arrived late from Rain Island, the doe having managed to wangle a flight on a Naval Syndicate transport. Her son, now a manager at a small lumber company in Seathl, showed that she too had been more than a little close to her old boss – he was taller and thinner than most of the bucks in her family tree, and his fur was shorter and coarser. His fur markings were also those of a whitetail deer.
Orrin Brush, a bit thinner than he had been decades ago and with gray marking his muzzle and cheekruffs, still looked smart in his Chief Constable’s uniform with his wife and sons at his side. Uniformed constables flanked the road, and saluted the cortege as it made its way to the dock.
It was a short trip by barge to Casino Island where the cortege resumed its journey, this time to the blowing of conch shells as priestesses chanted prayers. From another part of the island the distant snap of firecrackers and the atonal crash of cymbals and gongs signaled that the Chinese population was holding their own funeral for Stagg. The families entered the church, and took their places before the coffin was brought in and placed upon the catafalque just before the altar.
Several members of the Althing took their places in the pew directly behind where the families sat, some fidgeting as the church filled. A lone figure, dressed in a modish woman’s business suit and skirt, but still in traditional mourning white, slipped in and sat in the extreme rear of the building. The red panda femme’s headfur bore a few gray streaks, but she had insisted on coming in order to, as she half-jokingly put it to her husband, “Make sure he’s dead.”
Her husband's offer to accompany her with a wooden stake and mallet for this purpose had been politely declined.
Rosie, glancing around, noticed something odd. Inocenta duCleds and her girls Rosa, Maria, and Francesca (Girls? Hah! They're all twenty-something if they're a day now! When'd THAT happen?), dressed somberly, occupied a nearby pew, but Leslie duCleds and his son, Leslie Pierre, were nowhere to be seen. What the hell?
A Funeral Mass was sung, and the priest who performed the service mounted to the pulpit. “My friends, it is customary at this time to deliver the eulogy, but several people have asked to say a few words.” He nodded and stepped aside to make way for a portly badger as he stood. The fur looked to be suffering from the heat in his stiffly brocaded ceremonial uniform as he opened a small portfolio.
“I have been authorized to deliver the following message,” he said in a thick British accent. “’It has come to Our attention that Franklin Junius Stagg has died at his home in the Spontoon Islands and, in recognition of his great services to Our dominions in both war and peace, know that We, Edward the Ninth, do confer upon Franklin Junius Stagg the Order of the British Empire. Done in Our palace at Westminster, this 19th of July, 1960. Signed, Edward, Rex et Imperator.’”
The British Ambassador stepped down and presented a small case containing the medal and citation to Rosie. As he sat down, Reggie turned to Willow and whispered, “Well, at least he didn’t stutter like Eddie does.”
Willow stepped on his hoof.
The second fur was a tall brown deer, now stooped and gray with age and assisted up to the pulpit by his ramrod-straight son. Henri Grandcerf and the new Comte du Deux-Bois were dressed in full uniform, and the aged Marshall bowed to the families before doffing his kepi and bowing to the coffin. Straightening, he opened a folder and cleared his throat before saying in a quavering voice, “I have been sent by the President of France, with the following: ‘In recognition of his efforts during two world wars, the Republique Francaise cannot find words enough to praise Franklin Stagg. Now that he is beyond the vanity of medals and orders, I beseech his surviving family to accept my thanks and those of a grateful nation. Signed, Charles de Gull, President de Republique.” Grandcerf was assisted from the podium, and he and his son stopped and gravely saluted the coffin. He walked over to Rosie and he gallantly bowed and kissed her paw before being escorted to his seat.
There was a barking cough and a slight commotion, and Rosie turned to see Brush stand up. He patted his wife Kiki’s paw, then straightened his Chief Constable’s uniform and strode to the podium. He paused, looking down at his feet for a moment before looking up at the crowd.
“Those o’ you who know me know I ain’t one fer speeches,” he said, and his ears dipped slightly as several people chuckled. “But I was asked, so here I am.
“I’m here to say a word about Franklin Stagg. Now, when I first met him, I wasn’t so sure about him. But I’ll tell ya all, he was th’ best cop I ever met. He was a good friend, always had a kind word fer m’wife and kits,” and he paused abruptly, closing his eyes briefly. “He taught me a lot, an’ I’ll miss him.”
The fox stepped away, faced the coffin, and every constable in the church stood and copied his motions as Chief Constable Orrin Brush saluted his onetime superior. Dropping his paw to his side, Brush stiffly made his way back to his seat, exchanging a few whispered words in Spontoonie with his wife.
Rosie sat up and dried her eyes as Willow stood, smoothed her dress and walked up the steps. “I, um, have a telegram to read,” the doe said quietly as she pulled a piece of paper from her purse. “’The law enforcement fraternity has lost one of its best and ablest defenders, and I have lost my best friend. I wish I could attend this service, but I know that I shall be meeting Franklin personally soon enough. Do not fear for Franklin Stagg’s soul, for if anyone was sure of his place in Heaven, it would be him. Signed, Allan Minkerton.’” Willow hurriedly made her way back to Reggie’s side, where she buried her face against his shoulder and wept.
Benjamin Marcus Lopp stood up then, taking a folded paper from his mother’s paw and hugging her as she burst into fresh tears, holding a pawkerchief to her eyes. He twitched his whiskers nervously as he stood at the podium and said, “My mother was asked by the Chief Syndic of Rain Island to deliver this message. She, well . . . I’ll speak in her place – for my father.” He swallowed and glanced at the paper. “The Governing Syndicate of the Rain Island Anarchcracy is saddened to hear of the loss of Franklin Stagg, and offers its condolences to his family and friends. He will be remembered for his efforts on behalf of Spontoon and its allies.” The young buck blinked back tears as he stepped down to the coffin. He crossed himself in Russian Orthodox fashion and rejoined his mother.
Father Timothy, who had celebrated the funeral Mass earlier, approached the pulpit and smiled gently as he prepared to speak. “We come today to remember the life and accomplishments of Franklin Stagg,” he said.
“First, what can we say? He was a loving father, a devoted husband to both his wives, and an example of honor and integrity to all who knew him. He suffered, both for his nation and his family, and suffered such pains of the flesh, heart and soul that would surely rank him among the martyrs, had this been a less hurried age.
“But he recovered from that sickness of the soul. He married again, raised two fine fawns and lived to see them about to set forth upon their own journeys. He was more than a father to them – he was a friend and mentor. And he was overjoyed when his daughter married, and he was blessed to see his grandfawns.” Toni Tupua-Stagg hugged her two children, Frank and Jessica, as her husband Jerri consoled her.
“He never accepted citizenship here, and I believe that, deep down, he no longer thought of himself as a citizen of this country or that country. He was, to put it simply, a citizen of the world, and we can honor him as such.
“We here grieve with his family, but I think he would like it better if we remember his life and accomplishments, and think back with joy.”
Willow smiled, even as she dried her tears, and Rosie leaned against her as she cried. The priest finished his eulogy with a prayer, and stepped back as the pallbearers advanced upon the coffin.
Several rows back a middle-aged canine in formal Naval Syndicate uniform rose as the coffin was carried past him, and saluted gravely before turning to comfort his wife and their three children. The pallbearers emerged into bright July sunshine as a waiting crowd fell silent save for the chants of priestesses. The families followed the constables as they boarded the barge for the brief trip to St. Anthony’s.
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Cheetah
Size 120 x 93px
File Size 64 kB
Comments