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Moonlight and Mayhem
A Very Odd Romance
© 2010 by Walter Reimer
Thumbnail art by
cherushi and 
amonomega
Seven
Max dumped the still-groggy Morpion in a corner of the hut and relieved the feline of his pistol and shoulder holster. “I’ll take that,” the fox said and donned the rig himself. It made a counterpoint to the Swedish-made M1903 pistol still belted at his hip. “And . . . I’ll take THOSE,” and he swiftly de-pantsed the feline.
The trousers were a poor swap for what Max had previously worn, and as he put them on and cinched his belt tighter Sam and the canine tied Morpion up. “Hey, Sam!” Max suddenly said before laughing.
What, Max?”
Max merely pointed, and Sam chuckled.
Morpion was wearing a pair of mauve silk boxer shorts under his pants. The feline glared at the pair and started to struggle against his bonds. “You two again!” he rasped. “I shall have you both over a slow fire for this!”
“Don’t worry about that,” Sam said. “It’s too hot to have a fire going. It’s summer, you know.” She took a strip of his shirt and knotted it, then gagged the feline. Morpion struggled, but the badgeress was larger than he was, and the two men helped her hold him down.
“There,” she said as she stood up. “All we have to do now is get him back to the submarine.”
“Good,” Max said. “Say, Sam?”
“What, Max?”
Max’s expression bore a friendly smile, an expression that instantly had her on guard. “Do you have holes in your underwear?”
“No,” she replied.
“You don’t have holes in your underwear?”
“No.”
“Then how do you put your feet through?”
She smacked him.
***
After nightfall the three Rain Islanders held a council of war in one corner of the shack. Morpion, still bound in an opposite corner, was not invited to give his input.
“It might be risky to head back down the way we came,” the shiba inu said. “Our best bet’s to head west, through the woods, and then move south along Traitor’s Ridge.”
Max scratched under his chin before resuming what he was doing, which involved using his boot knife to reduce a cast-off chair leg to a sharply pointed prod. “I have an idea. Why don’t we take him to Traitor’s Ridge and throw him off? The sub’s crew can catch him, and I always preferred traveling light.”
“Tell you what, Max,” Sam said. “Let’s compromise. We’ll follow our guide’s advice, and you’ll shut up, okay?”
“Sure, Sam. I was just offering suggestions.”
Sam gave her companion an arch look. “You’re very suggestive,” she remarked, eyeing his trousers. “Those are the least flattering pants I’ve ever seen you wear. They’re large enough for two of you.”
“Be thankful there’s only one of me.”
“Oh, I am. So’s the entire Military Collective. So,” the badgeress said to their guide, “I think we should start out now, and wait for the sub when we get there.”
The canine nodded. “It’s a couple miles, and the sub will surface for us after the Moon sets.”
“That’s a few hours from now. I hope nothing goes wrong – you hear me, Max?”
“I hear you, honeyfur.” The fox pantomimed a few jabs with his improvised assegai.
“What are you planning on doing with that, Max?”
“Just making sure your friend Louie’s got some incentive.” Max grinned maniacally.
“He’s no friend of mine, Max. But he might have friends here, so we’d best be careful.”
“No problem, Sam. I have it on good authority that Louie here won’t make a sound.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I just won’t take the gag off him until we have him underwater,” Max said breezily. He jabbed the stick against the floor and used it to help himself stand, then crossed the room to loom over Morpion. “I’m going to untie your ankles, Louie, and you’re going to be a good little kitten for Uncle Maxie, savvy? Or else you’ll get this right where the sun doesn’t shine,” and he brandished the pointed piece of wood before the feline’s face.
Morpion’s eyes went wide as saucers and his heels scrabbled against the rough floorboards as he squealed against the gag.
“Max.”
“Yeah, Sam?”
“Heel, boy.”
“Why, Sam?”
“You should only threaten him as a warning. He hasn’t done anything yet.”
Max looked up at her. “This is a precautionary threat, Sam my darling.”
“Precautionary, Max?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
“OW!” Max rubbed the back of his head with a paw. “What was that for?”
“Just a precautionary threat, Max my bushy-tailed sweetheart.” Sam grinned at him. “Now, help me get him on his feet. We’re out of here.”
Led by their guide, the group slipped out of the shack and into the high grass that flanked the road. Their route led south of the makeshift airstrip and southwest toward Traitor’s Ridge. As they marched (Max whistling the Marseillaise off-key, much to Morpion’s irritation), the terrain changed to hills and the grassland gave way to trees and finally to jungle.
Looks like a nice place – in the dark,” Max commented as he ran a paw over a bush, snagging a few berries off the branches as he walked. He squinted at the fruit in the moonlight. “Hmm. Hey! Any idea what these things are?”
“What do they look like?” the canine asked.
“Hmm, berries, sort of pale with a black spot.” He popped one in his mouth, chewed and swallowed. “Tastes sort of like a sour blueberry.”
“You ATE one?” the canine gasped.
“It’s not poison, is it?” Sam asked.
“No, but he’ll wish it was. That’s a bogberry, Max.”
“Oh?” The fox had made no attempt to spit out what he’d eaten. “What’s it do?”
“You’ll find out.”
“When?” In the brief silence that followed Sam heard Max retch. Coughing, he said quietly, “Oh. That all?” He promptly started retching again, and Sam took the pointed stick away from him and took over guarding Morpion. Their shiba inu guide whispered a comment in her ear.
“You going to be okay, Max?”
The fox’s voice sounded a bit breathless. “Yeah . . . yeah, I think – “ Again, retching sounds filled the night.
Eventually Max recovered sufficiently to resume their trek, and the group made its way to the shoulder of the ridge. They followed the slope around, not needing to climb to the top of the volcanic scarp.
“Hey, Sam!”
“Yes, Max? You okay now?”
“Fit as a – urp – fiddle, yeah. Just glad I didn’t have much to eat. You know, honeyfur, this would make a great place for a picnic.”
“Oh?”
“Sure! And I’m sure my good friend Louie would just love a nice pawful of bogberries. Wouldn’t you, Lou?”
Morpion squealed again behind his gag. Apparently he’d heard of the plant’s effects.
I don’t think you’d appreciate it, Max.”
“Oh? Why’s that, Sam?”
In the moonlight, he could see her grin. “You‘ll find out.”
“You know,” their canine guide said, “you’re the weirdest guy I’ve ever met, Max. How the hell’d you get in the Syndicate in the first place?”
“Oh, that. It’s a long story.”
“Time’s something we have, Max,” Sam said. “I’d like to hear it, too.”
“Sam, you’ve read my service file.”
“I know, but it helps to sift fact from fiction. So let’s hear it.”
“Okay, you asked for it. Get along, you,” and he urged Morpion along and was silent for a moment. “I got four brothers and sisters, and a lot of cousins.”
“Family reunions must be fun, if you’re any example.”
“They publish casualty lists in the papers afterward, yeah,” Max laughed. “Anyway, I got in trouble after I got in a fight in this little bordello in Barnsfield – “
“Were you a customer, or part of the staff, Max?” Sam asked.
“Customer, Sam. The Prostitute’s Union said I didn’t measure up. Besides, I hadn’t met you yet, and since I’ve met you no other femme can compare.”
“Uh huh. I’m only assuming the Union has a height requirement. Keep talking, Max, or you eat a whole pawful of those berries.”
“Sure, Sam. The judge was a good sort – been up in front of him before, y’see – and he says to me, ‘Max, you get a choice this time.’ Then he tells me.”
“What was the choice?” Sam asked.
“Either a year in prison, or three months in jail and a stint in the military.”
“Hmm.”
“What’s that, Sam?”
“Just thinking about who might have got the worse of that deal, Max.”
“You wound me, Sam.”
“My aim was a bit off. Anyway, get on with it. What happened in jail?”
The fox gave a chuckle. “Well, I figure I need to make a good impression my first day. So when I get in, I tell everyone ‘I ain’t locked up in here with YOU – you’re locked up in here with ME!’” He had a brief laugh at the reminiscence. “Spent most of the next three months in the hole.”
“I take it your comrades took offense with your attitude,” the shiba inu said.
“Some furs have no sense of humor,” Max said. “Seriously, challenging the biggest guy in the block – you’d think that’d count for something.”
“Suicidal behavior, Max?”
“Your aim’s improving, Sam. So when I get out there’s a guy from the Army Union waiting for me.”
“You joined the Army, Max?”
“At first, Sam, yeah.”
“What happened?” The group was picking its way across a small maze of trails that led up to the top of the ridge.
Max paused to spit before he replied, “He lays paws on me and tells me that I’m in the Army now, and I’d better learn to like it. Imagine that! So I tell him that there’s only a couple things I like, and he’s neither of them.”
“I’ll bet that went over well.”
“Better than you might think, Sam. Anyway, he says that I need discipline, and you know what I said to him?”
“I can guess.”
“I’ll save you the trouble. I gave him the usual.” Max chuckled ruefully. “I missed, and he walloped me all the way to the camp.” His chuckle changed to a snort. “Trust them to send a guy from the Landing Forces.”
Sam laughed and ruffled the fox’s headfur. “So what sent you to the Naval Syndicate?”
“They found I had a mechanical bent.”
“Mechanical bent what?” the guide asked.
“Pictures are available in Seathl,” Max shot back. “I was good with machinery, and the Syndicate had lost in intramural boxing matches five years running. So you see, Sam, I HAD to go to sea.”
“Uh huh. So?”
“You’re looking at the Northwest Group’s boxing champion, five years straight,” the vulpine said proudly. In the dim moonlight he sketched a bow and looked a bit disappointed that no one applauded. “Oh well. I did well up in Tillamook, anyway. So, Sam – “
“Yes, Max?”
“What’s your story, my sweet badgeress?”
“Nothing as exciting as yours, my dear Max. My family’s always been in the Syndicate. Dad served in the Gunboat Wars, or so he told me.”
“You saying your father’s a liar, Sam?”
“You wanting your head dented, Max?”
“If I wanted that, Sam, I’d ask, or audition for The Old Comrades. My previous question stands, though.”
“More like staggers, Max. You know a lot of furs don’t like to talk about that. So, anyway, I joined up right out of vocational school.”
“Bill pull some strings?”
“I’ll pull your string, Max, and you won’t like it either.”
“Ooh, promises promises, Sam. You want to wait until we get back to the submarine, or do it right here? The grass looks a bit soft and comfy.”
“The sub, but only if you promise not to make so much noise this time. We had complaints from the torpedo crew.”
“Which one?”
“Aft.”
“Impressive!” Max whistled. “We drowned out the diesels! You know, Sam, I qualified on subs.”
“Really?”
“Yup! Everyone said I was peculiarly suited for something long and hard.” He sniggered lecherously.
Sam said, “Max.”
“Yeah, Sam?”
“That was a very bad joke, you know.”
“That’s why I didn’t audition for the Old Comrades, Sam. The way that marten clobbered the fox made me think I could get in show business.”
“Helping the fox?”
A snort. “Hell no! I ain’t speciesist. And that fox is an idiot.”
“Unlike you.” Sam’s voice was deadpan.
“I wouldn’t have made officer if I were an idiot, Sam.”
“You never met my first Syndic, Max. Guy couldn’t find his tail with both hands and a team of Pioneers.”
“So how’d he get any votes?”
“No one else wanted the job.”
<NEXT>
<FIRST>
<PREVIOUS>
A Very Odd Romance
© 2010 by Walter Reimer
Thumbnail art by
cherushi and 
amonomegaSeven
Max dumped the still-groggy Morpion in a corner of the hut and relieved the feline of his pistol and shoulder holster. “I’ll take that,” the fox said and donned the rig himself. It made a counterpoint to the Swedish-made M1903 pistol still belted at his hip. “And . . . I’ll take THOSE,” and he swiftly de-pantsed the feline.
The trousers were a poor swap for what Max had previously worn, and as he put them on and cinched his belt tighter Sam and the canine tied Morpion up. “Hey, Sam!” Max suddenly said before laughing.
What, Max?”
Max merely pointed, and Sam chuckled.
Morpion was wearing a pair of mauve silk boxer shorts under his pants. The feline glared at the pair and started to struggle against his bonds. “You two again!” he rasped. “I shall have you both over a slow fire for this!”
“Don’t worry about that,” Sam said. “It’s too hot to have a fire going. It’s summer, you know.” She took a strip of his shirt and knotted it, then gagged the feline. Morpion struggled, but the badgeress was larger than he was, and the two men helped her hold him down.
“There,” she said as she stood up. “All we have to do now is get him back to the submarine.”
“Good,” Max said. “Say, Sam?”
“What, Max?”
Max’s expression bore a friendly smile, an expression that instantly had her on guard. “Do you have holes in your underwear?”
“No,” she replied.
“You don’t have holes in your underwear?”
“No.”
“Then how do you put your feet through?”
She smacked him.
***
After nightfall the three Rain Islanders held a council of war in one corner of the shack. Morpion, still bound in an opposite corner, was not invited to give his input.
“It might be risky to head back down the way we came,” the shiba inu said. “Our best bet’s to head west, through the woods, and then move south along Traitor’s Ridge.”
Max scratched under his chin before resuming what he was doing, which involved using his boot knife to reduce a cast-off chair leg to a sharply pointed prod. “I have an idea. Why don’t we take him to Traitor’s Ridge and throw him off? The sub’s crew can catch him, and I always preferred traveling light.”
“Tell you what, Max,” Sam said. “Let’s compromise. We’ll follow our guide’s advice, and you’ll shut up, okay?”
“Sure, Sam. I was just offering suggestions.”
Sam gave her companion an arch look. “You’re very suggestive,” she remarked, eyeing his trousers. “Those are the least flattering pants I’ve ever seen you wear. They’re large enough for two of you.”
“Be thankful there’s only one of me.”
“Oh, I am. So’s the entire Military Collective. So,” the badgeress said to their guide, “I think we should start out now, and wait for the sub when we get there.”
The canine nodded. “It’s a couple miles, and the sub will surface for us after the Moon sets.”
“That’s a few hours from now. I hope nothing goes wrong – you hear me, Max?”
“I hear you, honeyfur.” The fox pantomimed a few jabs with his improvised assegai.
“What are you planning on doing with that, Max?”
“Just making sure your friend Louie’s got some incentive.” Max grinned maniacally.
“He’s no friend of mine, Max. But he might have friends here, so we’d best be careful.”
“No problem, Sam. I have it on good authority that Louie here won’t make a sound.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I just won’t take the gag off him until we have him underwater,” Max said breezily. He jabbed the stick against the floor and used it to help himself stand, then crossed the room to loom over Morpion. “I’m going to untie your ankles, Louie, and you’re going to be a good little kitten for Uncle Maxie, savvy? Or else you’ll get this right where the sun doesn’t shine,” and he brandished the pointed piece of wood before the feline’s face.
Morpion’s eyes went wide as saucers and his heels scrabbled against the rough floorboards as he squealed against the gag.
“Max.”
“Yeah, Sam?”
“Heel, boy.”
“Why, Sam?”
“You should only threaten him as a warning. He hasn’t done anything yet.”
Max looked up at her. “This is a precautionary threat, Sam my darling.”
“Precautionary, Max?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
“OW!” Max rubbed the back of his head with a paw. “What was that for?”
“Just a precautionary threat, Max my bushy-tailed sweetheart.” Sam grinned at him. “Now, help me get him on his feet. We’re out of here.”
Led by their guide, the group slipped out of the shack and into the high grass that flanked the road. Their route led south of the makeshift airstrip and southwest toward Traitor’s Ridge. As they marched (Max whistling the Marseillaise off-key, much to Morpion’s irritation), the terrain changed to hills and the grassland gave way to trees and finally to jungle.
Looks like a nice place – in the dark,” Max commented as he ran a paw over a bush, snagging a few berries off the branches as he walked. He squinted at the fruit in the moonlight. “Hmm. Hey! Any idea what these things are?”
“What do they look like?” the canine asked.
“Hmm, berries, sort of pale with a black spot.” He popped one in his mouth, chewed and swallowed. “Tastes sort of like a sour blueberry.”
“You ATE one?” the canine gasped.
“It’s not poison, is it?” Sam asked.
“No, but he’ll wish it was. That’s a bogberry, Max.”
“Oh?” The fox had made no attempt to spit out what he’d eaten. “What’s it do?”
“You’ll find out.”
“When?” In the brief silence that followed Sam heard Max retch. Coughing, he said quietly, “Oh. That all?” He promptly started retching again, and Sam took the pointed stick away from him and took over guarding Morpion. Their shiba inu guide whispered a comment in her ear.
“You going to be okay, Max?”
The fox’s voice sounded a bit breathless. “Yeah . . . yeah, I think – “ Again, retching sounds filled the night.
Eventually Max recovered sufficiently to resume their trek, and the group made its way to the shoulder of the ridge. They followed the slope around, not needing to climb to the top of the volcanic scarp.
“Hey, Sam!”
“Yes, Max? You okay now?”
“Fit as a – urp – fiddle, yeah. Just glad I didn’t have much to eat. You know, honeyfur, this would make a great place for a picnic.”
“Oh?”
“Sure! And I’m sure my good friend Louie would just love a nice pawful of bogberries. Wouldn’t you, Lou?”
Morpion squealed again behind his gag. Apparently he’d heard of the plant’s effects.
I don’t think you’d appreciate it, Max.”
“Oh? Why’s that, Sam?”
In the moonlight, he could see her grin. “You‘ll find out.”
“You know,” their canine guide said, “you’re the weirdest guy I’ve ever met, Max. How the hell’d you get in the Syndicate in the first place?”
“Oh, that. It’s a long story.”
“Time’s something we have, Max,” Sam said. “I’d like to hear it, too.”
“Sam, you’ve read my service file.”
“I know, but it helps to sift fact from fiction. So let’s hear it.”
“Okay, you asked for it. Get along, you,” and he urged Morpion along and was silent for a moment. “I got four brothers and sisters, and a lot of cousins.”
“Family reunions must be fun, if you’re any example.”
“They publish casualty lists in the papers afterward, yeah,” Max laughed. “Anyway, I got in trouble after I got in a fight in this little bordello in Barnsfield – “
“Were you a customer, or part of the staff, Max?” Sam asked.
“Customer, Sam. The Prostitute’s Union said I didn’t measure up. Besides, I hadn’t met you yet, and since I’ve met you no other femme can compare.”
“Uh huh. I’m only assuming the Union has a height requirement. Keep talking, Max, or you eat a whole pawful of those berries.”
“Sure, Sam. The judge was a good sort – been up in front of him before, y’see – and he says to me, ‘Max, you get a choice this time.’ Then he tells me.”
“What was the choice?” Sam asked.
“Either a year in prison, or three months in jail and a stint in the military.”
“Hmm.”
“What’s that, Sam?”
“Just thinking about who might have got the worse of that deal, Max.”
“You wound me, Sam.”
“My aim was a bit off. Anyway, get on with it. What happened in jail?”
The fox gave a chuckle. “Well, I figure I need to make a good impression my first day. So when I get in, I tell everyone ‘I ain’t locked up in here with YOU – you’re locked up in here with ME!’” He had a brief laugh at the reminiscence. “Spent most of the next three months in the hole.”
“I take it your comrades took offense with your attitude,” the shiba inu said.
“Some furs have no sense of humor,” Max said. “Seriously, challenging the biggest guy in the block – you’d think that’d count for something.”
“Suicidal behavior, Max?”
“Your aim’s improving, Sam. So when I get out there’s a guy from the Army Union waiting for me.”
“You joined the Army, Max?”
“At first, Sam, yeah.”
“What happened?” The group was picking its way across a small maze of trails that led up to the top of the ridge.
Max paused to spit before he replied, “He lays paws on me and tells me that I’m in the Army now, and I’d better learn to like it. Imagine that! So I tell him that there’s only a couple things I like, and he’s neither of them.”
“I’ll bet that went over well.”
“Better than you might think, Sam. Anyway, he says that I need discipline, and you know what I said to him?”
“I can guess.”
“I’ll save you the trouble. I gave him the usual.” Max chuckled ruefully. “I missed, and he walloped me all the way to the camp.” His chuckle changed to a snort. “Trust them to send a guy from the Landing Forces.”
Sam laughed and ruffled the fox’s headfur. “So what sent you to the Naval Syndicate?”
“They found I had a mechanical bent.”
“Mechanical bent what?” the guide asked.
“Pictures are available in Seathl,” Max shot back. “I was good with machinery, and the Syndicate had lost in intramural boxing matches five years running. So you see, Sam, I HAD to go to sea.”
“Uh huh. So?”
“You’re looking at the Northwest Group’s boxing champion, five years straight,” the vulpine said proudly. In the dim moonlight he sketched a bow and looked a bit disappointed that no one applauded. “Oh well. I did well up in Tillamook, anyway. So, Sam – “
“Yes, Max?”
“What’s your story, my sweet badgeress?”
“Nothing as exciting as yours, my dear Max. My family’s always been in the Syndicate. Dad served in the Gunboat Wars, or so he told me.”
“You saying your father’s a liar, Sam?”
“You wanting your head dented, Max?”
“If I wanted that, Sam, I’d ask, or audition for The Old Comrades. My previous question stands, though.”
“More like staggers, Max. You know a lot of furs don’t like to talk about that. So, anyway, I joined up right out of vocational school.”
“Bill pull some strings?”
“I’ll pull your string, Max, and you won’t like it either.”
“Ooh, promises promises, Sam. You want to wait until we get back to the submarine, or do it right here? The grass looks a bit soft and comfy.”
“The sub, but only if you promise not to make so much noise this time. We had complaints from the torpedo crew.”
“Which one?”
“Aft.”
“Impressive!” Max whistled. “We drowned out the diesels! You know, Sam, I qualified on subs.”
“Really?”
“Yup! Everyone said I was peculiarly suited for something long and hard.” He sniggered lecherously.
Sam said, “Max.”
“Yeah, Sam?”
“That was a very bad joke, you know.”
“That’s why I didn’t audition for the Old Comrades, Sam. The way that marten clobbered the fox made me think I could get in show business.”
“Helping the fox?”
A snort. “Hell no! I ain’t speciesist. And that fox is an idiot.”
“Unlike you.” Sam’s voice was deadpan.
“I wouldn’t have made officer if I were an idiot, Sam.”
“You never met my first Syndic, Max. Guy couldn’t find his tail with both hands and a team of Pioneers.”
“So how’d he get any votes?”
“No one else wanted the job.”
<NEXT>
<FIRST>
<PREVIOUS>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Gray Fox
Size 72 x 120px
File Size 69.8 kB
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