Persephone:
There was a way this could have gone. A game of cat and mouse, of tension. Of not knowing if you’re the only one in here, while trying to find your objectives. A hissing fuse with no obvious bomb it leads to.
Let’s just cut to the good part, then.
A plainclothes detective is out in the open now, ripping their grey gym hoodie off and tossing it on the floor carelessly - it ends up on the drying mineral oil, and that’s going to stain. Everything about them screamed ‘cop’ though, even before the reveal of the badge danging from a chain against their chest. They’re a bit shorter than you, but they keep their eyes level when looking at you. No tilt of the head that could be read as intimidation or respect. Even down to a skintight wifebeater, you can’t get a guess on preferred pronouns. The shaved head and completely waxed body doesn’t help either.
There’s probably a Jet Li build under there, underneath the padding from too much junk food on long stakeouts. They tug at the studded bracelet covering their right wrist, and the hand spins 360 degrees before clenching into a fist. The synthetic skin job is clean, but the join from forearm to bicep isn’t a perfect match. Looks like the elbow is partially replaced, but effort was made to keep those muscles attached and useful.
There isn’t a practical reason for it. If you’re doing that much of a high-grade replacement job, a full replacement up to the shoulder would give them a lot more power and control. But you’ve seen this before, too. They want to know that the punch is still ‘theirs’. Their training, their will, not their bank account. Or their department’s.
Maybe that tells you something about them you can take advantage of.
“Officer in need of assistance,” they press a finger to their ear. “Break and entry in progress, on my position. Just the one, but they’ve got me cornered while their crew escapes. Apprehending now.”
3V and Black:
Lupawn offers a paw to Black for a bump. “Are we bringing her back, or are you coming to get her?” His question’s playful, and he asks with a smile. Amie jumps up and ruffles his hair, in mock outrage of the question, and Lupawn lets his head stay ruffled in penance.
The thing about furries is that it’s a total commitment to a bit. They’re a bit cringe to most, sure, because everything saturated in sincerity always is. Nobody’s becoming a wolf because they want to do an ironic subversion of the archetype - maybe in a few years, as counter-culture becomes culture. Now, though, defining the archetypes is too much rebellion to rebel against.
Amie and Lupawn live their own performances. Not like highschool theater kids perform for their drama classes, like theater kids perform for their friends. Feed on their energy and they’ll never run out of it. The entire rest of their lives is built around moments like this, nights like these.
Stand clear of the wagging tails.
Amie’s muscle and musk, soft fur with coarse ends like a sheep dog’s. Her timberwolf patterning is broken up by barely a strip of unbuttoned denim and the billowing grey shreds of what might once have been a gym top. Just run your hand against her and it’s like brillo pad. But push deep, run your hand through, or push your face deep in, and be rewarded with soft fluff that squeezes you back. She wants you to press and be pressed. She wants to cuddle and squish. She wants to lift and throw and chase and catch.
She is the wolf-as-primal-playmate. Her place in the dom/sub spectrum is the space of yes/and. Just as ready to lead as she is to follow, she waits to see if she is about to snatch 3V off into the night, or be carried off with her. She’s good with either. She watches Black, now, eager and attentive, pressed into 3V’s back and resting her chin on the top of her head. Ready to drag her off to the bar, or be dragged off to the bar. As long as someone’s getting squeezed on the way.
Lupawn plays it a bit harder. You can see it comparing their legs - while Amie has settled on modified ankles to suggest the vulpine pose and posture, Lupawn’s committed to the full werewolf, high knees and heels that end halfway up where their calf would be. The effect is way more intense and animalistic.
He’s living off the energy 3V’s throwing out right now, but keeps it to a tight leash with the introduction of Black. He’s working out how much fun he’s allowed to have, here. Is this another player in the scene, or the boundary marker? He casts himself as the lead, and he wants to show off for his audience. But only if you want that too.
Neither Amie nor Lupawn made the assumption that 3V came to dance with the one that brought her, tonight. Not here. They just know however this goes, they're having fun.
Blue and Orange:
Charlie gets up abruptly. “Sorry, Star, I… Early start tomorrow. You understand.”
Starlight blinks. “Ah, yes. Of course, thank you for coming, Charlie.”
“All mine, do it again soon. Just-” He spares one last, fearful look at Blue. “Like I said. Early start. That’s all.”
‘Robocop’ Perez hums thoughtfully. “I’m glad that’s all it is. You were acting like her being Mrs Everest’s old assistant was scaring you.”
“Daniel!” Charlie hisses through clenched teeth. His open palms hit the table hard enough to rattle everyone’s cutlery. “Shut up.”
There should be an awkward silence, but ‘Robocop’ pushes on, clearly confused. “Why? We all know that androids were used like that for years, and why. It’s not her fault, is it?” A pause. “I’m enjoying her company, and I think you’re being very rude.”
Starlight is caught off guard when she smiles at that, and has no idea what to do about it once it’s there. She opts for ducking her head, out of the fight.
Wendy was halfway out of her chair, too, but has the decency to look shamed by Perez’s question. Charlie’s still standing, though, defensive.
White:
You’re not the only one with stack overflows.
Fiona taps your shoulder. “Careful. She had that specially made to be extra sensitive. That combined with everything you just said…” she coughs into a fist. “Give her a few seconds. Then try not to trip.”
Try not to trip?
Then Crystal has your hand by the wrist, firm, and is walking out of the bar with you in tow, keeping a pace only a half step below a jog. An amused Fiona shadows.
“No ropes, no props, no teaming up on Fiona tonight.” Crystal- well, she has the too-even tone of someone trying not to be angry. At least, the too-even tone of someone trying too hard to keep themselves in check. “We are going back to our place. We are going to make this very special. And you, dear, are going to keep talking.”
“Before you get too disappointed,” Fiona’s fingertips brush the back of your neck, and then down your free arm, ending in a warm squeeze of your hand. “There’s always next time.”
Here are some pertinent details of Apartment 7,118 Josephine Baker street, Robert Frost district of Modern Aphrodite.
There was a way this could have gone. A game of cat and mouse, of tension. Of not knowing if you’re the only one in here, while trying to find your objectives. A hissing fuse with no obvious bomb it leads to.
Let’s just cut to the good part, then.
A plainclothes detective is out in the open now, ripping their grey gym hoodie off and tossing it on the floor carelessly - it ends up on the drying mineral oil, and that’s going to stain. Everything about them screamed ‘cop’ though, even before the reveal of the badge danging from a chain against their chest. They’re a bit shorter than you, but they keep their eyes level when looking at you. No tilt of the head that could be read as intimidation or respect. Even down to a skintight wifebeater, you can’t get a guess on preferred pronouns. The shaved head and completely waxed body doesn’t help either.
There’s probably a Jet Li build under there, underneath the padding from too much junk food on long stakeouts. They tug at the studded bracelet covering their right wrist, and the hand spins 360 degrees before clenching into a fist. The synthetic skin job is clean, but the join from forearm to bicep isn’t a perfect match. Looks like the elbow is partially replaced, but effort was made to keep those muscles attached and useful.
There isn’t a practical reason for it. If you’re doing that much of a high-grade replacement job, a full replacement up to the shoulder would give them a lot more power and control. But you’ve seen this before, too. They want to know that the punch is still ‘theirs’. Their training, their will, not their bank account. Or their department’s.
Maybe that tells you something about them you can take advantage of.
“Officer in need of assistance,” they press a finger to their ear. “Break and entry in progress, on my position. Just the one, but they’ve got me cornered while their crew escapes. Apprehending now.”
3V and Black:
Lupawn offers a paw to Black for a bump. “Are we bringing her back, or are you coming to get her?” His question’s playful, and he asks with a smile. Amie jumps up and ruffles his hair, in mock outrage of the question, and Lupawn lets his head stay ruffled in penance.
The thing about furries is that it’s a total commitment to a bit. They’re a bit cringe to most, sure, because everything saturated in sincerity always is. Nobody’s becoming a wolf because they want to do an ironic subversion of the archetype - maybe in a few years, as counter-culture becomes culture. Now, though, defining the archetypes is too much rebellion to rebel against.
Amie and Lupawn live their own performances. Not like highschool theater kids perform for their drama classes, like theater kids perform for their friends. Feed on their energy and they’ll never run out of it. The entire rest of their lives is built around moments like this, nights like these.
Stand clear of the wagging tails.
Amie’s muscle and musk, soft fur with coarse ends like a sheep dog’s. Her timberwolf patterning is broken up by barely a strip of unbuttoned denim and the billowing grey shreds of what might once have been a gym top. Just run your hand against her and it’s like brillo pad. But push deep, run your hand through, or push your face deep in, and be rewarded with soft fluff that squeezes you back. She wants you to press and be pressed. She wants to cuddle and squish. She wants to lift and throw and chase and catch.
She is the wolf-as-primal-playmate. Her place in the dom/sub spectrum is the space of yes/and. Just as ready to lead as she is to follow, she waits to see if she is about to snatch 3V off into the night, or be carried off with her. She’s good with either. She watches Black, now, eager and attentive, pressed into 3V’s back and resting her chin on the top of her head. Ready to drag her off to the bar, or be dragged off to the bar. As long as someone’s getting squeezed on the way.
Lupawn plays it a bit harder. You can see it comparing their legs - while Amie has settled on modified ankles to suggest the vulpine pose and posture, Lupawn’s committed to the full werewolf, high knees and heels that end halfway up where their calf would be. The effect is way more intense and animalistic.
He’s living off the energy 3V’s throwing out right now, but keeps it to a tight leash with the introduction of Black. He’s working out how much fun he’s allowed to have, here. Is this another player in the scene, or the boundary marker? He casts himself as the lead, and he wants to show off for his audience. But only if you want that too.
Neither Amie nor Lupawn made the assumption that 3V came to dance with the one that brought her, tonight. Not here. They just know however this goes, they're having fun.
Blue and Orange:
Charlie gets up abruptly. “Sorry, Star, I… Early start tomorrow. You understand.”
Starlight blinks. “Ah, yes. Of course, thank you for coming, Charlie.”
“All mine, do it again soon. Just-” He spares one last, fearful look at Blue. “Like I said. Early start. That’s all.”
‘Robocop’ Perez hums thoughtfully. “I’m glad that’s all it is. You were acting like her being Mrs Everest’s old assistant was scaring you.”
“Daniel!” Charlie hisses through clenched teeth. His open palms hit the table hard enough to rattle everyone’s cutlery. “Shut up.”
There should be an awkward silence, but ‘Robocop’ pushes on, clearly confused. “Why? We all know that androids were used like that for years, and why. It’s not her fault, is it?” A pause. “I’m enjoying her company, and I think you’re being very rude.”
Starlight is caught off guard when she smiles at that, and has no idea what to do about it once it’s there. She opts for ducking her head, out of the fight.
Wendy was halfway out of her chair, too, but has the decency to look shamed by Perez’s question. Charlie’s still standing, though, defensive.
White:
You’re not the only one with stack overflows.
Fiona taps your shoulder. “Careful. She had that specially made to be extra sensitive. That combined with everything you just said…” she coughs into a fist. “Give her a few seconds. Then try not to trip.”
Try not to trip?
Then Crystal has your hand by the wrist, firm, and is walking out of the bar with you in tow, keeping a pace only a half step below a jog. An amused Fiona shadows.
“No ropes, no props, no teaming up on Fiona tonight.” Crystal- well, she has the too-even tone of someone trying not to be angry. At least, the too-even tone of someone trying too hard to keep themselves in check. “We are going back to our place. We are going to make this very special. And you, dear, are going to keep talking.”
“Before you get too disappointed,” Fiona’s fingertips brush the back of your neck, and then down your free arm, ending in a warm squeeze of your hand. “There’s always next time.”
Here are some pertinent details of Apartment 7,118 Josephine Baker street, Robert Frost district of Modern Aphrodite.
- The place is fastidiously clean and organized. Fiona apologizes for her mess, which is a laptop charging on a glass coffee table with two used mugs on coasters.
- The kitchen is similarly shining, to the point where it’s difficult to tell how frequently it’s used. The bean grinders, roaster, steamer, infuser and cold brewer imply a daily use that the countertops don’t. On that note, Crystal is very confident about the countertop’s ability to hold your weight, no matter how hard you press against it.
- The size of the bed could best be described as “ambitious”, but its owners are feeling inspired.
- The walk-in wardrobe is three-fifths Crystal’s by volume, a fifth Fiona’s, and the rest is ‘for guests’. So don’t worry about not being able to find everything you came in with. Find anything you like?
- The apartment is wall-to-wall with original artworks, each complete with gallery placards describing the pieces. Crystal makes a game of flipping up-and-coming talent, putting her money where her mouth is on who’s going to ‘make it’, but by her own admission her heart’s more in the buying than the selling. The placards are Fiona’s touch, naturally. A photo album on the coffee table, behind the charging laptop, remembers the come-and-gones.
- Crystal had some things she was supposed to do in the morning but she can move them, they weren’t that important, actually.
