Thirty.
Animator
Shapeshifter (Red Fox).
Asexual.
Single.
Adult
Authored by The X-Ray Dog.
Offline.
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Sept 14, 2016 3:42:19 GMT
Post by Elliot Eastman on Sept 14, 2016 3:42:19 GMT
New Orleans was known for its hot and muggy weather, the air thick with moisture to the point of being near solid, walking through it was more like swimming than it was like standing, a misery only compounded by the sheer heat of the atmosphere. It chased children inside and made wandering in the daytime a poor decision. But it was not an avoidance of the heat that had Elliot stalking around local neighborhoods so late at night. A storm had just blown in, a large one at that, leaving rain and a little wind in its wake, so the air was cool, fresh, still thick as soup but with a pleasant breeze that tickled the leaves of trees and left trails in the red fox’s golden coat. He was simply a nocturnal animal. He usually slept away most of the day, not getting up until two or three in the afternoon, only stay up until sunrise often enough. He was a creature of the night, his vulpine senses catering to darkness and shadows. He could see perfectly in the low light of the parking lot of a local dive bar, hiding under parked cars and scurrying through nearby brush to reach a small concrete enclosure near the back of the establishment.
The dumpster.
As he circled around to the front of the little enclosure, he found there was a gate in his way, locked with a padlock and sealed up tight. He frowned at it, as much as a fox could frown anyway, and stood high on his back legs to paw at it, almost as if to make sure it was real and not something of the imagination. No, it was clearly designed to keep people out, locked tight with a chain. But, whoever designed such a thing did not anticipate the agility of a clever, and rather hungry, fox. Reeling back, he leapt as high as he could, it was not high enough to reach the top of the gate, so he tried again, this time scrambling for purchase with his clawed feet. He found that he could stand on the chain and padlock and, with another nimble leap, easily cleared the fence gate to land ungracefully on his head in the dumpster. Had he been in his more fragile human form that may have earned him a concussion. But fortunately foxes were resilient little animals, and he stood, shaking off the landing literally before beginning his mission of scrounging up something to eat.
The dumpster was mostly empty, with only maybe a foot or two of trash in it, and most of it was the empty boxes that people used to take home leftovers at the end of a meal. Most of these Styrofoam containers were empty, a little sauce at the bottom and maybe a few bones he could gnaw on if he got desperate. But a few were tantalizingly partially full of stuff, mostly vegetables, carrots and celery with some blue cheese dipping sauce. It was better than nothing, but not by much.
After digging through the leftovers for a while, the fox decided to try the second of the two dumpsters, this one having its lid closed. He stood on his hindlegs to try and reach the top to pry it open but once again he just wasn’t large enough. He fell into a sitting position, pondering, wondering how he was going to open this second cornucopia of food products when a sound caused his head to whip around. The sound of a screen door banging shut let him know that someone had exited the bar through the back door, which was likely staff only. They couldn’t see him from where he was, now crouching in the small enclosure of concrete and steel fencing, but if they were coming to the dumpsters, they sure as hell would. Panicking, he tried to scramble up into the dumpster again, a better place to hide than being out in the open, but again he was just too small to reach it without some sort of boost. Still he tried frantically, claws clattering against the metal.
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Sept 16, 2016 3:05:40 GMT
Post by Lieselotte Freya Giehl on Sept 16, 2016 3:05:40 GMT
[googlefont="Playfair Display"][googlefont="Alice"] what does the fox say?
Lieselotte sighed a bit to herself, another day and another tourist was passed out in his own vomit on her bar. She ran her fingers through the dark curly hair and tugged his head up so she could wipe the vomit and drool from her mahogany bar top. She was getting tired of all of the tourists coming to New Orleans to drink their livers into failure and gawk at fake voodoo stands with paid actresses pretending to have the second sight. She put the head back down, allowing a satisfying smack as the patron’s beer saturated skull dropped to the drenched rag she left there.
Sure, she loved living in America. She loved having her bar, she loved her regulars, but there were times when she missed Germany. She missed the beauty of the mountains, she missed the brash attitudes that were so genuine compared to Americans, and she missed people who could actually hold their beer.
“You throw up on my floor and you lick it up.” She told him, knowing that he was probably out cold. She sighed and searched for a clean rag under her counter top. The usual box was empty, which annoyed her. She grabbed the empty box and told her bartenders that she would be back. There was a dumpster in the back that her hires were supposed to use for recycling, but it always seemed like she was the only one who bothered.
The muggy air hit her square in the chest and she remembered another reason why she couldn’t stand living in Louisiana. Muggy air that made her feel like she couldn’t breathe was disgusting and made her miss the crisp air of her motherland. There was a soft scratching sound from the dumpster after she tossed the cardboard into the recycling.
“Hello?” She called, no stranger to homeless people hiding out in her dumpster looking for scraps. She lifted the lid to the garbage, expecting to see someone starving and looking for anything to survive. Apparently it was against capitalistic values to feed the hungry, which explained a country with such high levels of obesity and starving children. When she spotted the little fox, she was honestly surprised.
“Oh, hello friend.” She held her hand out, knowing that any creature with so much fur had to be dying in this heat. “How are you okay, little one?” She asked, curious if it was someone’s pet or just a wild animal. Either way, it seemed a little too calm to be dangerous.
445 NOTES: hope it's okay !
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