Sundog
#1 of new folder...
{{So... hey! I actually uploaded something! Yay, me! Now nobody can call me out for simply lurking on this site. I HAVE CONTRIBUTED!
I think my main problem with submitting stuff I've written is the fact that there isn't much "Furry" about it. I don't really write anthro stuff. I don't really write feral stuff. I write hybrid stuff, though, when the mood takes me. Shapeshifters and dragons and other things galore, hells to the yeah!!
BUT YEAH BLATHER.
This has been sitting on my computer for years. Probably needs to be revised [and I should revise it before uploading it... oh, well.] but I'll take care of that later. Might continue with the concept, mayhaps. Dunno. We'll see.
Enjoy.}}
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_ SUNDOG _
======== The waiting space was dark. Cramped. It smelled like sticky popcorn and stale candy, and I wrinkled my nose against the faintly annoying odor as I waited. The tiny cylindrical tunnel seemed to press down on me, though I was crouched as low as I could get to the filthy floor. Cracks of light seeped beneath the round flap of brightly patterned leather that covered the way out, but other than this insignificant glow, the place was completely black. Lightless. Choking.
This was the worst part of it. The stares and pokes I could handle, and I yawned at the thought of my routine. And, of course, I welcomed the much-needed repast at the end of the day. But the waiting...
The waiting I could do without.
The drums sounded, and I heard the massive exit door grate open somewhere below me. The harsh metallic squeals spiked my brain like so many little nails being driven into my skull. Cringing, I suffered through the long, agonizing seconds as the act before mine made their exit. Trumpets blared, adding their shrill fanfare to the already overpowering cacophony of sound. The wide door beneath me shrieked shut, shaking the frame as it rumbled closed with a final, echoing boom. I tensed, steadying myself.
Then everything went silent.
The drums died. The trumpets ceased their ear-assaulting noise. The amused chatter of the audience faded to eager anticipation. They knew what was coming. And if they didn't, well...
"And now, ladies and gentlemen!"
...Now they would.
"The moment you've all been waiting for!"
The sliver of light beneath the leather door vanished, and I sighed, disturbing the piles of popcorn and candy dust on the floor. I knew the lights had been cut, and the only spotlight remaining was focused on the center ring. I knew that Fustian had swept off his silk top hat and was strutting around the sawdust floor like a peacock before his hens. Rolling my eyes, I tried my best to ignore his hushed words.
"Found in the wettest reaches of the Amazon, she is the rarest thing you'll ever see. Two hundred pounds of pure muscle-"
Eight feet of lithe sleekness, I droned along with him, shaking my head in disgust as I climbed to my feet. Pushing past the heavily-painted door, I sat on the small unlit platform on the other side and waited.The most amazing sight from here to Timbuktu; I give you-
"Anthelion!" Light screamed into my face, and I screwed up my eyes. Damn, that hurt! My teeth bared as a feral snarl ripped itself from the depths of my soul; the audience exploded into applause. Swiping huge paws at the painful intrusion of light, I sprang from my platform high above the ring to a lower raised podium. From this stand I leaped to the ground, sending clouds of animal-scented sawdust into the stagnant air. The crowd loved me. They always did. And I never disappointed them. How could I? Years of doing the same routine, night after night... I was on autopilot anymore. Automatic action. Going through the motions.
The whip cracked, slashing through the air to snap near my face. I hissed, striking out again._Watch it, Fustian._With the spotlight needling into my face and flashbulbs from cameras sparking off in every direction, I could barely see a thing. I spun on the spot as Fustian's whip cracked behind me, roaring in his general direction. He wouldn't hit me. He'd made that mistake only once in the past year.
"Up!" he commanded, brandishing his whip once more. "Up, Anthelion!"
I growled, drawing back to balance on my hind paws. Easy. The crowd oohed and aahed at my amazing animal feat before the ringmaster sent me through the routine. Jumping through hoops, climbing a pole, balancing on the back of an elephant. And, of course, keeping my mouth open long enough for him to stick his greasy head between my jaws. Oh, how I longed to bite down. It'd be quick. Painless, for him.
But it'd be the end of the world, for me.
Not soon enough, my part was over, and I leaped back onto the highest, least-lit pedestal to watch the clowns shoot water balloons at the crowd. The show was wrapping up. Finally. I flicked my tail in bored amusement as a clown tossed a balloon my way. I watched it rise, but drop before it even reached half the height to my perch. Not one to give up, the entertainer recruited the assistance of some of his buddies. The crowd laughed as, one by one, the clowns climbed on one another's shoulders, making a human ladder. When they were as high as they could reach, the topmost jester pulled a massive water balloon from his baggy overalls and pitched it my way.
It rose above me, its curving flight giving it the perfect opportunity to drench me. But I rolled over just as it came down, and caught it between my paws, claws carefully sheathed. Giving a little kick, I sent the water bomb back the way it had come, then rolled to watch it plummet.
Ah, how the crowd laughed when the uppermost clown was soaked by his own missile! Shaking his fist in mock anger, he climbed back down his ladder and stomped out of the ring, followed by his highly amused fellows. I played my part by yawning comically as he left.
And then it was over.
The lights went out, the crowds filed away, and the cleanup crew began their work. I sprang from my pedestal to the platform where I'd made my entrance, and pushed my way through the cramped tunnel. In the gloom, my hair-thin pupils relaxed and widened, sighing in sweet relief from the sharp lights in the ring. Slinking through the popcorn-candy tunnel, I went down the steps that led from the tunnel to my car. Fustian called it a car, anyway. It was a huge metal box with big metal bars on four very small metal wheels. Like a train car, but for a circus.
Exactly like a train car for a circus.
A train cage, basically.
The back was never locked, so I let myself in - a simple lever pulled down by the weight of a bulky paw. The outside of the car looked small, but the inside was deceptively large. The whole was divided into two rooms; a barred observation side for the crowds, and my own personal room. For now, I ignored the soft bed that cried to be used and pushed through the metal door straight into the open-aired section. Hard steel floor, hard steel bars. The hard steel panel clanged shut behind me, and I began my act of pacing up and down the length of the car, snarling at people who would get too close. Up one way, then down another. For minutes and minutes and minutes...
The setting sun reached a point in its descent where its light speared right into my car, and I was forced towards the walls of my enclosure, laying with my head in the sparse shadows. I watched people walk by, flicking my tail and yawning whenever the situation called for such action. Children with sticky cotton candy fingers reached through the bars of my car when their parents weren't looking, trying to touch the pretty fur that seemed just out of their reach. All too soon the ignorant adults would realize this and snatch their precious bundles out from harm's way. It was a typical happening. I'd seen it before. And I would, no doubt, see it again. This game was monotonous like that.
And then, even the last lingering individuals were gone. The sun had abandoned its attempt to blind me and had sunk below the horizon, leaving nothing but a livid orange glow to mark its inevitable return. I rose from my half-dozing position on the car floor and let myself into the rear compartment. The metal clanged behind me once again, and I turned to lock it shut. This done, I shed my crowd-expected form for a more comfortable, natural one.
My hair was not long, nor was it excessively short; or curly or straight. It touched the backs of my shoulders only slightly. My thin, dark face seemed even darker compared to the smoke-colored frame around it. I sat in front of my mirror (ringed with lights, thanks to Fustian) and looked myself over. In the reflection, a dark, slender-but not bony-hand rose to touch my mirrored cheek, rose to touch the spiral tattoos that wove under one eye. Fingers that were slightly longer than a human's drummed on the reflection's skin. I smiled faintly, then reached to click off the lights.
{{So, yeah. That's all I've got. OHEY BEFORE YOU GO - I'm a massive constuctive criticism whore. So, like, if you see something that should be changed, or that could be made better-er, you should tell me. 'nstuff.}}