11

Fandom

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*It’s Frank, dildo.*      12:23

*Drop your tiny pecker and listen up.*       12:23

*First off, how’s your mother doing?*      12:23

*Trick question.*      12:23

*I’m fucking her.*     12:23

*You got a job to do.*      12:23

*Furnace.*      12:23

*Tonight.*     12:23

*There’s a few concerns, but she paid up front and asked for you.*     12:23

 *Behave yourself.*       12:23

*I’m fucking serious this time shitbird.*      12:23 

*Don’t you come within fifteen fucking feet of that fucking bar or so help me God I’ll buy you a puppy with bladder issues and drop cheddar brats through your goddamn mail slot every goddamn day while you’re out being a fucking ugly idiot scaring the shit out of schoolchildren or whatever the fuck else you retards do all day.*      12:23

*I’ll fucking do it, babydick. Don’t test me.*      12:23

*Contacts name is Red.*     12:24

*Oh. One more thing. Something’s got her spooked.*     12:24

*Fuck if I know.*     12:24  

*Fuckin skirts’ll be the death of me.*     12:24

*Love them titties though… Woo! Goddamn.*     12:24

*Say, that reminds me.*    12:24

*Your mother says hello.*   12:25  

*Midnight fuckface.*    12:25 

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There are certain yearly events and a few 3-Day weekends where the typical ratio of starry eyed out-of-towners receives a 200% influx and completely overwhelms that which is already itself, overwhelming beyond comprehension.

This particular Saturday has an annual convention. It also happens to fall on a holiday wekend.

The busiest three day weekend.

One which tends to get a little… wild.

Thousands upon thousands of fun loving, fur-covered fucktards… ready to get lost in the sparkling streets of Las Vegas.

Traffic jams.

Over booked rooms.

Drunk tanks stacked ten dicks deep.

Bath tubs filled to the brim with kitty litter.

Yup… you guessed it.

The godamn Furries Convention.

Furfest, to be specific.

Barring the Adult Video Award show weekend, these fuzzy fucks cause the kind of havoc they tell tales about ten years after the fact.

A compliment, if nothing else.

You’ll hear stories about Italian sportscars manned by various farm animals and house pets. Cows and chickens in matching Mercedes that cruised in from Hollywood, racing Barn owls from tinsel town and pigeons from Pasadena.

Prairie dogs and Pomeranian Poodles take turns driving two toned Lamborghinis, passing by their buddy the gopher, who sips Mai Tais from a lidded Yeti tumbler in backseat of a minivan driven by hedgehogs on acid. The row of seats in front of the gopher houses two field mice free basing opium off absinth spoons, as the pair try in vain to connect their Bluetooth to portable speakers.

Pelicans pile into Priuses and smoke hash out of hookahs.

Animals of the world unite.

The sloths get there when they get there.

The Cheetahs try to break last years record by a few minutes, respectively.

Carefree and hell-bound, they gallop and trot and prance and trample their ways through a blackened Mojave night. An arid wasteland full of rattlesnake venom and mesquite whipped corpses.

Salt flats and shallow graves.

Death Valley day dreaming about bright city lights, long before they are on the final approach to the neon mirage in the distance, as the deceitful oasis crests over a backdrop of the new dawning day.

Looming across the foreground lay jagged limestone boulders, worn down by erosion and wind. Peaks crowning crooked above the horizon that lies beyond the empty basin below.

On the opposite side of the highway, every smart guy who thought they’d leave early to beat the traffic, didn’t stop to consider our collective hive-mind mentality, resulting in the impromptu two lane parking lot.

They sit together in defeated shame, watching a reenactment of what they themselves looked like just a few days earlier.

A real time replay of what hope once looked like.

Deja vu for delusional dipshits.

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11:34

Fuck…

“Ladies, right this way.” says the ogre that could fit you up his ass. He continues… “Let’s keep it moving ladies. Thank you, thank you! Keep it moving. Thank you. Lovely. Lovely. Lovely… Ladies! Lets go! Move it along. Move it along. Holding up my line.”

“Let’s go, girls!” Says a talking lady skunk.

His henchman removes the velvet rope barrier and a trio of lady skunks bounce cheerfully by him, causing a rabble of guffaw and gobbledegook from the rambunctious Zootopia of indignant impatience, which stands in line outside the booming building.

As it happens, you and Andre The Giant here have a bit of a sordid history…

More on that later.

No worries.

A minor inconvenience. These things happen.

Now here’s where people usually consider their options, rather than examine all the variables. But why make plans when you can essentially determine the outcome?

We used to call this stage: Optia-Tertio. Most know it as third time’s a charm.

The original plan being to tell Frank to fuck himself.

Plan B was to walk in the front door.

Alas… these thing happen.

Now. The southeast alleyway that runs parallels to the cinder block industrial style midcentury factory is the optimal choice for two reasons: only two operational CCTV cameras and just a single door man.

*grunt *grunt *grunt*

As you enter the south side of the corridor, exchange glances with a red eyed beast and his 6” bullring, as it sways to the rhythm of a sheep’s heads. The soft egg white color of plush curves gently into a trace of fair skinned neckline, then down the zigzag tan lines of a burgundy halter top, before finally thinning to a Levi miniskirt and bare knees resting on asphalt.

He breaks the rhythm a half step to give you a nod of This alley is mine, the flock is mine, if you're still here when I'm done with this one, you are next in line and I'm just getting warmed up.

Easy big guy… they’re all yours…

Another fun tip. Drag your feet ever so slightly when approaching people from behind. No need to spook somebody who has their back turned, when you just as effortlessly can alert them to your presence beforehand.

Its a simple consideration. Being Pro-active, rather than reactive.

Consider this. Consider that.

Consider your options before hand and you won’t be picking up the pieces of your fuck-ups later.

Or pieces of your teeth.

In this case…Anything.

Anything, other than approaching a stranger from behind in complete silence, while waiting until you’re in a rather personal interface before blah-ing out some inexplicably amplified greeting.

It is not only rude. It’s dangerous.

They will naturally get startled, because someone just snuck up on them for absolutely no reason. Sure, they could be more situationally aware, but come on.

It’s understandable to be distracted by a six foot tall koala bear having a break dance competition with two gibbons in formal dinner wear.

We get it. But a little consideration leads to a lot less apologies.

An added bonus here, is that your efforts are not just a philanthropic exercise or a polite thing to do, but can also act as a wonderful piece of leverage to be used to your advantage.

Take this next example, for instance.

Slow to see who’s winning the impromptu mammalian dance off, be sure to face the person of interest so your front side is exposed. Now that you’ve alerted the doorman to your presence, slow your stride and drop your shoulders. Angle the chin downward ever so slightly.

This is a submissive display in many primates.

These little congruities are vital for the sway to take root.

Little triggers in our primitive subconscious meat sacks recognize patterns like nothing else. Evolutionarily defense mechanisms that are trying to keep us alive long enough so we can destroy ourselves anyway.

An item such as glasses or cigarettes will have been placed in an inner breast pocket beforehand, for you to reach in to retrieve when necessary.

That way you’ll have a naturally fluid motion and valid explanation for the display itself.

It’s not forced.

55% of what we convey is done through body language.

That’s actually a huge selling point for these fuzzy fauna frolicking about.

People with social anxiety issues and nuero-divergent groups flocked to the Furry community over the years, both as a fun social activity and sense of community, but the suits themselves help to act as a barrier between them and others.

This allows for some boundaries to be stretched and breakthroughs to happen.

This is a good thing.

A breakthrough of boundaries is just as important as setting of boundaries.

That which you are not changing you are also choosing.

The behavior you accept becomes acceptable behavior.

We teach others how to treat us…

Case and point.

The door man stands at attention as you encroach his zone of awareness. Reach in to remove the cigarette pack from your left jacket pocket, while you gently grip each lapel to graciously flaunt your sign of solidarity.

The submissive displays, restricted movement, and this last subtle flair of the jacket pop to show him you’re unarmed, are all designed to ease the threat level down.

You see.

Negotiations are all about leverage.

This case being one of disadvantage for us. 

We need something. The Gatekeeper is in between us and our something.

Thus, The Gatekeeper has the leverage.

The threat reduction from unsolicited compliance only serves to help level the playing field. But in this city…

Cash is King.

So in this particular case, it was also to flash the crisp bill in your hand as you extend it out to say I’m Frank’s guy.

His eyes widen as he takes a half step back. “You? No. Oh no. No way man. You’re banned from stepping foot on the property.”

Fresh enough to show hesitation, but has clearly been here long enough to understand the significance of the namedrop.

You’ll have that.

He avoids eye contact as the bill exchanges hands and you breach the perimeter four minutes ahead of schedule.

The kitchen service corridor is filled with bottles and crates and kegs and cans. Wine boxes are piled haphazardly about the linen closet.

Mildew stained custodian uniforms hang next to collared V-neck polos in a storage closet. Each with a name sewn in red onto the left breast.

Non pockets. Split hem.

“Hey, Frank’s guy.” From your new pal, as you carefully hang your shirt in the only empty locker and slip your new costume on. “I’d keep that on if I were you. Surveillance knows your face.”

Check your hair in the spotted reflection of stainless drink tray.

Don’t touch my shirt.

As the swinging passthrough door closes over itself, you barely catch… “You’re… HIM. Aren’t you? The one they always talk about… You’re him?”

Gently lower the plush head so it doesn’t flatten your hair.

Don’t ask questions you don't want the answer to, Amigo.

Showtime.

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11:47

On the main stage, a spot lit Panda Bear gleams with glowing delight.

Beneath the over sized plush head, the female bear is shaved from the neck down. Two white pieces of medical tape lay crossed over each other on her areolas, creating white X marks the spot.

Hand a treat to a passing blue jaguar and one to the purple pig.

*MEOW! *OINK *OINK *OINK

A flock of seagulls are attempting to walk like Egyptians on a pulsing stage, as 80’s synth dance beats boom from the speakers.

A mother lioness and her three cubs approach next, heading towards the stairs for the VIP area.

Hand all four a treat as they pass.

“RAWR!”

You decide to be number five and file in line behind the pride.

Down here on the ground, you see nature as nature is, when the predators are taking their naps or have had their fill for the time being.

Hand a treat to the Squirrels with their nuts and chipmunks with their cheeks.

*Squeak *squeak *squeak.

Same goes for the rabbits who have gathered together with matching pink drinks, which are now soaking up the pink liquid into a few of the floppy gray ears.

*Squeak *squeak *squeak.

The only thing worse than a fox in the henhouse is a hen house in a fox’s world.

Within most every level of mammalian domains there are established hierarchical chains of command.

A ranking system.

*WOOF WOOF

The pecking order.

*HONK HONK HONK

Sure you’ve have your typical predators and their prey which fight for their own little piece of whatever places where they aren’t habitually murdered and then subsequently eaten.

Speaking of… a murder of crows lean over the upper railing to drop cashews onto the kitty cats below them, each engaged in playful teasing, each enthralled as such. 

*COCKADOODLEDOO

Drop some treats next to the playful felines and hand the flamboyance of flamingos each one too.

Treats for the tribe of goats and treats for the cackle of hyenas.

Lift a single VIP area lanyard from a Kangaroos pouch purse, in exchange for a pair of tasty homemade snacks.

Approach the guard at the base of the steps, but let two lady lynx hot bodies squeeze past first, deflecting the attention and allowing you pass by unmolested.

But not before handing them all a treat and nodding.

Several fuzzy ear and most of the watchful are facing you as enter the VIP area.

Above the dance floor, a colony of vampire bats dangle shoulder to shoulder with some opossums allies, all of which are bound in skintight leather bondage gear. The colony hang upside down from a pivoted fulcrum that’s fixed to the crown of enormous steel cages, which dangle precariously above the gathering of festive fur covered phantasm.

*ROAR

Leather bound meerkats pose for selfies underneath, attempting to make their filters match their shitty photogenic skills but all they get in a blurry mess of nocturnal sway, and the only filter they achieve is to further the dissonance they create with their very being.

*QUACK QUACK QUACK

They all accept a treat as well.

The topless Panda on stage pinches assorted fiat between her ass cheeks as she glares backward and inverted through its stems wrapped in six inch stiletto heels. The clench is released as the song changes over to the next and the endangered bear gracefully rolls to her back and presents the eager audience with a gleaming V shape, made solely from thigh muscles and pelvic bone wrapped in a hot pink G-string.

One panda paws tucks loose bills into the lining of lace panties, while the other flicks furiously at a nipple, two of which appear to be leaking a cloudy white liquid.

Toss a treat into the pile of assorted fiat as you walk past.

Coffee tables are littered with overpriced bottles of assorted intoxicants, each varying in their proof, all guaranteed in practice… tried and true certainty, as it happens.

*Yap *Yap *Yap

Glass cups sit unattended, all bubbling liquid that dies at a room's temperature pacing.

The fuzzy water is becoming flat and the Dom Perignon is now becoming the damp spot on a peacocks mini skirt.

There’s a business of ferrets and a passel of pigs. A prickle of porcupine funnel beers and shiver of sharks share a humongous Rum-Runner cocktail.

*Bark Bark Bark

Each and every creature gets their own tiny treat...

Full of top notch Grade-A MDMA… and extra strength laxatives.

Including your favorite booth so far, equipped with four turtles and a rat, all sharing slices of dripping pizza.

*Woof *Woof

On either side of the veranda, overpriced bottles of imported liquor are chilling on the table next to glass stemware.

One booth has wolf pack drinking mead and playing five card draw poker, another has a congress of baboons playing quarters.

Lay a handful of neatly wrapped treats on the edge of the table as you pass.

The school of clown fish struggle to fasten two drinking straw together for an extended makeshift party time pipeline. Railroad tracks of white powder eagerly awaits their gills. The thin white lines rest on top of a clear polyurethane box, which contains a naked human contortionist.

The fish have us in tanks now.

Most everyone is caged in some way. By their fears. Their addictions.

Freedom is just another lie we sell ourselves.

Another attempt at maintaining sense of power we never had.

*HOWL!

Turns out…

A little motivation and the proper pettiness level can make magic happen. Or mayhem.

In this case.

A little culinary prowess and some powerful party drugs are a token of appreciation for your furry friends.

The costume you’re wearing is a last minute favor called in for this specific venue.

*Bing bang bam.

A few designs printed and slapped onto some light brown garments and boom: a zoo-keepers outfit.

A Motor cycle helmet, some leftover prosthetic makeup and a little God-given natural talent and viola: a new Furry head for yours truly.

A couple of Canadian geese in hockey jersey drink pints of lager and red mohawked duck with sunglasses and gold chains posts up with its elbows on the bar top facing the inside of the room and eyeballs the approaching security guards intently.

The duck is wearing a tuxedo shirt with the sleeves cut off and khaki colored cargo shorts hanging above twin combat boots.

Security surround the duck who crosses its arms in defiance.

Further down the bar an otter sips a martini and watches the spectacle unfold…

“Are you Franks guy?’” Turn to see a red fox staring at you with intent. It says, “Frank said I’d know when I saw you. Yours is different than the rest. Shitty. What are you supposed to be anyway?”

Nod in saddened approval and say Red?

She nods.

I’m The Honey Badger. Frank sent me. Got somewhere quiet we can talk?

Proceed to follow the rude fox back towards the single room being used as the office.

The bass of the house music vibrates the walls as the door closes behind you.

“It’s my sister. She’s missing.”

Call the cops. File a missing persons report with Clark County Sheriffs Department.

“Did that. She works the circuit. Has a record for hooking. Their search was over before it started, those fat pig fucks. That’s why I went to Frank.”

Where does Frank come into play?

“My sister told me she’s got a regular client who finds things for Frank. The kind of things that can’t be found. I told Frank, so if he sent you, then you’re the guy I’m looking for. Amy said you’re an asshole but she trusts you… Amy doesn’t even trust me.”

Fuck…

Take off the plush covered helmet and reach into the manila envelope she handed you and pull out a picture of your favorite over-priced cuddle buddy… Your names Kelly?

She removes her oversized fox head to reveal a blond version of your foul mouthed friend. “Yea. Why?”

Howls and hoots a crows and caws are getting louder from outside the window.

Followed by screams and shouts…

She continues, “I work for Frank too, that’s why I’m staying incognito. He’s got a hand in this, I fucking know it, that bastard piece of shit. But I didn’t know who else to go to. Amy’s all I got left

Need a last known location.

“I haven’t seen her since this weekend when she left with that dead beat boyfriend of hers to go score on the North side. Does that mean you’ll find her?”

I promise nothing but the facts. How do I contact you.

“I’ll be here. Missing sister or not, bills gotta get paid, right?”

If you don’t hear from me 24 hours from now, that means I’m dead and so is she.

Stand up and turn towards the exit.

“Hey. Her name. It’s Amy, but her street name is—”

Baby Girl…

I know.

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