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The fox read over the manuscript with purpose, his eyes skimming across the words from behind his half-moon glasses between occasional breaks for a sip of tea. He seemed entirely unaware of the world around him; the only thing that might matter existed inside the world he clutched in his hands. It wasn't a big manuscript, only half a dozen pages or so, but he treated it like it might be the next Lord of the Rings, or perhaps the next Narnia. For him, it was all that was important in that moment.

It was not so for the otter who sat across from him. He studied the fox nervously, like he didn't want to but couldn't stop himself. He fidgeted with the frays on his jacket, unable to tear his eyes away from the diminutive fox sitting across from him. He tried to glean any sort of meaning, any judgement from the smallest twitch that fox might take, but he could get nothing from it. Just when he was certain the fox would bark out a criticism, he caught something that made him think it might be a compliment instead. Yet the fox never spoke, simply sipping his tea and flipping pages.

Damn that tea. If it hadn't been there, perhaps the fox might have finished by now. Perhaps he would have finished minutes ago. Every second spent sipping that damn tea-!

The fox stopped again to take a sip, but frowned, finding that somehow his cup had emptied itself. He sat down the manuscript instead, pushing his glasses up and peering over them meaningfully at the otter, who sat in rapt anxiety and anticipation at what the fox might say.

He cleared his throat, shuffling the papers around to their original order. "Alright, Talon..." Talon's ears perked up. The fox sighed, looking at his otter friend and starting again. "Talon, as you know I'm doing this as a favor to you. I, uh, I quite like you, and think highly of your ability as a writer." Talon smiled a bit, his chest swelling at the compliments. Unfortunately, the fox was a fan of 'complement sandwiches'. "So, let me be clear that what I'm about to say is as honest as I get, and I only say it to help you. Talon... this is shit."

Talon's face crumpled, his broad shoulders drooping in disappointment. "See, uh, don't feel bad!" The fox tried to soften the blow a tad. "There's lots of potential in here! See, you know what the issue is, it's that..."

The fox continued talking but Talon wasn't listening. The otter stared blankly at the empty cup of tea sitting next to the manuscript. Just a bit of it had gotten on the paper, soaking the edge and causing it to curl ever so slightly. It was the fucking tea's fault.

"...and the use of dialogue is quite poor, cutting in and out like..."

Talon rested his head on his paw, trying to stay calm. He knew he should be listening, and that his friend probably had some good criticism going on right now, but he couldn't. It just hurt.

"...and, of course, you should already know that..."

It was the fucking tea. That nerd and his fucking tea. Talon had tried hard in school, he wanted to be a writer and did his damndest to be one! He poured his heart and soul into it, he'd tried to work on it for years now, and yet still-

"So don't feel bad; it's a very good first attempt." The fox had finished and looked at Talon with a careful look, the way one might look at a child about to cry.

A pause hung in the air before Talon cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah. Thanks, Mark. A good first try." It had not been his first try; he lost count of how many times he had tried. This was simply the first time he'd tried to use Mark as an editor. No one else would edit him at this point.

Mark smiled pleasantly, surprised and happy to see his friend wasn't taking it too personally. "See? And I've marked plenty of places where you can improve. I, uh, do look forward to seeing your second draft, lots of good parts. Do you suppose I could get another cup."

Talon blinked a bit to see Mark holding up his empty teacup. He'd zoned out a little, still stewing in his sour mood. That fucking tea... it was the tea's fault. If he hadn't been drinking that tea, he would have seen how well it flowed, but it was all interrupted by that fucking tea!

"Of course." He said softly, taking the cup in one paw and the manuscript in the other. He disappeared into the kitchen to the sound of Mark continuing his critique. Fucking Mark, so fucking full of himself... he tossed the manuscript onto the table next to the pile of pens he kept there, turning around and putting the tea on.

The otter set the teacup aside and sighed, sitting down at the kitchen table. Maybe he just wasn't cut out for writing... if Mark had thought this was his first attempt, surely it wasn't even worth going on. This latest draft had took him two whole months, and it was only six pages! He had agonized over every word choice, the sentence structure, the deep philosophical meaning of every symbol, and the fox brushed it away with three words. 'This is shit.'

This is shit. It's all shit. He sat there a while, stewing in his mood and ignoring his good-natured friend going on and on in the other room. His eyes wandered to the manuscript. It was a flurry of red dashes, circled phrases, and question marks. It looked like a particularly mean teacher in a particularly bad mood had graded the essay of a particularily poor student.

Should he even bother editing it?

He mulled the question over a few moments before sighing, looking to his pen pile. They were one of his few prides in life; he'd been acquiring fountain pens for years before he had even started writing, and now he had quite the collection. All colors, all sizes and shapes; it was the reason he wrote his manuscripts by hand. His hand hovered over the pile a little bit before he finally chose one. It was a simple black fountain pen he'd been given by one of his editors, a Lynch Castrgard. While Castrgard had been his editor only a few weeks before he left the company, he had been a favorite of Talon's and the feeling seemed mutual. Castrgard had, upon his departure, given Talon this pen as a gift, telling him to use it wisely. Talon had not used it, but why not use it now? He was considering leaving; at least his last words could be writ by that pen.

He had no sooner set the tip of the pen to the page to change a word than Mark called from the living room. "Say, where's the tea? You do have more cream, don't you?"

Talon had to bite back an annoyed growl, jotting down angrily on the page. 'Mark hates tea'. By God, the otter wished it so! Before he could answer Mark's call, the fox yelled again. "A-Actually..." He seemed confused. "Actually, could I have coffee? I, uh, I quite prefer it."

Talon stared at the pen in amazement. Did... did those words really come out of Mike's mouth? The posh fox had never once drank coffee in Talon's presence, and now he was asking for it instead of tea? His gaze drifted to the words he had written in anger. 'Mark hates tea'. Could it be?

He had to know. Slowly he lowered the pen to the page, a certain reverence and fear in his motion. He had to know... but what should he write? He decided to play it safe. 'Mark will bark like a feral'. As soon as Talon dobbed the period onto the page, Mark began to bark from the other room, his voice high and smooth but still trying to imitate the rough growl of a feral dog. It stopped abruptly, and then, "I... uh, I'm sorry."

The otter barely heard his friend, staring in awe at the pen. Lynch had given him a gift - no, Lynch had given him a power. Thousands of possibilities ran through his mind as how to use it. He could be rich, he could change his fate, he could be president, he could do anything! Slowly his mind slowed down, coming to one subject in particular. He didn't think to magic his writing skills into existence, nor to give himself money, fame, or anything. His thoughts settled on Mark.

That bastard. That pompous, tea-sipping bastard. Always uppity, better-than, even in high school! He was a small little bastard but he was always better at every sport they played, he had a beautiful wife, intelligent children, was a respected professor. Why the fuck should he get all the good lot in life?

A jolt of excitement coursed through Talon's veins as he set the pen to the page again. 'Mark was never one for school. He actually hated every second of it.' He could feel his memories changing; in seconds, it became his reality that Mark hated school. He would often talk about what a waste it was to go, how he had better things to do. Talon could remember the old reality, yes, but it seemed... distant, unreal. Like it was a movie he once watched. Confusingly, Talon could still remember Mark's high marks in school, his professorship, his beautiful wife, his wonderful children. Apparently the little fuck had worked through his hatred of school and was successful anyways! Talon scoffed - he'd show the little fox what for! He lowered his pen again. 'This was because every second spent in school was a second he wasn't able to suck cock; Mark knew from a very young age that's all he wanted to do'.

Reality warped again, and Talon chuckled with satisfaction as he felt his memories changing. Gone were the memories of a beautiful wife and wonderful kids. Mark's wedding, for which Talon was the best man, disappeared only to be replaced with memories upon memories of the two fucking, the fox's thick ass swallowing the otter's cock. In the bathroom, in the janitor's closet, in public and at his place. Mark was a proud whore who had sucked every cock in their high school at least twice.

"Honey, come heeere!" Mark called from the living room again, but his voice had a more plaintive wail to it, a need. Talon remembered; Mark had just returned from his class at the university and was crazy for a cock. It had been hours between sessions.

Wait, the fuck? The bugger still was a fucking professor! Talon growled to himself under his breath, furiously writing. 'The main reason he hated school, however, was because he simply wasn't that bright.' A whole cascade of memories collapsed, erased to be taken over by the new reality. 'He struggled to pass grade school, and once high school hit, he simply was held back until he could drop out legally. He didn't care; he only cared about things that would lead to cock sucking, taking cock, or sucking balls'. He paused a moment before adding, "... or hanging with Talon, his favorite person'.

The professorship disappeared from Talon's mind. He was no longer second in his class; he was the Valedictorian now that Mark no longer was taking up that spot. He no longer remembered Mark's speech as anything but a vague dream. That speech... it had changed things for Talon. It had motivated him, kept him going when nothing else seemed to. It was the reason he had asked Mark here in the first place; that speech gave him the energy to go on.

He sat up, dropping the pen on the table carelessly as his surroundings changed. No longer was he in an old Victorian, clean and tidy. His career slipped from his mind, and so did his college graduation. He had never graduated; he had dropped out halfway through. He didn't live in New York; he lived in the same small town he grew up in. Each step away from the paper changed another thing of his life. He never had a girlfriend. His parents haven't talked to him in years.

The walls became bare brick in desperate need of cleaning. His shrinking house turned into a run-down apartment. The windows were boarded up, and most of his furnature disappeared. In the corner of the room was an old television and dozens of consoles, and in the center was a ratty old mattress with no sheets. On it lay Mark; Talon just a few moments ago wouldn't have recognized the fox laying prostate in front of him. The old Mark had conditioned short-trimmed fur. He wore half-moon glasses and dressed sharply, always like he was going to meet the queen. His teeth were white and perfect, and he would never, never lounge in front of anyone that wasn't his wife. This person on the bed... this person was different. The two Marks looked the same, but that was it. This new Mark had scruffy, greasy, clumpy fur. He had put on a little weight, so his belly pudged out delightfully. His teeth were yellow and out of line, because he had his braces taken off after someone complained it hurt their cock. He wore a dumb, glazed expression and an even dumber smile. Most importantly, he was entirely naked, exposing his brown, gaping hole, his half-hard cock and his body, which were covered in weeks worth of dried bodily fluids, mostly cum and drool.

Mark giggled a little, licking his lips and spreading his hole. "Heya, hubby." He grinned wider and spread his legs, one paw playing with a pierced nipple. "What say ya play hooky and jus' skip work today, yeah? Spend a little, uh, quality time together." He giggled again like he'd said the funniest thing.

Talon grinned, stepping out of his pants. It was his fifth job this month, he could find another. Besides, he could never get enough time with his Marky. Somewhere behind them, the manuscript and the pen disappeared. After all, Talon had never met Lynch Castrgard, had he?