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Foreword

This is my first novel. I'd like to note that a lot of things change later on in the story because I didn't plan this all out in advance and that there are a lot of plot holes (stuff like how 'insane' my protagonist is - he started pretty bad, but later I changed my mind and toned that down). So, I do plan to come back in the future and fix all this, but for the moment please just bear with me. Thanks. Also, I'm not done yet - I'm expecting to have around 21-23 parts total.

Anyway, this story contains homo/bisexuality (implied more than explicit) and violence, so consider yourself warned. On the flip side, there's not very much sex at all, so if that's what you're after you'd do better to look else where.

I know this needs work. Please comment with your thoughts and especially constructive criticism so that I can keep improving my writing. I won't be offended, and I really love getting feedback, both on my old parts like this one and my newer stuff.

Thanks for reading!

• Xi

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All's Fair

I was fourteen the second time someone tried to rape me. First day in high school, the whole bit. Met him in the bathroom, word had spread somehow that I'm gay, and he didn't much like me. Don't get me wrong, though: he was definitely good-looking, seven feet of Bengal tiger, and I would have considered it if he'd just asked. And if he'd had more IQ than a pencil eraser. And more decorum than a toad. And if we'd known each other for longer than two minutes. Like a couple of years. And were actually friends.

So my standards are a little high.

Anyway, you don't argue too much with someone a foot and some taller than you, especially when you're only in basic shape and he's built like a tank. Not that he gave me much chance; thirty seconds of banter, a couple nasty cracks each, and I'd been forced into a stall with him.

I did warn him that if he tried it he'd be sorry. His idea of an appropriate response was to punch me. He gave me a kick while I was counting stains on the tile, then pulled his pants down and told me to get started.

Now, if you're going to fight, the poetic thing to do is to hit him right where he wants you to get busy. I'm not much into poetry, and I'm a good, fast jumper. I went for the eyes.

I heard they took him to the hospital when someone heard his screaming, and that he never fully recovered his sight.

Now: Introductions.

My name is Nick. I'm a husky, very short at five-five and thin, with black and white fur that I dye red around the borders when I can, and large sky-blue husky eyes. I assume I'm good looking because everyone flirts with me. I'm definitely not one of those stupid, innocent little dogs who finds the love of his life and is fucking him twelve hours later. I don't accidentally bump into him at school and get an instant crush, which he miraculously returns. That's called fantasy.

My team at the juvenile correction center were overjoyed to have me back. If you believed that I have some swampland in the Sahara with your name on it. Still, this one wasn't really my fault. Or at least, it was provoked. My lawyer - oh, yeah, you get a lawyer just for you at the center, courtesy of the state, and mine was well-used and well-paid - eventually convinced the school to let me back in, a month later.

So it's definitely not the same cliched new-kid-in-town deal; I'd lived here for eight years or so. But the center has its own primary schools, and it only sends you out into public high schools because they know you're leaving them for good once you're sixteen and this is their last chance to break you into the 'real' world - if the term applies to high school.

They'd upgraded their clerk at the front desk; the latest edition was a pretty little coyote who looked like she took student's brains out and ate them for breakfast. She was very thin. But the point was that she had no idea who I was; she simply handed me the timetable and a map. Not so the students - I got speculative looks from virtually everyone. And I didn't have the blessing of being late to clear the halls; in fact, I'd been dropped off early with strict instructions to have my schedule, find my rooms, and see my first period professor before school started. I didn't bother with the second, instead only glanced at the map to find my rooms. I nearly blew off the last, too - I was enjoying the stares - but at the last minute changed my mind and started off.

First class was composition - at eight in the morning, my mind automatically replaced it with 'rest period' - until I saw the professor. I didn't know stags could look that dangerous. Rippling muscles stretched the thin fabric of his uniform - uniforms were required of students and professors alike, and while thin they were still a bitch in the September warmth. You could actually see the muscles moving when he did, pulling his bones according to his will with liquid grace. His name was Professor Roderick. He wasn't especially pleased to have me; most people aren't. He looked directly at me, making me want to straighten into a military salute. "Well, Mr. Donovan," he said bluntly, "I don't know what kind of trouble put you into J.C., but if you try anything in my class I will make you suffer for it. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly, sir," I answered calmly. After all, there was trouble and then there was trouble, and he wasn't omniscient. He nodded crisply and pointed out my seat.

We were placed two to a table, and my new companion did not look especially pleased to see me either. She looked like a bear-fox mix, oddly graceful in a slow way, and she glared down her blunt muzzle at me before sitting down and pointedly looking out the window. I grinned toothily at her back and stretched, making my chair creak loudly. One of her claws twitched.

Composition cannot be made to be fun, not even when it's being taught by someone who ought to be in the Royal Marines. I did, however, spend a couple of happy minutes imagining him soaking wet, water running in rivulets down his fur and shining on his antlers. My companion took assiduous notes on the structure of and common tools used in persuasive essays; I took a few notes, written backwards and occasionally evolving into swirling, thorny doodles. But I have a good memory, even when I'm not paying much attention. I amused myself by flicking my ears at the furs in the back of the room to see if they were watching me. It they are, they usually turn back to the front and start scribbling if they think you're listening for them.

Class was eighty minutes of lecture, plus a reading assignment and essay. Blah. I was at the door almost before the professor had finished dismissing us, smiling innocently at him and then looking boldly, saucily at the class before leaving.

As I stowed my books in my new locker it occurred to me that at least he hadn't made me do one of those pathetic hello-I'm-the-new-kid-nice-to-meet-you spiels. The next class was a double period for physical science - definitely one of the more useless subjects in the world; seriously, density and atomic mass serve absolutely no practical purpose unless you're going into some brainy field, and even less so when they've dumbed it down past any possible application to the real world so that it's good for a nationally propagated introductory course. The professor was a plump pinto rabbit who had the rare distinction of being even shorter than me, not counting her ears, who went by the name of Professor Brown. She was cheerful to the point of being a bit off-putting, and as far as I could tell she sincerely loved to teach her subject. Poor thing. She introduced me to the class in a high-pitched voice and tacked me onto the end of one of the lab groups in front, who were shy a fur. Now this is again where I ought to have been meeting my one true love, but it didn't work out. Not that some of the furs in class didn't show promise, even to the point of drop-dead gorgeousness, but no one really stuck out, and in any case none of them were in my group. Just another rabbit and two foxes chatting cheerfully with each other and anyone else within ten feet. They quieted down once the lecture started - all the way to excited whispers. Their names were Todd and Becky, apparently, and they seemed happy to have me. I had to laugh, but they thought I was amused at a joke Todd had just told.

One hundred seventy minutes produces a lot of doodles, even when for thirty of them or so I was either roaming the old brick-and-tile halls during the midway break or burning salts in the lab. I think it was to show that they released different wavelengths of light; mostly it was chaos plus a nicely done char around the edge of some of my doodles.

Cafeteria B-lunch made the correction center's food look gourmet, but I had a nasty suspicion it would grow on me somewhat. Like mold. I ate quickly in the stifling room while half the girls in the school made eyes at me. I guess a month lets people decide that even if you're gay they might have a shot at you anyway. Not a few of the guys were sidling closer too, but they tried not to be obvious about it. I smirked into my cup of unidentified liquid as they fought to look straight. Eventually I picked out one of the shyer cats and started making out with her in front of the whole room to make everyone quit. I even got some applause interspersed with the dirty looks and pouts.

I ditched my girlfriend and uniform shirt and got onto the roof via a dumpster around back. I was busy evading the shouting security guards below, jumping between rooftops, when the bell summoned me to history. I ran back to get my shirt, dodging guards - shepherds have no business getting fat, by the way, especially when near everyone else in the school was reasonably fit - and laughing.

I made it to class on the second ring of the tardy bell, still grinning widely and panting. The old lizard teaching - why are history professors always lizards, and almost always old? - looked absently at my note and waved me to a seat before starting up his lecture, complete with projector slides. It actually wound up being fun, in a godawful, sleepy way, because the artists weren't bad despite primitive technique when they depicted the species wars.

I didn't bother collecting my books before I caught the correction center minibus. The worst they could do was send me back for them after they found out, and no one really wanted me in a near-empty school building after hours.

***

Thanks again for reading. Let me know what you think and what to work on.