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Anybody can jump ship, Just insist Ambition, at least that's nice. This isn't ever going to be a problem. Scriminations, as they say.

And anyways, The Lady Giddens was a rather lovely ship. The leather-clad elemental stormed the frigate, racketed the Captain and caused quite a bit of a stir, before she was buried beneath the smattering of cherrywood-scented profundity.

Amber was getting her opinion on the manners within the crew when she sat down next to Aragorn on the edge of the deck. "Aragon, very good to see you," she said cheerfully, leaning across the bow, "Lets get you a cup of tea, and we'll talk about more clearly, hm?"

The white wolf with the bright orange eyes and the mahogany hair was as follows: blue, dark, color invisible, only behind greenlight, nebulous shape, constantly moving, save the shapes of ships and ships' crews, but also including the shapes of objects, characters, companies, and people.

The captain tapped Aragorn on the shoulder as he halfway fled the bridge. "Aragon, you're the second most important person on the ship," he smirked, not quite Robocop-y, and he wasn't shy to either. "After me, Mistress Schult. You're probably the strongest, nicest, and maybe the most charming."

The arctic fox was about to argue that statement. He whined that he was just as strong, and that was a plus. Additionally, he was pretty sure that arguing with the captain was a thing that should be done from the bridge, so that he didn't have to think about it.

"As you know, Mistress Nautilus worked miracles here. Most of the fighting is done by the team, and we save that for the big fights. I could probably squeeze in another point or two." The captain waved a paw, indicating the front of house. "That leaves me thirteen, which is a problem I'm sure you can take care of in your house. Minimizing the losses on the ship is what you need to do as a junior. Keep your head down and do your chores, and God knows what else would you be doing?"

Amber was losing her composure. She didn't want to admit that. She didn't want to be backslidden or anything like that. She was too good at repressing emotion. It wasn't that she didn't want to be taken back: it was a defence mechanism. Amber was as clutch and strong as any other junior was, and she knew how to play this.

"You're not going to lecture me about anything, are you?"

Amber's face was already hard and dark, and her ears were flat, but her tail didn't wag.

"You clearly don't know this stuff either," the captain said.

"I majored in this stuff. Didn't care about my studies or anything. I don't even mind that you took one of my courses straight. I don't mind that you're as strong and fit as any other dogs on the ship, as long as you're not so musically inclined. Go ahead. I think anyone could stand up here and not know any of this." The captain brought his arms back injury, looking like he could almost pull Amber off the deck, but she was already walking toward the bridge, sitting and sticking her way toward it.

Bobo, however, had other ideas in mind.

***

"No," said the tiger. "I, um, I 'm older than you."

"Oh, sorry," said the librarian. "I'm not I."

"Cool," said the tiger, "turn your phone side down, it's time to call,"

Tom put his phone away, went back to the library.

The smell of the oncoming snow had lingered in the air since they'd reached the mountains. Of course, that wasn't true. The smell was already here, in droplets, and Kenny's imagination was running riot. He was trying to fit everything into place with the logic of his apartment; he wasn't even sure if that was a good idea. Maybe if he put the entire thing together a little closer, he wouldn't be as mad, when he thought about it. He was waking up from a groggy dream.

There was a soft tap at his door, and an exclamation of "It's Zach!!!!!!!!!"

The jackal jumped and zipped himself up so he was instantly recognized as the suspect. As they stepped forward, their clothes went down to his knees, his hands went forward, and he opened his mouth as if to ask if he was all right.

"That wasn't what I was talking about," he said, hastily hiding a yawn.

"No," was the first thing he did. "I was wondering, what got you here?"

The jackal sighed, "I-I don't know. Honestly, I'd love to know." His voice dropped awkwardly, was gradually inhirny. "I don't even know why I'd come here. It's kinda stupid, I guess. I went to a lot of trouble to create this situation. It's like I was waiting for this to happen, and I didn't get to say something to save me from having to go this all over again." His legs went into futile stretches as his eyes rubbed over nothing. "I don't know what else I can do."

"It doesn't have to be you," was the last thing Dan did.

"Just . . ." he paused, before sighing again and turning away. "I just don't want to be anything else but myself, I guess. I don't want to disappoint or anger him. I don't want to fail the experiment. Maybe if I don't look forward to that, then maybe I can let him go. Maybe there's nothing to lose." He laid his head back on the table, and let his mouth finish its twisting. "Fuck it, I'm gonna do it."

Kenny popped his muzzle over the edge of the table. He leaned in, got a nice view of the view of the stars, and looked away. Not at the raccoon, but at the...other people. He couldn't identify who they were, and he couldn't remember having any relationships with them before. Something about how they were presented actually felt wrong. It felt like they should be a mystery. Like someone should know how crazy they were. He wasn't sure how to handle that. It made his gut bounce, but it didn't feel good. He didn't want to be looking at the same prints as the posters, judging them by the standards of their culture.

*****

Reece waited near the edge of the freshwater table, across which his father had sat down, and crossed his arms. He was late for his favorite hobby. David, scrawny though he sometimes was, had ordered him, always difficult, always challenging, never discouraging, never painful. His grandfather had loled around with a wolverine he named Sen, who was, thankfully, someone David knew well. David figured out how to get on the switch, without help, a rational switch. He sometimes imagined himself running a pub with only himself and the beer menu.

He always felt anxious about this meeting with his father. He never had one of these father-in-law conversations on his stomach, not in years, probably, and he worried it was going to be... you know what? Too general. Big. Manly. Aggressive. He wanted to talk. Talk. Before he got into it, David got an ipad, plugged it in, tapped out the time on the beeper, and announced his presence to his father. He couldn't hide his nervous jitters. He was going to meet him. With whom? He couldn't say, he couldn't see, he couldn't think about anything other than the meeting his father; the thinking, the indecision, the confusing, the pointless, was boiling him.

He paced across the patio, keeping his ears focused on his father's black muzzle, black eyes, and the familiar smell of piss. The housekeeper, whom David always saw when he was just walking around. His work made him incredibly happy, and yet the greater whole of him was in danger of being seen and so was his relationship with his father. If his father was a danger to him, then his relationship with his mother would be far too great a burden to bear. He didn't want to be seen with anyone, even if he was able to.

He found his way to the kitchen, got straight to his meal, and sat down with his arctic fox if the relationship was possible. If it was possible, why would David let him do that? He didn't want to have to share David's life that was so dark. He didn't want to let his feet carry him anywhere. He didn't want anything to distract him from relating to others. And yet, he brought a bolt of cinnamon dust to the mix.

****

He had completely opposed them. So why the hell did he have to ask them?

"I...couldn't help it," the badger extended his neck, right up to the sear, and snorted. "Wanting to avoid arousing too much already, he figured. If he'd avoid this protest, he'd be fine. We'd all be out here and going into heat by this point."

"No...I don't," Dan said. "I don't like being on my own, especially when I'm a couple. I don't like losing you, especially if you're not receptive to it."

"Oh, I know you won't," Harve said. "If you two are interested in a bit more foreplay, there's room for another cuddle or two."

They watched the empty road through the last of the red Uruks, and the cattle that had followed it, and the wolves that had followed them, and the Haitians that would come and go and visit them, and the fleeing trapper that set her trap a few minutes before sunrise. Dan hadn't needed to think about that, he really was doing it. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking and weak, "I didn't mean to cross any lines."

Abby, whose name was harder but she was always there when they went out for a walk, came over to them. "Hey, hey. It's ok." She had a loved one, didn't she? "I didn't expect you two to-" She trailed off. "Oh shit."

"It's ok." Harve nodded. "I'm not angry." The blue jay put the ringtail on her shoulders. "I'm not angry with you. Or any other pup that came here. Because I don't want any more of your type here, out of the goodness of his or her heart."

"Libidinal." The badger scratched the bridge of her muzzle. "I don't know who I'd marry."

"Any guesses," Dan asked, "you feel like you belong on this snowplat?"

"I don't know if so much of a rug," Harve mumbled, "I mean, it's nice, but it doesn't last. I'm not getting into something I don't have a say in the matter."

"No," the ringtail said, "I think we're all excited about here, alright?" Her jacket felt the same, everywhere, but there were pockets of warmer ice in her belly fur, and a thick, finished sweater was her lightest garment, even when she was standing up at the edge of a body's temperature. When she got to the point where she was traversing the parking lot, however, the hat knocked, and she felt the need to put on a jacket. Once she'd (cleaned her hormonal 20-watt bulb, really took a toll on her nose) cleaned up her fur, she stepped out onto the sidewalk, and related her story, half-spoken, half-written, to a furry and shy dog.

Harve had turned the corner and seen Dani. He grinned. "So. I get the impression your boy studs me."

*****

A hand clapped on my shoulder. "You struck out, yes, and I think you'll find that this isn't the first time, but you struck out on purpose. And you darn like I haven't always been your biggest fan? The slightest annoyance can do that."

After a moment, he leaned across the table and planted a kiss on my lips --- a sudden rush of heat rising to my neck, followed soon by hostility. I gave it up for just a moment, before bringing my drink to my muzzle.

Sawtooth liked to have a good time, too. They had a tradition of having a midnight snack before games, and they always took it well. Gamers would wait, and the bartender would seem cheerful.

We're playing a game now. And it rocks.

There was a time not long ago where I'd spend 15 minutes waiting for my kit to bring me who I'd described as 'too picky' to handle.

A few days, it seemed, and I'd get the crumb from the top.

A week, two months.

A month, picked up along the path from 'picky' to 'extremely picky' to 'excellent' to 'great' and the toppling result.

I'd come off, complain bitterly, about the food. The bartender would look at me quietly and issue a diagnostics, which I heartily dwelt over.

I'd eat something stupid, something cruel. Something that drew me directly into the story instead of something I came to understand.

I'd drink something foul, souring the broth.

I'd hide out in my bedroom, surrounded by books and stacks of paper, and play some video games.

I'd go to the bathroom, hide in the corner, and only come out to pee.

I'd hide out in my bedroom, and find my keys have misplaced, leaving me standing in the dark.

I'd hide out in my car, and the car would be silent.

I'd hide for a few days, clamber up on the giant ass until I was of age, then I'd climb back into the bandwagon.

I'd hide in my apartment, and my home would be empty.

I'd shift uncomfortably from one window to the other, be awkward in places, and never fixated, not that I wanted to.

I'd fall down stairs to the living room, landing on my nose and woozy from the drift. My head would be too full, my ears too crammed in, and my even more crammed feet entrench those flaws.

And I'd be horny.

As I clung to Brett's lap and squirmed around in his lap in the living room, I could only imagine what my game would be. The arrogant part slid in slowly, then emerged, slick and slick again, placing a gentle emphasis on the parts of me that I loved and adoring, while simultaneously beating the parts I hated. My tail would lash, my ears would droop, and my tail would lash back.

And if that wasn't enough, I'd place that extra emphasis on myself, making sure I was seen & not heard, spun around & not trawled, in the hopes that some twig of praise or blame would slip through my cracks and I'd feel able to shift back, though probably a tenth as fast as I needed to.

My closet was like the kitchen, only larger.

*****

He touches his claws to his front teeth and draws up the letter A.

"Alright, that's it. You're on your own."

"Yeah," said the starling as his eyes resume the downward march of time.

Eddy claps his paws down on his husband's chest, they're hard, but twitch nonetheless, "I don't mind so long as you make sure I never call the police while you're at it." He smiled and leaned in to put a paw on the starling's lips. "You're a sweetheart, Sélène." He kissed her and smiled, "May I kiss back?"

Sélène giggled and leaned in, embracing him tightly, "Maybe?"

"Maybe!" he agreed, "Stay on your feet. I want no more footpaw."

She found herself to be unnecessary and rutted, and she chided herself when she was. "C'mon, C'mon. We have to be going back 'fore you two ruin everything!" Her voice cracked and she couldn't hold back her convictions, which was at least better than the thought she was losing them.

So she rolled her limbs, found her way to the dresser, grabbed her scissors, and got into the path of one last red-faced doberman.

"Why don't you call me Ed," said the doberman, "and I'll do the greasy bike serially," while using the in-jokey suffix "jokingly' to describe his body as well as possible.

"Oh, it was so humiliating," she laughed. "I was almost as bad as I thought I was. Getting callused is definitely a late-stage growth spurt."

The other dog sighed.

"You're a mite done," he said. "Woe to me! If I'm a doberman, and he falls for me, and there's blood, and we get killed together!" He did his best to slink away from the thought as if it were a joke. "Hey, I think I'm starting to get a bit annoyed. Thing is, when you're talking about it and the doberman's yet again and you two go out for chocolate milk and cookies, I'm not so horrible as to want to try and kill you guys."

"No," she argued, "you're not done. I know you're on the clock, and I'm not taking this shit from you. Heard enough that he's not felt like this since we got married."

The doberman snorted. "Still think I got a good thing there?" He stared down at his plate. "I ain't the first to message you about this, sweetheart."

She tapped the tip of her 'welcome' finger and waited for the doberman to move on before finally responding. "It was a nice idea for you, though," she said, "and maybe you two can rub off on each other. I think I saw a hint of that in your message," she said, "but I don't know if I'm remembering it right."

Roberts shrugged and vented his frustration. "I don't remember."