Life of Flare
This is a personal story, Flare is my own Sona and this was a self reflection, just letting me vent out some thoughts and put them to words. All of it is fictional, or metaphorical in a sense. Either way i hope it is at least interesting.
An early start as most days were, ringing alarm to stir the grey fox from her sleep, closer to 5am then six as she rolled out of bed, needing to unwrap herself, more so her tail from the folds of her sheets. Thinner then normal given she had a rather adaptive coat. Thickening or thinning with the seasons. All to many groans as she pulled and twisted her limbs in all the awkward ways one needed to in order to stretch. Head down with groggy morale as she shuffled to the bathroom, a petty annoyance she needed to wake up before the sun did.
Turning on the shower letting it warm up, as it did a quick inspection in the mirror. Loosely brushing her orange and red tipped albino hair. Ensuring she could see, easily distracted as she was taking a minute or two playing with her ears, more how reactive or expressive they were. Little swivels or drops and rises. Each earning a childish grin, kneading the black base they had as a reward for their service. Earning a couple of tail swooshes, the fluffy mass behind her sharing the black, orange and deep red colour scheme. Standing out ever more against her grey, and near white patched fur.
Shedding off what bed wear she had, mostly loose fabrics that were a little too large, she moved to the steamy water, Impossible to avoid the hiss as the heat hit her, needing to endure it as her body adapted. Gritting her teeth until the pain became more soothing, easing her muscles to relax. Stealing a brush off a hanger in there to work the water into her fur, working to unknot it and prepare for the soon to be half dozen products she would work in. Partly the reason she was awake so early was so she could spoil herself in the morning grooming. Taking the betterment of an hour as she became a bubbled mess only to wash it off, and become a vaguely different shade of bubbles, to also wash off. Turning the water off and opening the frosted glass as the bathroom was living its dream and transformed to a temporary sauna. Only to be returned to normal as a now towel clad vixen made for an outlet in the bedroom to dry and brush herself.
The bedroom in question was the only one. A small student sized apartment, where all the rooms, minus the bed and bath were a central space. She only had enough room for a bed, a couple of dressers and a small closet, too lazy to install shelves when the floor was free space for mess anyway. Once her fur was pristine, a vast difference to the mess she called home she dressed herself. A deep blue sports bra to cover her chest, same shade as her eyes, then a red plaid shirt, little too long, though it would cover the studded belt that held up her well worn and holey jeans. A set of slightly see-through tights to cover her legs keeping her fur in order, the added bonus they were slightly more reinforced, or at least padded on the feet. Letting her walk on her footpads in decent comfort. A couple of pink pentagram earrings, and a small messenger bag and she was ready to leave. Well nearly.
Was still breakfast, which today was masterfully prepared by some random pizza place she had a menu for. Leftovers from the night before. A couple slices on her personal taste. An odd combo that had turned heads and perked ears in the past but she liked it. Called it her "Four S Pizza".
Consisting of Pepperoni for spice. Pineapple for sweetness. Pickles for a kick of sour. And Sausage, which not only ruined the P of the toppings but added a nice savoury chunk to enjoy. Stuffed crust was a treat. But it was denied today. Once she was fed and the box now only had a grease stain and used up tub of that garlic and herb dip every single place seems to give. It was a rushed brush and floss before she locked up, running down the stairs as the sun rose, dumping the box in the dumpster outside. Brushing herself off as she hit the cracked streets, A soft lavender scent as she placed one foot in front of the other.
Closing in at 7am. She was a little late, but with a bit of haste she walked over the mostly devoid streets making her way to the bakery in which she worked, going through the back door that was already unlocked. Waving over to the owner being a jolly sized bear. Thick and dark brown fur standing out in the more rustic bakers kitchen. Already in an apron working over some dough. Not fully sure the strength he had helped work it over.(We did wear arm length gloves before people whine about it. Yes they are not comfortable either.) A few words exchanged before getting to work myself readying the overs and doing some of the more delicate or dexterous work, such as icing some of the various confections, or using some of the machines that had buttons to fiddly or "advanced" for the older beast.
Work was fine. Taught me to bake, from there teach myself to cook, least burn things less, or not destroy my taste buds as i did countless times before. Though I was earlier, my main job was at the counter. I accepted I was a pretty face for the most part. Hence it was important to look as I did. Though Donrick, Otherwise Don (the Bear) Was the owner and that friendly mass, it was a strategy to have staff appeal to people. Eye candy for all the baked candy.. Can it be called candy? Sweets was always my preferred term. Having worked in a coffee place this was a big upgrade, not as much awkward flirting. It still happened though I was mostly numb to the guys that tried. Not that they were rude, or anything. Some are perfectly nice. Just never seemed to hit the mark with me. Oh well, I was kinda happy being single. For the most part the customers were nice, sometimes tipping and of course you get those types that take forever to buy a plain doughnut. And some that try to buy the entire store, or want to know all the health information. I swear every other week there is a new term I need to reply to. Like does this have a trans-luko-meta-sickle count.. Or some other thing that goes in one ear and breaks my brain as it leaves the other. Moving stock, helping out in the kitchen and a lot of talking. I Need to be friendly. Nine hours of this, from opening to just before closing. What fun.
Living in a place where the sky was coated in clouds as grey as my coat, it was a wonder I never carried an umbrella as the rain was so temperamental. You know that mood where it decided to pour down as soon as you step outside in a "Fuck you, you need to drown" Moment. The element's own joke. Like a bully. The weather bullies people. Yep that is a proven thought i think a lot would side with me. This is all my way of saying I was dripping with water by the time I dragged my heels back to my apartment. Some of the stuff on my fur helps it resist the water. But clothing did not work that way. And in my brilliant mind I wore things that drank in the water as if it was a camel filling their hump.. (Is that how it worked?) Shaking the thought from my head as I cast off the weighted clothing for the comfortable Nightwear. Dumping the soaked clothing into the hamper where they pressed the other things down making it seem less full. So that was nice.
Ensuring the curtains were all open then the moody rain could tackle the windows. I was so happy to have adjustable lights as I kept the place moody. I would not call myself "Edgy".. But there was a lot of fun in the style of keeping things darker and a little eerie. Always wished I could pull off the gothic style, I can not get over how other girls look in it all. So much more noticeable on the canines. Hmm, sighing as the thoughts passed, having the little so called smart disk on the counter play a little music as meat and veggies were fetched from the fridge.
Little oil in the pan, high heat. Mince in, break it up with a wooden spoon as it spits oil at me. Some thanks for trying to cook. The odd leap of scolding oil that doesn't hurt, but it makes you scared. No wonder more people don't cook, if the food fucking attacks you.. A light chuckle as the meat seared, pot of water (and a little salt) To boil, dump in pasta, then slice up a shallot, which is basically a slim onion, and then pepper, bell peppers, that don't ring sadly. And some crushed up garlic. It's always a treat to be a little destructive with cooking, or anything really.. Meat brown, thin shallot slices in, they get soft, peppers and garlic. Minute later, then can (Pull tab ones are a blessing) Maybe half the can after it's empty of water, mix and simmer, reduce it, salt and pepper to taste too.. Once it is less of a liquid. Oh, stirring too and for some reason no matter how much i do it, stirring makes it angry so it leaps out the damn pan and makes a mess of my oven top. Welp by now the pasta is overflowing and still undercooked. So battling the knobs setting a plate. And a bottle of water I had in the fridge. (Spoiling myself i know) Once the sauce is thick and pasta soft, mix them up and eat. Some sprinkle cheese and bake it. Not going to bother.
Meal made, and eaten with the cold water to hydrate, soft music and pittering rain. Homemade meal, to pick at. Each lift of the fork became heavier. A sigh as I grab the remote, turning on the Tv to stream some sitcom I have already seen, just for some voices here besides my own.
It is a night of lazy eating and half smiles. Finding myself digging out tubs of the leftovers, where there were always more of. I was not a big fox. There was easily enough for a couple more servings least for me. Harsh click as the lid closes, pots to soak, then to the window. Just looking out a few stories up, watching people go about, getting food, going out for shows, or getting drunk, tumbling over and getting arrested. I don't know where this hobby started, Or why I did something that made me so somber.
It was so hard to leave my old life, I was so miserable. Now I have trapped myself and don't know how to escape. There is always that "Artistic" Thing of having the rain on a window imply crying for the one on the other side.And I wanted to. I was safe and steady now. Which was great, something to be proud of. But it was all too easy to get trapped in my head. Just watch what i wanted, too scared to leave my self-inflicted cage. Sure there were games, books or movies to pass my time. But I was not sure if I was really happy, or living. Ultimately I was alone.
And this would repeat day after day. Week after week. Not sure what would change first. My life, or myself.