FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Chapter 5: Idle Chit-chat

Bartholomew couldn't take his eyes off of the hulking creature as it left the room. Just the presence of the human was shocking: the rare creatures were nearly unheard of in polite society as they were almost invariably caught up in the most disreputable and depraved forms of criminality. The fawning and fetishistic behavior had only served to disturb Bartholomew more. He fought against the images of unnatural depravity that clawed at the edges of his imagination. Eventually, he noticed that the vixen was speaking and dragged himself back to reality.

"But enough about humans. Let's see what we have here!"

Bartholomew turned his head to really look at the cart for the first time and was instantly overcome by a new wave of fear at the gleaming, razor-sharp surgical implements before him.Oh Zeus, is she planning to dissect me?

"Are you into BDSM at all, Bart?"

Bartholomew almost didn't register the question. BDSM?

He had to struggle to get his mouth to work. "Nnnggnn, nngngnn, n-n-no," he managed,

still focused on the surgical tools.

"I won't subject you to it then. But you wouldn't believe the amount of money some

people would pay to be dominated by a cute little vixen like me for an hour," the vixen replied cheerfully.

Shit. Why hadn't he said 'Yes!'? BDSM was at least non-fatal, at least wasn't dissection. "W-well, I-I-I, you see, I-I," he tried to amend.

"Now now, you don't need to change your mind to avoid hurting my feelings. We'll start

with something else."

The vixen jumped down and leaned over to pull something off of part of the cart that

Bartholomew couldn't see. She stood up holding a pair of hedge loppers and grinning widely. "Let's see how easily your right pointer comes off!"

Instinctively, Bartholomew closed his hand into a fist.

"Now, Bart, if you want, I can cut the tendons in your wrist before I cut the finger." One finger or his entire hand made worthless. If there were any chance of escape, he

would need his dominant hand, would have no chance without it. Fighting fear and instinct he managed to will his fingers apart.

"That's a good rabbit. Keep those fingers as spread as possible, so I don't accidentally get a second one."

Bartholomew struggled to keep his fingers open while the vixen set the cold metal blades around the proximal phalanx of the digit. His eyes were fixed on his hand with horror, but he thought he noticed the vixen turn to address him again. He wrenched his gaze away from the finger only to see her flex both arms as she squeezed the long handles of the loppers.CRUNCH. A lightning bolt of pain shot up Bartholomew's arm. He screamed viscerally, primally; he couldn't control it. He pulled desperately against the restraints, but his efforts only caused the ropes to cut into his skin. Continuous burning pain flowed from the bloody stump. In his agony, he was vaguely aware of the vixen wrapping the stump and hand tightly with surgical dressing. The initial pain began to subside enough that he was able to focus on what was going on. He

realized he was still squealing and stopped. The vixen finished her work by applying a piece of tape to hold the dressing in place.

"There, all better," she stated satisfiedly.

Bartholomew stared at her incredulously.

"What?" she responded haughtily. "Do you want me to kiss it too? Very well."

She leaned over and pecked the wrapped stump.

"Now let's try the little finger on your other hand!" she exclaimed excitedly.

She pranced around to the other side of the table carrying the loppers. Bartholomew

squeezed his hand into a tight fist. He couldn't go through that again.

"Baaart, what did I say last time?" she drawled, "Would you like me to go get the scalpel

instead?"

Bartholomew squeezed tighter.

"If that's what you want." She walked back around the table, replaced the loppers, and

picked up the scalpel. Returning to the left side of the table, she pressed the scalpel against his wrist. He could feel the razor pricking into his skin.

"W-wait!" he gasped, "Don't I get a, uh, a last request?"

"A last request?" the vixen asked skeptically.

He had to keep her talking. Maybe someone had seen something. Maybe they were on

the way. He needed to distract her long enough so that there would still be something left to rescue.

Desperately, he went on, "Y-yes, like how you said you don't want t-to play with just any b-bunny. I want to, to get to know you too before, before, before," his voice trailed off. He tried to swallow but his mouth was dry. He stared at the vixen pleadingly.

At first, she looked perplexed, but then she laughed, clasping her hands together, "Heeheehee, oh Bart, you are a flatterer! You want to know all about little old me? How precious! But why wouldn't you? I am not just another fox after all!"

After setting down the scalpel, she climbed back up on the table and slid back into place, sitting on his chest with a foot on either side of his head. The end of her bushy tail brushed over his legs as she adjusted herself.

"Alright! Ask away, my curious pet. What do you want to know?" "Why?" Bartholomew blurted out.

"Why? Why what?"

"Why? Why this? Why any of this?"

"Ah, I see. You want to know why I became the monster that I am today. Very understandable. That's it, isn't it?"

Bartholomew nodded.

The vixen threw the back of her right hand against her forehead. "It's a tragic story," she moaned. "When I was just a little girl in elementary school there was a big mean bunny, and do you know what he did?"

She paused, taking her hand down, and looked Bartholomew in the eyes, "Well, do you?"

He shook his head.

The vixen gave a mournful sniff before going on, "He told me, he told me that, that I wasn't pretty!"

Huh? Bartholomew didn't know how to respond, he just stared at the vixen, flabbergasted.

She giggled, "Heeheeheeheehee, okay, I made that up. I actually never even attended school. My parents hired private tutors for my education, but you should have seen the look on your face."

Okay, that, at least, is something I can work with. "It-it must have been very lonely all by yourself without any school friends."

"Oh, no! I had so many servants to play with; I was never lonely," she corrected. "In particular, there was an old hare gardener who used to tell me stories about his days sailing the seas in service of the Crown. Every day after lessons, I'd run outside and find him, so he could tell me one of his fantastical tales. I'm sure not even half of it was true, but he was such a dear, positively doted on me."

Bartholomew perked up slightly, allowing himself just a tad of hope. "And what do you think he would think about all of this?"

"Why, he was quite surprised actually."

Bartholomew felt a pit opening up in his stomach, "Was?"

"Was indeed," she stated matter-of-factly. "He was actually my first playmate, your

earliest progenitor. My studio wasn't as nice as it is now," she explained with a gesture to the surrounding dungeon. "But one has to start somewhere."

"But how could you?" Bartholomew cried. "You said he was kind to you, doted on you even. How could you repay that by murdering him?"

"It's not really that I wanted to," she answered wistfully. "But he gave me no choice, wouldn't see reason."

"W-what do you mean?"

She replied brusquely, "The old fool thought he could leave me, called it 'retirement.' I pleaded with him to stay. I told him I'd triple his salary, that he could work only as much as he wanted, but he still insisted on leaving. So I made sure he could never leave."

Bartholomew felt sick and dizzy, like the world was spinning around him. What chance did he have of pacifying this insane fox long enough for help to arrive when one of her fondest companions had succumbed to her blades? But he had to try.

"I-if th-that's what you really want, someone to stay with you, I could do that. Just l-leave me in one p-piece, and I'll stay with you forever."

"But Bart, you are already in two pieces," she reminded with a mocking seriousness. "T-two pieces then, leave me in two pieces, and I'll stay with you; I promise."

"No, Bart," she crooned. She caressed his right cheek with the back of her left hand,

sharp claws gently parting his fur to slide over his skin. "We both know that isn't what you want. You want someone to come rescue you back to that little family of yours."

Bartholomew squirmed nervously. "I-it's really just my wife Gretchen," he admitted. "We haven't gotten around to having any k-kids yet. I'd feel bad about her never knowing what happened to me, but she's a strong rabbit. She could move on if I stayed here with you."

"I appreciate that small bit of honesty, Bart, regardless of its place in your demeaning pretense," she rejoined, the angry glint in her eyes belying her calm voice. "You must think I'm quite stupid to think you could convince me of any real intention to become my permanent companion, not to mention how desperate you must think I am to even offer."

"N-no! I didn't mean-"

"Hush now, Bart, no more lies. It's unbecoming of you. After you're gone, the memories of this time are all we'll have of each other. Well, all I'll have anyway. It's not like I keep pieces around as souvenirs: that'd just be too macabre. If there happens to be an afterlife and you've been a very good bunny, then I suppose you'll have them too. Either way, we don't want to mar those memories with a bunch of ugly lies, hmm? So do you agree? No more lies?"

Bartholomew nodded shakily. "N-n-no more lies," he agreed.

The vixen gave him a pat on the cheek. "That's a good rabbit. Now, if your curiosity has been satisfied, we can get back to where we were."

She started to get up; a fresh wave of panic shot through him.

"W-wait! If we're not, if we're speaking in all honesty, then I don't think you ever answered my first question!"

She dropped back down. "Oh my, you're right! How cruel of me!" she exclaimed, seeming genuinely distressed. "The one thing you really wanted to know, and I was going to deny you after all. I'm afraid you'll be disappointed though," she added apologetically. "You prey always seem to want some grand backstory or diabolical scheme, but the truth is I just do this for fun."

"Just, just for fun?" he murmured. His last glimmer of hope snuffed out like a candle. What could you say to change the mind of someone with no reason beyond their own amusement?

"If it's any comfort, you've been one of the most fun so far," she consoled.

Bartholomew didn't find that to be any comfort at all. He felt tears beginning to well in his eyes again. What had he ever done to deserve having his life end just for the amusement of some cruel fox?

"There, there," she crooned, wiping away the tears with her left thumb. "Save your tears. Was there anything else you wanted to ask me?"

"Er-um, well" he stammered, trying to think quickly. "When you aren't, when you aren't doing this, what else do you like to do for fun," he asked lamely.

"Hmm, I like a rousing game of croquet. How about you?"

"I-I don't think I've ever played."

"A pity that you won't get the chance now. Any other questions?"

Bartholomew scoured his brain for another appropriate topic but could think of nothing.

He looked nervously at the vixen. "Maybe you'd like to suggest a topic," he offered weakly. "The topic I'm most interested in at the moment is your left pinky. Now, are you going to

be a smart rabbit and hold it out for my loppers?"

Bartholomew nodded despondently.

"A wise decision," she chirped.

Bartholomew shut his eyes tight and waited, hand shaking, while the vixen climbed back

down, retrieved the loppers, and adjusted them around the bottom segment of his pinky. He took a deep breath and wretchedly tried to prepare himself for the torture to continue.