Conversation Practice - 1
So, this is me practicing conversations. My main goal is to try and make this read somewhat naturally, and still have each character's part tie into each other. Let me know how I did!
P.S. The two characters are both my fursonas, so essentially it's a conversation with myself.
"That's what I mean! How did you know?" The question lingers, as most of Hound's tend, until Scruffy's eyes have had their lap around their sockets.
Squeezing the bridge of his nose, Scruffy says, "Why do you ask the most simplistic questions?"
"Why do you roll your eyes at everything I say?"
"Maybe your words are just that worthy."
"Shut up and answer the question," Hound barks, giving the table a quick pound, shaking their empty coffee mugs to great affect. Scruffy slaps an open paw beside his mug, staring at the aggravating Fox. "Fine," Hound scoffs, folding his arms as he sits back, "I'll stop making a ruckus."
"Thank you," Scruffy says, making certain to slip in a tone of condescension. He had already lost track of how many times their waitress timidly asked them to be quiet, though the count is probably in the tens by now. The Cougar and Fox have been sitting for several hours, discussing anything that came to mind: some topics are safe for print, while others are anything but. Were they any other patrons they would have been politely excused from the shop, but they are their most loyal regulars. "How long have we been here," Scruffy asks, peering down at his wrist.
"Stop avoiding the question," Hound says, chuckling as his slaps the Cougar's bare wrist with his spoon. "How did you know you were gay?"
"I would think a fag, such as yourself, would know the answer," Scruffy says, snidely smirking.
"Well aside from waking up next to your best friend, barely being able to walk bow-legged, I don't know how you realized."
"Cute. Asshole," Scruffy says with a bite, flipping off Hound. "It doesn't matter, does it?"
"It matters to me."
"Why?"
"I want to know more about that whole "thing", ya know?" The curious Fox pauses, his eyes darting lightly as he searches for words. "I have been out for a few years, but I don't know much about gays. I don't even have that many gay friends. I'd just like to know stuff."
"Okay, I'll tell ya some things," Scruffy says, leaning forward, prompting Hound to do the same. Scruffy looks right and then left - despite there only being one other table occupied - and whispers, "I don't know anything either."
"You fucking liar," Hound exclaims, pushing Scruffy's shoulder, shoving him to the chair's back. "You've been out for years. You gotta know something."
"All I know is how annoying it is to have people think you know everything about a group of people, just because you happen to fall under their blanket description." Scruffy and Hound raise their cups just above their saucers; in no time, the waitress pours them another cup of rather strong, black coffee. "I don't have gay friends; I don't particularly enjoy techno - I listen to some, but it's not my world; I am certainly not into fashion. I fucking hate fashion!" The waitress tops off the table with a few creamer cups, smiles, and skitters back to her closing duties.
"Well damn. I guess I'm just gonna be lost forever huh?"
"You're always lost. Being "in touch" with a community doesn't help a damn thing, in my opinion. It just complicates things and creates drama."
Hound takes a long sip of his coffee, testing how much sugar he wants to add. Ripping three packets, he says, "Ya know, I'm not into all that stuff either."
"Oh, because that should be so shocking," Scruffy says, stirring creamer into his own cup, until the color makes an even tan. "We've known each other for 3 years; it would be a shock if you met me here with a girlfriend."
"Maybe I'll get a female friend to do just that."
Pulling his spoon from his cup, Scruffy scolds and points to Hound's nose, barking to him, "You do that, and I will unleash such unholy rape on your tail-cunt!" Retracting his spoon from the Fox - now unsuccessfully hiding his broad smile behind his steamy cup - Scruffy takes a test sip, before continuing. "You know something I'd prefer to know about?"
"When straight people know they're straight," Hound mockingly suggests.
"You turn this into a sex conversation again, and I'll give ya a spankin' boy!"
"Promise?"
"No," Scruffy says, smiling as he takes a large gulp of his smoothed coffee. "I want to know why people buy so much shit they don't need."
"What part of that don't you get? They want something, so they get it. It has nothing to do with need."
"And that's exactly what perplexes me," the Cougar says, staring into his cup before swirling his spoon slowly around it. "I don't understand how so many people - all of which have bills, and surprise expenses every month - will spend hundreds to thousands on material possessions. How much stuff can you buy?"
"Apparently a lot. You see the malls and strip centers: no one can get enough."
"They should. Besides, what's so wrong with just saving money?"
"Well," Hound says, snapping his mouth as he licks coffee from his lips. "What would you do if you had enough disposable income to spend hundreds every week? Why just save it? The base image of someone's earnings is paper. I mean, it is currency, but essentially all you see is a pile of paper, right?"
"Yeah."
"So, would you want your "earnings" of the past week or two to be just a boring pile of paper, or a pile of colorful toys to entertain yourself with? It's no mystery why people buy things so much. We don't have to work all day just to survive the next: every single task in the world is consolidated and spread out amongst the populace."
Nodding his head, Scruffy says, "Basically, you're saying we don't know how to replace that time we used to spend trying to survive, so we fill it with esoteric gizmos to give "free time" some meaning."
"Exactly," Hound exclaims, shaking their cups with an enthusiastic slap to the table. Realizing he slipped up, Hound jokingly holds up his paws, "Sorry, sorry. Don't beat me massa."
"You are hopeless."
"Yeah, but you like it. Anyway, why say you want to know why people buy crap they don't need, when you obviously know?"
"I understand a few reasons for it, but I want to know how they came to that conclusion. Why do they - no - why do we feel like we need to fill a meaningful void with meaningless shit? Why not do something constructive?"
"Like what," Hound asks, flagging the waitress back for yet another cup.
"I don't know," Scruffy says, looking down at the table, his arms to his sides as he fidgets in his chair. "They could donate that to charities; volunteer for local, or global, causes; at the very least, take up a damn hobby."
"Ugh, I think I hate hearing that word now."
"Hobby?"
"Yeah," Hound says, scoffing as he sips his coffee straight. Quickly putting in a creamer and sugar, the Fox continues, "I don't know exactly why, but I just don't like it."
"Now that's something to investigate! Why do you not like the word, or idea, of hobbies," Scruffy asks, pressing himself forward to the table, slyly smiling for finding a topic to make Hound squirm over.
Taking some time to think, the Fox carefully tears open three more sugar packets and pours them into his cup. Lazily twirling his spoon around - his thoughts obviously still a bit blurry - Hound looks up and says, "I suppose I don't like the connotations it has now."
"What might those be," Scruffy asks, propping his chin on his paws.
"Well, ya know? Hobbies, these days, are things for housewives to do after they're done taking care of the house. They aren't skills to leisurely better yourself in. They're time killers: not to be taken serious."
"You take yours serious?"
"Of course not. Hobbies aren't careers; never were. They were more," Hound trails off momentarily before finding the right words, "facets of personality. Almost like a character trait."
"So what then? A "like" or "dislike" kinda thing?"
"No, not really. More of a, "hey this is part of who I am in my alone, uninhibited self," sort of thing."
Cocking his head to the side, Scruffy says, "I have to say, I don't completely follow."
"Well, if someone's hobby was "movies," it used to be that they not only liked watching, but maybe even making movies. It was something they were into; now it usually amounts to having movies on as background noise." Hound nods his head, satisfied he is making a little sense of himself. "It's the same with music. Music hobbies included performing, or creating music. Now it's just listening to it. That isn't a hobby, that is a "like," because it requires little to no action on their part."
"Interesting. So, you have the same issue I have, when it comes to what people do with their free time?"
Hound's ears perk up, leading into a broad smile. Poking Scruffy's muzzle lightly, Hound scoffs, "You."
"What," Scruffy asks, chuckling to himself and staying put with the Fox poking his nose.
Retracting his paw, still smiling, Hound says, "I like talking with you."
"Helps to figure out the "why's" of your thoughts?"
"Indeed."
"Same here," Scruffy says, slumping back into his chair, cradling his empty cup above the saucer. His cup now filled, Scruffy watches the waitress fill Hound's cup - a small grin breaking across his muzzle. Raising his cup to take a sip, Scruffy exclaims, "So, when are we gonna fuck?"
Startled by the raunchy outburst, the waitress splatters coffee onto Hound's lap, forcing him to recoil back, spilling what coffee his cup has onto the table. "Son of a bitch!"
"Oh man, that was great!"
"You fucker," the Fox yelps, sneering across the table as the waitress apologizes profusely, patting him down with her apron towel.
"Right, so I'll meet you at the theater on 10th and 131st," Scruffy says, ignoring Hound's agitation. "I'll pay the tab, and you can just show up when you can."
"You're a bastard," Hound yells to Scruffy, who's now walking up to the register. Replacing his wallet, Scruffy looks over to the table, the sour Fox still getting his wet crotch matted with a towel. "Hey, you should thank me. That's the most action your dick's had in weeks." With a quick laugh, Scruffy pushes the door open and jogs to his car, in case Hound found it in himself to run outside with a soaked crotch after him. Reaching the car safely, Scruffy gets in and buckles up, laughing to himself. Turning the ignition, still chuckling, he whispers aloud, "I love that guy," and pulls out from the coffee shop's lot.