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©Tsumi Moogle '11 Characters © Tsumi Moogle

'Can you spare a buck man?' You hear that a lot these days. People finding it harder to make ends meet with the cost of everything continuing to go up, interest rates, of course at the heart of it, and vengeful business playing up the varied disasters of the world to squeeze that extra penny... It used to play on my heart to look at the baleful eyes of those poor bastards bundled up and hopeful with hands outstretched. Nowadays, as I make my way on to my second job, I offer a shake of my head and an apologetic grimace. 'Wish I could, man.' Is all I can offer, with a tip and tug on my beanie before continuing on. Sometimes you think people like that could find work easy. Even if they're homeless, some of them are big. Damned big. It doesn't help my conscience any to know that Autumn's steadily declining into winter. Managing a second glance over my shoulder, I can only hope that someone, somewhere can offer them something more than I can.

The second job isn't anything special. It's just another facet to help pay the bills. Since the downsizing of the company on my first job, I'm shouldering three people's workload with half the pay. They don't say anything, but we can tell they're probably a lawsuit shy of bankruptcy. The only reason we don't say anything is because well, shit, we need what we can get. S'a bit like Hyenas picking at scraps from a long-since picked corpse: It isn't pretty, it's not fun, but the alternative isn't either.

Sometimes you find yourself thinking about those homeless folk. Or at least, I do. Most of them are alright people. Underfed and unwashed in a lot of cases, but they've got good eyes. Worldly eyes. Living on the street, fending for each meal and seeing stuff that most people never would, or would want to. I reckon in a lot of cases, they're better than a lot of you and me, who're more focused on our jobs to keep ourselves going. You see it sometimes, when they're lucky. They share. More than a buck, at least. Most of them. Then there are the other kind. The blood-shot eyes. The ones whose stink isn't wholly their own. It's more than that, and it's scary. They can get desperate. They'll chase you, if they think you wronged them. They're the ones you know the good ones are wary of. Kind of spooky to think that classes exist even on the streets.

Finishing work is the highlight of the day. This is true to just about anyone. But say that to my legs, with 16 hours of carrying me about on them. Sure, I'm nothing like Tony over there. One of the biggest skunks I've ever seen. Brick. Shit. House. Solid as anything, and honest. You mightn't pick it, but he used to be on the streets. I wonder sometimes, about the things his eyes saw, back then. He just smiles, goes quiet and continues what he was doing, when you ask. Anyway, like I was saying; Physically, I'm not like him. The long days and the simple food, I'm pretty skinny all said. It's a look that works, for a rabbit. We look kind of silly chunky or too solid. I'm nothing special though. The odd splotch of black on grey, lop ears, big feet. Big, tired feet.

Clocking out, bundling up, I'm as much relieved to see the back of that place as I am kind of downcast by it. It's sure as shit not much, but the guys in there, we're kinda like family. A Gruff, shit-kicking family, but you get the idea. Even Marie. Sweetest tiger you'd ever know. But Jesus H. Christ she's got bigger balls to her than even Tony. 'Sure you don't want a lift, Sugah?' I wave down her offer with a smile. 'You're already pooling 3 others. Throw me in and you'll be dragging the car along the street.' I offer with a smile. Walking's fine.

The bite of the cool air of freedom hurts. The first one always does. Drawing my scarf a little tighter about my face, I take the first step on for home. Driving's pretty much a luxury nowadays. Fuel, Rego, insurance, upkeep.. Thanks, but my legs work just as well. It kind of hurts to walk, but you get used to it and just press on anyway. Plenty of time to rest up when I get home. Tomorrow I have off from the office. So I can sleep in. Kinda. The thought of sinking into bed for 12 hours is enough to block out the world for a few moments until a voice reaches my ears. 'Got a light?'

For a few seconds, I can't place why that voice rattles me beyond it's bass. There's something about it. I know that voice. Turning makes me blink a little and murmur a faint 'Holy Shit.' Into my scarf. He used to work at the company. He was one of the ones they let go. They were gunna decide over Me or him, if I remember correctly. Like that was a hard decision. Bill, no.. Bob..? No, Shit what was it. 'Light?' The Hyena urges again, muttered from the edge of a cigarette perched on corner of his lips. 'Sure Ben.' The name came to me in a momentary flash-back when I appologised to him as he packed up. That gaze sure as fuck said it wasn't accepted. I manage, despite the memory to fish the silver lighter from my pocket, and with a flick, offer the small flame for him to lean in and light up from. ''Preciate it.' He rumbles lightly, taking a drag and tugging it from his muzzle to offer to me. 'No thanks, I quit.' Couldn't afford it. Of course. Ben just smirks.

'What happened to the office?' He grunts, returning the fag to his lips and taking another breath as the other hand stuffs into the pocket of his jacket. 'Still going, ruefully. S'gotten tough recently.' I offer, despite thinking immediately on how delicious my foot must taste. I can feel his eyes on me. 'No kidding.' The Hyena grunts. A turn of his head to exhale the smoke lets me chance a look and refresh my memory. It goes without saying, But I'll say it anyway for your sake; Ben's a big guy. Head or two taller than me, he's got a build on him that says he had either a rough up-bringing, or a focused one. Plus a stint in the military to augment it. That much I got from water-cooler gossip in the office after he left. Big dude like him, He'd been kicked out of the army for some reason. He didn't leave, he was Kicked out. He always had the air of a guy who did right by no one but himself and for himself. He didn't wear those button up shirts well, from what I remember. What a thing to recall. The clothing he wears looks heavy. That's necessary, I suppose. It's gotta last. His boots're looking worn through. Big feet like his, not too suprising. And at his waist, is that- ...A sack?

'What about you?' I ask of him, stirring my hands in my pockets for something to do with them. Why's he following me..? Well, walking with me, I suppose. I'm not gunna ask that, of course. Fucking Moral Decency. And that Sack... 'Heh.. Been a bit rough since the office.' The hyena murmurs, taking another drag. His eyes are low hung. He's looking about some. Did he take up Ice or something..? 'No kidding.' I offer in kind, managing to keep the joshing grin from my face. His eyes are on me for the barest moment. 'No kidding.' He echoes. 'Street's a hard place to get used to.' Fuck. 'Shit man, I'm sorry.' I offer with a side-long glance. It's hard to face a guy you effectively screwed out of a job and into the streets. It's also hard to shrug off the notion that we're nearing the point of why on earth he's walking with me. 'Shit happens.' Ben grunts and for a Moment I'm looking at him, surprised and mute for thanks that he's apparently alright with it. ...More or less.

'So, where're y'headed?' I dare to ask. God it's a risk, but, we've come this far... 'No where'n particular. S'how it normally is. Clearin' my head, that kind of thing.' Bullshit. That's what the cigarette's for. You're not a pacer, or thinker enough to need a clearing. Subconsciously, or otherwise, the hand in his pocket eases back to rest his thumb on the belt-rung next to the sack. I can't help but watch, It's like he's pointing to it. He flicks the butt of the cigarette ahead, and grinds it under his treads as he reaches it, already tugging the next from a grubby pack. I wonder who he won, ..or took them from.

''Nother light?' He asks with a light grin, leaning his muzzle forward some, making me tense slightly as I offer up the lighter again. 'Cheers.' He grunts, watching me, before offering the cigarette again. '...No thanks.' He shrugs in a nonchalant way. 'Say, Ben.' Sometimes I can't help but ask things when I know I shouldn't. I blame my nerves. ...Or stupidity. 'Mm?' '...What's the sack for?' For a moment, I'm sure he smirks. 'What, this?' He grunts, tugging the sack steadily from his belt-rungs. It's wrapped about them to make it less noticeable. Burlap, or Hessian, and big. It dangles from that broad paw as he seems to spend a moment, considering his answer with another drag on that Cigarette. I can't say I'm shivering from cold, by now.

The Hyena tugs the cigarette from his lips and lightly rests it on the lid of a nearby bin, before lightly shaking the sack out to open the mouth of it. It looks dirty. With my eyes on it, though, I miss his free hand as it rushes up, and grabs my neck. It's a solid motion, and it lunges me sideways. The earth rushes up to meet me, before it gets blocked out by the mouth of that sack. In a struggling instant, I'm inside it. His broad hand's stuffing my boots in after me, and with the sound of rubbing fabric, the glow of the orange street light and Ben's smirking face vanish.

'S'for hunting.' Comes his low voice. For a moment, I'm left struggling, and shouting as he retrieves his cigarette. Then I receive a solid blow to the side that brings a yowl of pain from my lips, and then a solid weight crashing down on my back. He's stepping on me, forcing the air out of my lungs. 'That's enough outta you. Anymore screaming, and I'll make sure you don't have a throat for it anymore.' His voice is high above me, but his tone is deadly serious. The icy bite of the ground seeps through the coarse fabric. Fuck. Fuck, fuck FUCK. The weight lifts, and I gasp in an aching breath before being met with a sudden rush of vertigo. The world falls away, and with a grunt, I land against his broad back. He's fucking walking off with me. Each step is jarring. And the proximity makes his unwashed scent impossible to escape. Unwashed, earthy fur and tobacco. If not for my more pressing placement, I'd have been wrinkling my muzzle.

'Ben, c'mon man..! This isn't funny!' I plead. What else can I do? If I scream, I'm pretty certain there'll be a fair beating, or worse in it for me. 'Nope. Not funny at all.' The Hyena echoes grimly. You can practically see him smirking through the tone though. 'Y-you're not serious..! Hunting..? You can't-' 'Why the fuck not? Like anyone'll know.' Of course they won't. No one cares about shit-kickers. No one but other shit-kickers. Why the fuck didn't I get that lift..? 'I-is this about the office still..?! You can have the job if you want, I'll find somewhere else!' Bullshit. Soon as I'm free, it's onto the police. 'Ha! Kidding me? Well, yeah, maybe a bit about the office still, but you can keep it. ..In a sense.' He adjusts the sack with a buck of his shoulder and upturns me. I struggle to pull my face away from the grimey hessian, wincing.

'Ben-! I'm a person, dude..! You're not going to seriously..!' 'Every last inch of you. It's amazing, the things you learn on the streets. The way we get by, when we need to. Though, this isn't really getting by, I suppose. I could as easily just mug you.' I wouldn't put it past him. 'In a way, this is my way of thanking you.' 'You're kidding, right!?' I don't know why I bother with questions like that sometimes. He just laughs. Like it's something I can wait and find out for myself. I half wonder if this wasn't the kind of thing he was annexed from the force for. ...And then I hear it. 'Can you spare a buck, man?' It's the homeless guy from before.. Polar bear, I think? Yeah.

'No Buck today, Kil'. How about Rabbit?' Oh shit. He wouldn't- The bag up-ends, and the slight warmth my struggling and frantic breathing had accumulated in the fabric rushes away as I'm emptied out. Even if it's only 5 feet, landing on your head fucking hurts. Beanie or no. I manage a whimper and achingly look up. The Hyena smirks down at me and simply raises his eyebrows, before he turns and walks off. No doubt he'd find someone else to pack away. Poor bastards. Then a pair of gloved hands grab at my upper arms, and I find my vision locked on a grinning face. The Polar-bear's appraising me. 'Sure, I'd prefer a buck, but Rabbit'll do.' He trails his thick tongue along his jaws wetly, before they yawn open. Holy /Shit!/ Can Jaws actually go that wide?! His teeth are kind of yellow, and they frame everything. That tongue, dark and mottled like the rest of his inner flesh, wet, and steamy against the biting cold of the air with several strands of thick saliva linking palate and fang. With another rush of vertigo, I'm hurtled into that stifling grasp, headed for another sack of sorts.