The Howling
#1 of The Howling
DISCLAIMER: There isnt much heavy yiff in this part of the story, what is yiffy is and will be wrapped by asterisks
The wind howled. The wind almost never howled here - perched upon the edge of a sinking cliff, a not so large town waited amidst a tree line, hiding like a child with a flashlight. The dilapidated houses on the edfe almost looked like they were clinging to the ground in front of the cliff, desperately begging for mother earth not to let them fall far into the emptiness. The void of a darkened fissure that stretched on without end lay below the cliff side.
The yellow - orange hue of street lighting vaguely illuminated the opposing end of the Cliffside - every now and again a brief white light radiated a hiding weed or two on the opposite shore of the fissure. Cars now and again drove the road beside the cliff. Within the particular town of Groume, the howling wind whispered a prophecy through the streets; a prophecy of fear that made the streetlights shiver. All the lights could do was sit and wait; watching the furs casually go about their own little pleasurable or sinful evenings - keeping to themselves as they passed one another. One streetlight beheld such a sight; a fox kit wearing a red sleeper stood with shaking legs under the light, looking up and down the street. The faint orange glow allowed only so far for his eyes to stretch. In his right paw, drooping down to the cracked concrete was a little plushy fox. It was old and poorly maintained, but by the desperate and frightened grip the kit gave, it was far from poorly loved.
The kit's lost eyes met with two eyes in the dark, advancing in step up the street. Two gold irises, two black pupils, the 'whites' of these eyes black. A red fox, wearing black fighting pants with a red yin and yang on the left cuff let the light shower him as he stepped into view. A gold bicep bracelet on his left forepaw shimmered with his motions. His upper body, held a thin figure but toned muscles as he was shirtless. His upper section was upright, like that of a moving soldier. His Mohawk bobbed down over his right eye with his walk. His steps were in haste, his eyes fixated on the street. As his glance caught on the kit's eyes, his near unwavering motion came to a halt. As he stood in front of the kit, he blinked once - only once. "Where's my mom?" the kit spoke with quivering lips. The aftermath of a tear filled night could be heard in his voice. "I asked tucker but he doesn't know. Where's my mom?" The kit's grip on his plushy tightened as his fearful voice wavered - his free paw shook as it slowly reached it's way toward the stranger's pants. The kit gave a gentle tug on the cloth.
For a moment, only a moment, a glint of a tear was caught in the stranger's eyes as he looked down at the kit. After the moment, he blinked, his eyes sharpened, and he turned his gaze down the street. The fox moved on - there was no room in his heart tonight for sympathy, for weakness. He had to find out where he was, and more importantly where who he was looking for resided. He moved past street corners, where old mom & pop stores had hastily scrawled sales banners hanging in the windows in hopes to draw in customers. He was looking patiently for one of them - any fur brave enough to bare the symbol of the Groume gang. The were, at the moment, his bane. He slipped his way into a night club. This club was not the over-speakered, crowd bursting backlight clubs he had frequently seen in the city. This club's long entry stairway led deep into the ground, as he counted his steps he swore hell was his next stop. The alcove that it opened into was illuminated by ambient red light. He scanned the half empty booths in the left and right of the dance floor that lay in the center, stretching into the back where a fur or three hunched over their drinks, their backs to the fox. The slow motion techno moaned over the old speakers, setting a half twilight emotion into the musty air.
Two male furs were centered upon the dance floor: A thin and short Jaguar in leather pants and a mesh shirt, and a taller and more built Lion with torn Jeans and a rather fashionable black tank top. Interloper eyed their motions, moving paw over paw into one another as they grinded together. Their hips rubbed, and the tents in their pants around their crotches were clearly seen as they rubbed into one another, pivoting in sensuous and artful motion.
Interloper looked on at the couple as they moved through one another. The Lion's pawtips found their way to the edge of the Jaguar's pants, down his backside, as he snuck them just inside the leather, moving them down over the Jaguar's tush. The fox didn't have to perk his ears to hear the lusting murrs moving through the air, drifting into range for any interested enough. It wasn't long before the Jaguars paws found their way down the front side of the Lion's Jeans, the smooth vertical motions of the Jaguar's forearms between the couple the unmistakable gesture that dancing had ended moments ago and was rapidly part of the metamorphosis of fucking on the dance floor.
Awestruck glances turned to the fox as he walked into the bar, his less than fully clothed appearance catching looks that streamed off as he made his way across the dance floor. His advance was stopped by the star couple on the floor, moving in his way as they both opened their stance to him.
"Care to have a little fun, hottie?" the Lion's eyes played games with the stranger's in attempts to catch any sign of interest. The Jackals's eyes explored the stranger's shirtless form, in mesmerism to the tone of his chest.
The stranger looked back, his muzzle parting ever so slightly to speak, but then closing again as he stepped around the couple. He caught the Lion's mutter, "Hard to get. Damn he's hot." , and although it didn't change his advance, he savored the words. He moved up to the bar and took a seat beside the stoic looking civet, sunglasses nearly dripping from his face as he took one half - interested glance at the fox as he took his seat. The barkeep, a notable sized gray fox, limped over and gave an upward nod in acknowledgement of his presence.
"What'll it be, boss?" his voice reflected a slight interest in a new face.
"The flying Jackals. Where are they?" The stranger's voice was full of hate- he practically spat the words. The barkeep's eyes grew wide, then sharp.
"They're going to be looking over a well that you're at the bottom of if you go around asking that." The barkeep replied with an instantaneous bond to the stranger out of fear for his safety. "What's your name, anyway?"
The stranger spun his barstool around as the barkeep spoke to him, scanning over the crowd, still catching inviting looks from the couple on the floor. He leaned back and responded quietly, "Call me Interloper."
His head cocked back to scanning the audience. He cupped his paws around his muzzle and yelled out into the club, "Hey, Flying Jackals!" he let his paws slip back to the bar and support his weight as he watched for any sort of reaction other than initial shock. Three figures stood up in the booth in the right corner near the entry stairs, stepping out and moving across the floor in a single file. First was a very large white tiger, wearing a vest and jeans, followed by a bear wearing a black jacket and slacks, tailed by a black dog in a camo shirt and dark brown pants. They moved in and surrounded the fox in a semicircle, the civet begrudgingly moved out of the way.
The bear stood silent on Interloper's left, while the tiger leaned into the bar and stared at him on his right. The dog brought himself nearly muzzle to muzzle with Interloper, glaring angrily at him, a deep growl resonating in his throat.
"You wouldn't happen to see something with two large wings around here?" Interloper spoke low to the growling dog; the black pupils dialating out the gold irises as he met eye to eye.
The bear brought around an empty bottle, swinging at the back of Interloper's head. He hastily leaned himself to the right, wrapping his right forepaw around the tiger's neck as he swiftly kicked the gut of the dog in front of him. The bear's bottle came around, straight toward the dog's face as he keeled from the gut shot. Glass shattered everywhere and the dog fell to the ground, out cold. While the bottle hit, Interloper used his left foot to kick off the stool and pivot around the tiger's neck for a choke hold. The tiger lurched into the bar, driving it into Interloper's back. Interloper dropped his choke grip, half from the burn of pain running fast up his spine, and darted out onto the dance floor. The bear threw a left paw as Interloper darted into the space - he brought his left bicep up and drove his bracelet into the bear's paw. The bear hit the bracelet with full force, and his knuckle bones completely shattered on impact. Interloper instinctively turned around to face the tiger.
In a glimpse, he caught the sight of the tiger bearing his claws and pouncing, the full force of a freight train bearing at him in an instant. He threw his forepaws up and behind him, letting his body follow as he drove his momentum into a backward handspring. As his legs moved to the air, they connected perfectly to the tiger's jaw. The tiger retracted his leap mid air and fumbled onto the ground, tucking his snout into his paws.
Interloper finished bringing his legs around, over his head in a handstand, and back to the floor, bringing him upright. He assessed the aftermath of an unconscious dog surrounded by broken glass, a tiger huddling on the floor and cursing obscenities through a broken jaw, and a bear cradling his fist, keeled onto the ground. He could feel the couple behind him staring at him in shock from the fight, and heard the Jaguar uttering lowly "We have to have him." He moved his way over to the bear, grabbing him by the jacket, and locked eyes with him.
"We need to talk."
Thank you for reading!
Comments, etc. are greatly appreciated, and if you're at all interested in more, let me know. Thanks again!