Ruff's Den
The Street Race
This story was written before Ferrel chose his name. After writing this story, he decided he liked the name, and decided to take it as his own.
From the mind of Ferrel Kasson:
I guess I had an excuse. New tires, a freshly ported set of cylinders, and a dual stage turbo unit which all needed to be broken in. So I mounted my bike and set out in search of some “friendly competition”, leaving the scent of freshly toasted rubber hovering in the air surrounding my parking space. I had to do something, I couldn’t just sit around the apartment eating cold leftover pizza, watching reruns of Import Tuner TV, and thinking of Felicity. She was on business in Colorado, her car was totaled, and I was alone. The way I saw it, if she returned to a clean apartment, a sober me, and a ten-second set of wheels, she just might forgive me for destroying all of this which she had possessed before. So here I was sailing the streets of Seattle, my tail loose in the exhaust behind me, searching for a titles race. This would be a difficult race to find under most circumstances, seeing as most drivers are intelligent enough not to risk loosing thirty-five thousand dollar car for a chance at winning a crotch-rocket worth about a third of that, but some furs can get cocky, well, overly cocky. I just had to find the right one.
After a bit of prowling I found myself at the industrial sector of the eastern harbor district. This area is ideal for street drags due to its unrivaled lack of law-enforcement and straight, smooth, strips of open tarmac. In no time the pavement had acquired a soft, luminescent glow from the undercarriage lighting of fifteen to twenty race-ready rice-rockets. Suddenly I felt a tad out of place; something about me just didn’t fit in with the group. It may have been because I was the only canine within a good four-mile radius on two wheels, but it seemed like there was something more to it than that. Something major. As I scanned the crowd, looking for easy prey, it struck me, and with great force. It wasn’t that I was the only canine within four miles on two wheels, it was simply that I was the only canine within four miles, period. I was riding into a party of pure felines, and large ones at that. Mistake? Usually, but I was bored and ready to find out just how much pep a twin-turbo Hayabusa really packs. After examining the night’s options, I spotted a younger looking solo racer. Obviously not intimidated by a fox of about half his size, the leopard failed to even stand upright as I approached. Casually slapping the pink slip of my bike down on his imitation-carbon-fiber hood, “Prove yourself, Spot” I inquired sarcastically.
“Why waste any nitrous on a biker-mutt like yourself?” the cat asked in response as a circle of curious racers and girl friends materialized around us.
“Simply because even with a hundred-shot of nitro you couldn’t pull a twelve-second quarter out of this fluff.” I mock as I rap a paw down across the fake intake scoop on his roof. “ What a waste of a fine import. Bolt-on exhaust tip, touring tires, tape-on farings, stationary race wing, say. Can this thing actually break the speed-limits around here?” The verbal beating of his Honda would have continued, but he gave in.
“Enough!” he cried “If you really, honestly want to give me your title, I’ll play along, but that thing still ain’t worth a NOS fill.” He continued, trying to keep at least a couple ounces of his self-image from slipping out the tail pipe. I knew then that the night was mine, well, I thought so.
The trick in dealing with cats is to never give them what they want. My moment of stupidity had arrived when I agreed to a half-mile sprint rather than the classic quarter. This would give the cat more of a chance to catch me after I had stolen the whole shot off the line. That is exactly what should have happened. The flag girl, one fine looking young panther, with one sweet piece of tail, was handed the slips to our vehicles, and we were in position on either side of her. The flag dropped and the throttles opened. Of course, my acceleration decimated that of the leopards Del Sol off the line and past the quarter mile mark. That’s the way things work, think of it from a physics point of view, really. But it was a bumpy ride. As the second stage turbo kicked in, my engine plugged and stalled. There I was in the middle of a titles race with zero engine power, clutch in, coasting towards my goal at eighty-four miles per hour. I was royally screwed. Running the situation through my head I realized that my opponent should have just passed me at about one hundred and forty miles per hour, yet he hadn’t. Glancing back, I saw the most glorious sight I could have possibly seen at that moment: his taillights. He was stopped, facing the wrong direction, and I was almost to the line. Victory. Success. Now the real challenge had arrived: retrieving my prize. Thankfully, my engine revved out of its coma. I disabled the turbos, and returned back to the origin of the race without any more unexpected problems, at least for the moment.
“I believe I have a couple of papers to sign, am I right?” I asked sarcastically as I approached the flag-girl holding the registration documents.
“Hey fuck that, fox!” The rookie driver growled as he leapt between the panther and myself. “That was bogus, it wasn’t a fair race!” he yelled while closing in on my position.
“Unfair because I coasted across the line with an absolute lack of engine power or because you hit the nitrous too early and spun ‘yer ass around one hundred and eighty degrees?” That probably wasn’t the smartest thing to blurt out at the moment, but I wasn’t really thinking at the time, so out it came. Bad move, me and my big muzzle. By the time I realized what I had just said, I was pinned to the pavement by a rather perturbed leopard, his knee forcing me down and resting on my recently wounded ribcage.
“Look fox, if you think I’m giving up this Honda that easy than you’d better change your plans before I change them, permanently!” he informed, still crushing my chest with his weight.
“Right, well, I hate to spoil your little fox hunt so soon, but there seems to be eight very impatient forty-five hollow points here that say the race was in your favor and that your car is no longer your car.” I barked while retrieving the Auto-Ordinance 1911 from my belt and prodding him in the side with it’s winged fore-sight. Finally realizing that he’d been outdone, he sprang back up on his hind paws and put a couple of yards between us, commanding the panther to let me at the slips as he slunk passed. Dusting myself off and holstering the “insurance tool”, as I like to call it, I let out a yip as my paw swiped the pink paper trophies from their cat-claw prison.
My problems were solved. I had gained ownership of a ’96 Honda Civic Del Sol to replace Felicity’s Celica, found a great source of entertainment, learned that twin-turbo is bull shit, and a gorgeous vixen was returning to me in a matter of hours. What more could I have asked for? To say the least, I was insanely stoked, and through all of this, I kept myself sober, well enough to think straight at least. Whatever, it was close enough.
From the mind of Felicity Farrenhardt:
Denver is a magnificent city. I’ve been here for six days trying to settle a dispute between the two largest medication-technology companies in the country, yet it seems as if I’ve been on vacation the entire time, not dealing with legal issues, it seems like some laws were just designed to be misinterpreted, yuck. I’ll be returning home tomorrow, back to Seattle, and I’ll be bringing the sweetest, most courteous ‘yote I’ve ever had the pleasure of bumping into. Bain promised to come back to Washington at my side. We’ll see what Ferrel has to say when I tear up out apartment contract and move downtown with Bain. I just can’t put up with that ass hole for another day. He drinks himself into a daze and decides to take a joyride in my Celica. All of a sudden my car is totaled, there’s a drunken fox with a broken rib or two passed out in my bedroom and I’ve got to leave for Colorado in eighteen hours. What could I do? I suppose I’ll find out if I made the right move in a few hours.
An undisclosed, yet relatively short period of time later:
Felicity’s taxi was just pulling up to the front of the apartment complex in southern Seattle as Ferrel was reaching for a towel by his shower’s door. Leaving his fur a touch damp in his frenzied toweling session, he threw on a pair of ware-faded jeans buttoning the five-button fly and slipping his fluffed tail through the slot in their backside. Scampering about his home, the fox finished up his last minute preparations for the return of his female friend just as the intercom let out it’s harsh buzz and the mellow sound of Felicity’s voice filled the room. But wait, she had forgotten to mention her new acquaintance who, as promised, had returned to Seattle with her.
“It’s wonderful to hear your voice again! Come on up!” the half-dressed fox replied via the wall-mounted microphone unit as he thought about how the vixen may have forgiven him for that night one week ago. As soon as Felicity opened the steel door she spotted a hand written note which read:
Felicity! Welcome home! Before you come upstairs I’d like you to see something.
P42
-Ferrel
She recognized her parking space number, P42, and sprinted off to the second level garage. There awaiting her was the Del Sol, keys in the ignition, and on the drivers seat: the title, made out to Felicity Farrenhardt. Plopping down into the bucket-styled race-seats, she started to have second thoughts about moving out. After a week of convincing herself that her roommate had made an unforgivable mistake, she realized that Ferrel wasn’t the heartless little bastard she had made him out to be.
“And I thought not having a car would be the dilema that was waiting for me this whole time! Now what?” The confused female mumbled to herself.
Ferrel, by this time, had a fresh pot or peruvian coffee brewed, ready to greet his, with any luck, blissful partner. As he realized that his chest was bare, he turned to fetch a shirt from his closet as there is a knock on the door. No time now. Bounding towords the door, Ferrel pre-played the next couple minutes in his mind. Ideally, he’d swing the door open and in will leap Felicity, throwing her paws around his neck. Muzzles would come together and all will be well. The fox threw the door open and in bounced Felicity, wrapping herself around him, mock-questioning “Where did you get the money to build me a Honda, scruffball?” as a quick, yet loving, kiss was exchanged. All was going perfectly to plan for Ferrel, that just couldn’t last, could it?
From the mind of Bain Everick:
I was feeling relativly bad for this Ferrel Kasson guy at this point. He buys his girlfriend a car only to find out that she is leaving him and moving out. Brutal. I guess from the way Felicity described him, he deserved it, but wasn’t not my call. As I walked through the door to his apartment I was ready to see a pretty vicious fight between the foxes, so, obviously, I was shocked to see them intimatly wrapped up in each other. My jaw dropped wide open as I realized that something had gone seriously wrong.
From the mind of Ferrel Kasson:
Squeezing Felicity tight to my stomach, our muzzles resting on each other’s shoulders, I knew, I was forgiven. That’s when I saw him. Peering out over Felicity’s shoulder, I watched as a good-sized male coyote stepped into our aprtment.
“Morning, how can I help you?” I called out, as the merciful foxette sunk off of me, onto the floor. The ‘yote was silent, he just stood there in our doorway, eyes wide, ears back, tail down, muzzle half open, he looked as if he had just beed run through with a barbed spear.
“Hello? The name’s Ferrel Kasson, do you have buissiness here?” I prodded.
“I’m afraid he does, Ferrel.” The vixen called out from behind me, suddenly sounding sickeningly grave and serious. What exactly was happening, I was unsure. For all I knew, the coyote was here to end me, and Felicity was in on it. This wasn’t exactly the situation I had been prepared for, but from the look on the ‘yote’s face, he was just as unknowing as I was. For a moment, the two of us just stood there staring at Felicity, who was now sitting on the hardwood floor, muzzle between her knees, tail flowing out beside her, searching for a suitable explanation. Our painful lid of silence was finally shattered when Felicity stood up and, in one breath, blurted out:
From the mind of Felicity Farrenhardt:
“I’m sorry Bain. I don’t know what I’ve been doing recently! None of this madness has been justified in the least. I can’t leave Ferrel. Obviously he realized what he did, and fixed all that he could. I acted out because of one damned incident, and fucked up the entire situation. Now I’m here with the both of you, and one’s not staying!” I said, then paused to let my lungs catch up to my mouth. I waited a moment for some reasons to sway the overall outcome of the issue, but there were none to be heard.
“Bain, trust me, it hurts me as much as it will hurt you when I tell you this, but, I believe I’m spoken for. I’ve forgiven Ferrel for his mistake, now I hope you can forgive me for mine.”
Ending One:
Ferrel felt more relieved than he had ever felt in all his life, period. So relieved in fact, that he actually fell back against the wall with a sigh as the tension was broken. Bain knew he couldn’t persuade Felicity to change her mind now, so he didn’t even make an attempt. After all, it would just make him look more patheticly desperate at best. Score one more for the fox. Not angered by the events of the evening, mainly just sorrowful and withdrawn, Bain turned and headed for the door.
“I suppose I’ll go find a flight to Denver and try to reclaim my lease on the studio then.” He said as he began to exit.
“No, wait!” called Ferrel. “Stay here with us for the night, you won’t find another flight until morning anyhow.” Suggested the fox. “The sofa folds out and we’ve got some spare bedding in the bedroom. Spend the night with us, we’ll all have breakfast in the morning, and I’ll split the airfare back to Colorado with you.” He continued, watching as the coyote’s tail perked up at the thought. “Really, I can’t just turn my back and toss ‘ya out that easily.”
The night was spent getting to know one another and exchanging contact information and stories. Later a certain pair of red-furred canines got deeply reacquainted to each other, then slept away the remaining few hours of the night. In the morning, breakfast was rushed, goodbyes were said and Bain departed. After that morning, Bain Everick was never heard from again by the foxes, who were now content together. And that’s the way it stayed.
Ending Two (Deadly):
“Oh, hell no! You’ve got to be kiddin’ me.” Bain growled “Ya can’t just drag me all the way out here from Denver just to tell me to go home! That’s shit! You, fox, this is your fault, and now it’s my problem.” He continued as he pivoted to face Ferrel. “And problems are meant to be eliminated!” he screamed as he took a gargantuan bound and propelled himself into the fox. The coyote had bowled right through Ferrel, knocking the firearm out of his pawbefore it was even entirely drawn, sending it bouncing and sliding across the room. Before either of the foxes could grasp the thought of just what exactly was taking place in their own living room, Bain had his jaws clinched around Ferrel’s neck with his teeth pircing into the fox’s throat. At this point there was no life left in his prey’s body yet the ‘yote hung on, letting Ferrel’s warm blood stream down his muzzle, and onto his chest. His body limp and lifelessly sprawled across the center of his own apartment, saturating the carpet with a pool of blood, Ferrel Kasson was no more.
Dusting himself off and wiping as much of the blood from his muzzle as he could without too much effort, Bain stood up, ready to claim Felicity, who had, in the turmoil, gained control of the handgun (pawgun?) from the oppositecorner of her living room, and was now standing behind the murderer.
“Don’t mive an inch!” Felicity called out her warning in her most menacing voice.
“Your friend went easy enough, what’s different about you that makes you more of a challenge?” he asked, not bothering to turn and face the vixen.
“This.” She spoke as she pulled the 1911’s slide back, chambering the first round of the clip, letting the infamous “chi-chink” sound of the .45 being cocked echo throughout her home.
From the mind of Felicity Farrenhardt:
Obviously Bain recognized the sound of me arming Ferrel’s gun. He slowly rotated around to face me. He wore the most frightening face I could have ever imagined. His eyes bulging beyond their sockets, jaw dropped ajar, and chest heaving from the harsh, jolting movements of his diaphragm.
“Care to join your lover-boy, bitch?” he asked, grinning a nasty, sour smile at his situation. Knowing it was futile, Bain charged. I had no choice, I took the shot. We wouldn’t both survive the morning. The bullet hit ‘im hard, knocking the coyote to the floor. A beautiful demonstration of the stopping power of a .45 hollow-point if I say so myself. Now dealing with a gaping hole in his hip, Bain came at me again. I wasn’t about to give him another chance. Before I knew it, the remaining seven projectiles in the gun were lodged in the ‘yotes torso.
From the author’s twisted mind:
That was the last thought she ever had. The blast from the patrolman’s 9mm Beretta could be heard by everybeast around but the three deceased canines laying on the living room’s floor. Two neighbors had reported the noise of the earlier brawl and a police officer was at the scene in minutes. As the seven-shot string of gunfire was being unleashed, the cop had rammed the door in, weapon in paw. He made his mark and placed the lead ball dead into Felicity’s skull. To think that one simple case of misjudgment led to two dead foxes, a lifeless coyote and one ferret-cop with the largest investigation he would be assigned during his carreer, which is to this day unsolved.
Ending three (more twisted, less sick):
Bain was thouroughly disappointed by the news that Felicity had just announced, but there was something else on his mind. The coyote’s attention had been stolen by Ferrel since he first made eye-contact. Suddenly, he realized that he was more attracted to Ferrel than to his female roommate, and began to stare at the fox. These feelings were completely new to Bain, who had been heterosexual his entire life up to this point. Oddly enough, the fox was returning his gaze, looking equally passionate.
From the mind of Bain Everick:
Could it be? Did Ferrel share the same feelings that I was experiancing? How could I tell? Up until tem minutes ago the thought of homosexuality disgusted me, and now here I am drooling over my exgirlfriend’s boyfriend! And even stranger than that, I think he feels the same wat! Well, it just feels right on the inside, though it’s weird not being attracted to the god-like vixen standing not five feet from my location.
From the mind of Ferrel Kasson:
The most dimented thing I could have imagined had happened to me. Felicity had just afreed to stay with me, as my mate, yet I was more turned on by a male coyote! What was goin’ on? Out of nowhere I was gay and dreaming of cuddling with Bain. Within twenty minutes I was next to the ‘yote on my sofa, his paw resting on my thigh, my arm draped over his shoulder. We didn’t even notice our contact until we had been discussing the whole predicament for almost ten minutes when Felicity, sitting alone, pointed out how suprisingly well the two of us were getting along.
“Felicity, I’ve got to tell you about an odd situation I’ve gotten myself into here. About twenty minutes ago I started to become more attracted to Bain than to any female I can remember meeting. The feeling just keeps growing more intense and rich. And Bain, I’m sorry if I’m creeping you out here, but that’s the way things are. So there you have it.” There I was. I had come out of the closet, I guess, though I never really hid anything from anyone. Felicity was blown away when she heard this, and finely fainted when Bain stood up and broadcasted that his feelings were a mirror image of my own.
Rrom the mind of Felicity Farrenhardt:
After transferring my half of the lease to Bain, I packed up and moved out of the old aprtment. Bain and Ferrel were definatly feeling bad for me that day, and tears were shed by all three of us. I moved in with my sister until I could find a new place, but soon foundanother mate, and swiftly settled in. The guys are still happy together, and I must admit, I’m kind of happy for them too. We still keep in touch these days, yet recently it’s been significantly less frequent. I suppose certain things are just supposed to happen in mysterious ways, and all we can do is sit back and admire them as they happen.
Written by Ferrel Kasson