Topics

1

Game Room / CF group on the free rice game!

« on: January 12, 2011, 12:09:05 AM »

See this website? They're donating rice to starving third-worlders! Every time you get a question right in one of their quizzes, they donate 10 grains.

Sign up there, then join the Crimson Flag Comic group and click Play from the group page! After that, all the rice you earn goes towards our group's totals.

Several thousand grains donated so far! Keep it coming!

2

Role Play Theater / FURSONA RP rules -- feel free to steal

« on: October 08, 2010, 12:36:28 AM »

Here's an ultra-lightweight roleplaying system I wrote for the games Yuro and I are in. Anyone who likes is welcome to use it!









FURSONA Rules
by Tachyon Feathertail ( http://feathertail.dreamwidth.org )

This document is licensed CC-By-SA.




Hello! This document will explain how to roleplay using the FURSONA game rules. FURSONA stands for

Furry
Universal
Roleplaying
System,
Online
Network-
Augmented

In other words, it's a game that lets you roleplay as a furry character, and it's designed to be played online.

You can print out this document and share it with your friends. You can even make it into a book and charge money for it, or write your own additional rules document based on this one. If you do so, you must credit Tachyon Feathertail (aka Jared Spurbeck) as the original author, and acknowledge FURSONA as being an unregistered trademark belonging to him. You also must license your work using a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 license. This will allow other people to do all of these things with your creations, too. You can read a summary of this license at http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/.

Getting Started

To play a game using these rules, you will need:

•   Friends
•   An Internet connection

Either you or one of your friends will take the role of the Game Master, or GM. This player is responsible for refereeing the rules, telling the overall story, and helping each player learn the game and develop his or her own character's story. The GM has the final say as to what happens in-game, and can even override the written rules as needed.

If you are playing the game offline, you may want a pencil and paper to write things down on, and a good-sized handful of 6-sided dice (the kind that come in most board games). You'll also want glass beads or poker chips, or some other kind of inedible token.

Using the dice

In games played using the FURSONA rules, you roll one or more 6-sided dice to see if your character succeeds at the action that she is attempting. The better your character is at doing it, the more dice you get to roll. If even one die lands on a 5 or a 6, this counts as a success.

The more successes your character gets, the better she does what she's trying to do. If you get even one success, though, you succeed. The only exceptions are if you're doing something especially hard, or if you're competing against another person's character. Then you need to roll more successes than he does.

Special rules come into play if you roll two or more dice at once. If at least two of the dice you're rolling come up "boxcars," or double 6's, those count as two successes and you get to reroll them, and keep any more successes you get. You can do this for as many pairs of double 6's as you get. But if at least two dice come up "snake eyes," or double 1's, that counts as a failure. It subtracts 1 from the number of successes you get.

To roll the dice, you can use one of the following online die-rollers:

•   http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/ (lets other people verify what you rolled)
•   http://www.penpaperpixel.org/tools/d20dicebag.htm

Some forums or chat rooms may have die-rollers built in.

An extremely competent character can roll 8 or more dice all at once, so if you're playing this game offline you'll want to have a lot of dice on hand.

Creating a character

Most games played using the FURSONA rules will have their own, extra guidelines for character creation. The following, though, are the basics.

The first step is to decide on an idea for your character. What are his/her name and gender? What species is he or she? Do you have a picture of your character, or an idea of what he or she looks like? Write down whatever ideas you have.

The second step is to decide what your character's ability scores are. You have seven dice to put into

•   Physical,
•   Social, and
•   Mental ability.

You must put at least one die into each, and you can't put more than four dice into any of them.

Your character's Physical ability score is a measure of how strong, fast, and/or tough she is. Social dice make her more charismatic and confident, while Mental dice make her shrewd and intelligent.

Different characters are gifted in different ways. Yours might be stronger, or more agile, than another with the same number of dice in the Physical score. When describing your character's actions, emphasize her strengths; a character who's light on her feet might dodge under a swung 2x4 limbo-style, while a character who's strong and tough might catch it in her hands and break it in two.

The third step is to put dice into your character's skills. You have fifteen dice to put into them. Different games may have their own skills (or may remove some from the list), but at a minimum you can choose from

•   Acrobatics (balance beam, gymnastics, tumbling)
•   Armed Combat (swords, knives, axes, staves)
•   Athletics (climbing, running, swimming)
•   Computer Use (hacking, programming, researching)
•   Deceive (bluffing, fast talk, disguise)
•   Dodge (getting out of the way)
•   Knowledge (facts, trivia, things you remember reading)
•   Medicine (first aid, caring for sick or injured people)
•   Observe (noticing things, seeing through lies and disguises)
•   Persuade (getting others to see things your way, politely or otherwise)
•   Ranged Combat (handguns, longarms, bows and arrows)
•   Security (casing a building, searching for traps, lockpicking, pickpocketing)
•   Stealth (creeping silently, hiding yourself, hiding an object on your person)
•   Unarmed Combat (street brawling, martial arts, roughhousing)
•   Wilderness Lore ("human" survival skills; firemaking, purifying water, building shelter)

If magic (or other supernatural abilities) exist in the world that you're playing in, you have sixteen dice instead of fifteen, and can choose from an additional skill:

•    Insight (ability to sense which people and objects are magical)

If the character you're playing is a furry (anthropomorphic animal), you have sixteen dice instead of fifteen, and can choose from an additional skill:

•   Instinct (any and all skills related to being part-animal)

If you're playing a furry in a world where magic exists, you have seventeen dice to spend, total.

When rolling the dice, you'll add the number of dice you have in the skill that you're using to the number of dice in the ability score that's most relevant. For example, if you're swinging a sword at someone you'd use Armed Combat + Physical, whereas if you're trying to recall the history of a legendary blade you could use Armed Combat + Mental (or Knowledge + Mental).

The fourth step is to put dice into your backstories. A backstory is something that makes your character herself; some advantage or disadvantage that she has on account of being who she is. In essence, they let you bend the rules by pointing out that, because you are playing this kind of character, the rules should affect you differently.

You have five dice that you can put into backstories. Each backstory can have no more than four dice put into it, and you can take no more than four backstories total. Example backstories include

•   Executive Suite (your character has power or influence of some kind)
•   Lighter than Air (your character is hard to capture, contain, or kill)
•   Marked for Greatness (your character is the subject of a good prophecy)

The rules for individual game settings may include additional backstory examples, including ones themed to fit those settings.

At the start of each game session, you get a token to spend for each backstory you took, regardless of how many dice you put in it. During gameplay, you may spend a token to roll all of the dice for any one of your backstories, in one of three ways:

•   Power (add the successes you get to any one roll you just made)
•   Obstruct (your opponent must beat the number of successes you get)
•   Special (the number of successes you get determines how the game's plot changes)

For example, someone in the Executive Suite might add the dice in her backstory to a Persuade + Social roll she just made, to sweeten the deal with financial "incentives." Someone who's Lighter than Air might roll his dice to obstruct someone from attacking him, making her have to roll Athletics + Physical to catch him. And someone who's Marked for Greatness might roll his backstory dice when all seems lost, using each success to remind the GM and other players of his destiny.

The specific effects of rolling backstory dice are up to GM interpretation, especially for "special" rolls where they're used to influence the plot. A GM is free to suggest alternate uses, or to disallow a suggested use if it doesn't seem to make sense to her. She may also suggest that you take a different backstory, if one does not fit in the story she's telling, or give you ideas for specific backstories that seem to fit your character.

You may take up to five extra backstory dice by giving your character "negative" backstories. The rules for taking backstories (no more than four backstories total; no more than four dice in each) apply separately to negative backstories. The difference is that the negative ones work against your character. The GM gets a token for every negative backstory that every player character in the game has, and can trigger your negative backstories just like you can trigger your positive ones.

(Caution: The point of backstories is to make storytelling more fun, not to take "the best" ones or use them in the most game-breaking ways. As a rule of thumb, if it makes for a better story for everyone, it's a good use of a backstory; if it doesn't, then it's probably a waste.)

The next steps in character creation depend on what game you are playing. If you are playing Therian, for instance, you will need to choose what faction your character is a part of, and choose from other options which give small bonuses to your character. Talk to your GM to find out what sort of game you are playing in!

Playing the game

Most of the time, playing games based on FURSONA is like normal chatroom or messageboard RP. You all just say what your characters do. The biggest difference is that there's a Game Master, or GM, who controls all the characters the players aren't playing as, and says what happens in the world. The GM has the most responsibility for telling the story, and is the one who referees the game and says what dice you need to roll.

Whenever it'd make things dramatic, the GM can ask you or another player to roll dice to see if you can accomplish something. Usually, if you roll at least one success on your dice you succeed, and each extra success means another positive consequence of your action. Sometimes, though, you might need more than one success, if what you're trying to do is hard.

Either way, the GM says what happens next, whether you succeed or fail. You and the other players are encouraged to give him or her suggestions, though!

Conflict

Whether it's in a footrace, a car chase or a gunfight, you're going to go up against someone at some point. Here's how it's done!

The first step is for the GM to say what kind of conflict it is. A footrace might use your Physical dice plus your Athletics dice. A gunfight might use Physical plus Ranged Combat.

The second step is to determine your starting stress tracks. These are used to determine who wins, sort of like HP meters in console RPGs. Each participant's stress track starts out with three points in it, plus one for every die he or she has in the ability score used for the conflict. If you have three dice in Physical, for instance, then you'd start with six points in your stress track in a footrace.

If one side has an advantage over another, the GM might give them extra points. For instance, if you have a six-second head start in the footrace you might get an extra point in your stress track. This doesn't mean that you get to roll extra dice; it doesn't make you faster or anything. It just means that your opponent has to do more work to catch up.

The third step is to determine your starting dice pools. These are the dice that you'll roll to diminish the other side's stress track. Each turn you both roll all the dice in your pools, and each success takes a point away from the other side.

Your starting dice pool is equal to the number of dice that you'd roll for this task normally, plus or minus any situational modifiers. These are up to the GM to determine. If you twisted your ankle earlier, for instance, you might roll only four dice instead of six in a conflict based on Physical plus Athletic dice. Or if it's foggy out, both sides might roll one fewer die in a gunfight, or might even have to roll Mental plus Observe to notice each other before firing.

The fourth step is the combat itself. You and the other side take turns rolling dice and subtracting successes from each other's stress tracks.

Feel free to try using tactics to gain an advantage! There aren't any hard and fast rules for how you might do that, so if you can think of something your character might do just say so, and let the GM figure out how it's done. In a swordfight, for instance, you might decide that you're only going to parry the other's blade, and that might take successes away from the number of successes that he or she rolls instead of from his or her stress track. Then you might decide that you want to leap to another platform to get away, and so you'd roll Physical plus Athletics, and your opponent might need to get the same number of successes to pursue (depending on what's in the way).

The last step happens when one side brings the other's stress track to zero. (If both are brought to zero at the same time, the one that's taken the most damage loses. If both are tied, it's up to the GM whether to do a tiebreaker roll or to say that both sides fail.)

At this point, the losing side has the option of triggering a backstory as a kind of last chance. However many successes they get on it become a new stress track, and the conflict resumes. (Extra damage beyond what was needed to diminish the first stress track does not carry over to the second.) It has to be a dramatically appropriate backstory, though, and you have to explain how it works. In a footrace, for instance, you could trigger a backstory about a strong relationship your character has with another, one who just happens to be in the stands watching. That might give you the strength to push ahead.

Each side only gets one last chance, and when those dice are up the conflict is over. The winning side gets to decide what happens to the losing side as a result, and if the GM is okay with the winning side's choice that's what happens. (The GM may have to reign in players who get carried away.)

The basic rules behind conflicts are pretty straightforward! That's because they're not intended to cover every situation, just to give guidelines for how powerful each side is and how much effort they have to expend in order to win. You're encouraged to roleplay your characters coming up with their own strategies, and to invent new "rules" for how to simulate each one. Just remember, the object is not to "win" ... it's to tell a story that's fun for everyone.

3

Random Topics / Everyone read this right now!

« on: August 24, 2010, 12:20:46 AM »

Chaoticidealism, a blogger on LiveJournal that I've been following for some time, just got interviewed by NPR about her experiences as an autistic person.

You can read the interview here, and her follow-up article, "Ten Things Everyone Should Know About Autism," here.

Speaking as an autistic tree swallow, I was so depressed today when I saw books about "curing" autism on display at the library today. But this is just plain win. Chaoticidealism is my hero(ine).

4

Writer's Guild / Draco Dormiens

« on: October 06, 2009, 03:02:10 PM »

It's a new story, and this time it's set in a medieval fantasy world! Should be right up a Crimson Flag fan's alley. ^.^

You can read it here: http://www.becomeyourfursona.com/2009/10/draco-dormiens/

If you decide to comment, maybe leave a review on the site itself so I can test out the new anti-spam plugin! Many thanks! And remember, I do take both commissions and requests!

5

Writer's Guild / Shades of Cineroargenteus

« on: September 26, 2009, 07:18:03 PM »

Remember those stories I posted awhile back? Well, I take story commissions for people who want to become their fursonas, and Virmir bought one. Here are the results: http://www.becomeyourfursona.com/2009/09/shades-of-cineroargenteus/!

If you'd like to get your own, visit the commissions page. I take requests too, incidentally! And feel free to leave comments either here or on the main story page.

6

Writer's Guild / Spirit Hunter -- Another transformation story

« on: June 19, 2009, 02:57:40 PM »

Yes, I know, I should be getting my own website for these. I'm working on it. ^.^; Here's the last place I posted them, incidentally: LINK So if you've liked these stories, there's plenty more where they came from!

This one was another request by another friend of mine. If you clicked on the link, you can see that I used to be taking requests and commissions! I'd like to do so again at some point ... hopefully soon.

Anyway, this story was based on an idea I had for a silly web game ... a post-apocalyptic RPG where you'd venture into abandoned suburban houses, and ransack them for legendary (and randomly-generated) treasures, like bric-a-brac and big-screen TVs. I combined that idea with a new idea I had for TF mechanics, and came up with the following!














Spirit Hunter

Mark let out his breath in a puff of white, used the sleeve of his coat to wipe the fog off the scope, and squinted through it again. It wasn't electronic, so all he could see were thin black crosshairs, and the target board through the snow-covered forest.

He fired, controlling the recoil with practiced hands. Twenty yards into the trees he saw wood splinter, and a tiny black mark where his shell had hit. He leaned his rifle on the sanded armrest, brushed his dark brown hair out of his face, and looked up ... and up ... and up, at the pile of furs and hides beside him.

At the top, two feet over his head, a white tiger's face grinned a cocky grin down at him. The tiger unshouldered an enormous rifle, then brought his snow boots apart and took aim at the target board, not even using the armrest down at his waist. His ears folded back; his tail went taut. Then he fired, and Mark jumped at the ear-cracking sound. When Mark looked up, he saw half of the target board still standing up, and a cloud of splinters slowly settling down to the snow behind it.

Mark gave the tiger a disgusted look. "How'd you get so big when you have to drink your kills through a straw? If that'd been a deer, you would've turned it to chunky salsa." He pointed out at the target board.

The tiger just laughed. "You think this is a hunting rifle?" He held it out for Mark to examine. "This thing's anti-tank. Russian-made."

Mark looked it over, trying not to show how envious he was. "Yeah, I bet those Russian tanks made really good eating."

"No." The tiger grinned. "Just the people inside."

"Oh you did not."

He laughed. "I came close a couple of times! Crazy mercs guarding those Russian oilfields. They've still got oil out there, you know."

"That why you ran off to Siberia?" Mark leaned up against the armrest, curling his toes inside his boots and trying to unfreeze them. "More gasoline for the truck's engine?"

"Naw. I signed up to impress women." He flexed his arms, still covered thickly in furs. "You think the girls'll go for me now?"

"Yeah, if they like carpet salesmen."

The tiger gave him an unamused look, then broke off a tree limb and swung it playfully at him. Mark ducked underneath, then picked up a fallen branch and swung in fast, smacking his furs and hides twice before he could parry. The two of them "fought" for almost a minute, Mark swinging fast and the tiger blocking half of his hits, before the tiger caught Mark's stick in mid-swing and swung him into a snowdrift.

Mark crawled out, spitting snow out of his mouth and brushing it off of his coat and pants. "I'll have you know you used to be the smaller one!"

The tiger just smiled.

Mark walked back over to where he had dropped his rifle, and shouldered it. "You just wait. I'm gonna sign up for an Expeditionary Force-"

"Don't." The smile vanished. "I'm serious."

"Fine, I'll just walk to Siberia on my lonesome then. Or Greenland. Heck, I could make it to Africa if I wanted to. I'll find some mad, killer animal out there, and I'll come back nine feet tall and kick your sorry tail into next week."

One massive paw ruffled the hair on Mark's head and nearly pushed him into the snow, before he shoved it off. "You can try, bro, you can try." He smacked him on the back, and walked past him. "C'mon, it's time for dinner."

Mark didn't come, straightening himself out and giving the tiger's back a disgusted look until he was almost out of sight. Then he got out a clear jewel from his pocket, and looked through it at his brother. The tiger shone an intense royal blue, wisps of energy radiating off of him and brushing the thin green strands inside each tree.

Mark put the gem away, and sighed before heading back towards home.

* * *

That night's dinner was sparse. The hunting expeditions had come back empty-handed, and the supply from last year's harvest was running low. Matilda insisted on making sure there was dinner for Mark's brother, though, and so he ate rich, warmed, salted venison, while Mark chewed on dry jerky and ignored the growl in his stomach.

It wasn't easy. No one else had come out to dinner because there wasn't any, so it was just Mark, his brother, and Matilda around the campfire, surrounded by canvas tents and RVs with missing hoods and wheels. And Mark listened to the two of them talk, while watching flakes of bark and old newspapers peel off of the pile of burning logs, and drift up into the tree shadows and the stars.

Matilda was a bison. Somehow, she'd managed to find one. Mark could still remember the diminutive girl she'd once been, almost as much shorter than him as he was compared to his brother now. And he remembered he'd used to tease her a lot.

Now she was even larger than his brother, with hooves and thick hand-paws, and a warm smile that went with her homemade calico dress. Mark had used to make fun of her "arts and crafts." But ever since she'd taken charge of the camp, they'd all learned how practical it was to make their own things and grow their own food. Instead of just hunting and foraging.

Mark still remembered the year before that ... the dry wolf meat, worn-out old blankets and leaky tents. Those had been some long nights.

Matilda had really changed since those days. And so had Mark's brother, he thought. He watched the two of them, sitting next to each other, but he wasn't listening to their words. He was watching their facial expressions. The way Matilda laughed, rocking back on the log and waving a hand as though to ward off his brother. And the way that he watched her intently, and smiled before saying something that set her off again. The two of them just seemed so ... confident. So full of life. Mark bet that they'd be glowing brighter than the fire if he looked at them both through the gem.

Enough waiting, Mark thought, and looked out at the trees in the distance. Tomorrow it's my turn.

But what to become? he wondered. There was no way he could outdo either of them.

Something tricky, he thought with a grin. Like a fox. A vicious, savage fox-

Somebody stepped out from behind an RV decked out in solar panels, and yawned before heading inside of it. It was Alvin, their tech support, and he was a red fox. Just like half the people in this camp. Everyone wants to be a fox. So foxes are out.

But Mark still wanted something tricky. What could out-trick a trickster?

He sat there for another few minutes, thinking. And when he finally decided, he laughed, and made the other two look over at him.

Mark waved them aside, and went off to his own tent.

* * *

The next morning, Mark waited outside of Al's camper, for the fox to come out and unlock the steel case on the side. There inside it were everyone's phones, freshly charged and ready to use.

Al nodded greetings to Mark, and Mark got his phone out while Al typed intently on his. From there Mark didn't wait for anyone else, but headed straight for the road into the suburbs.

It was a long walk, but the road was clear for miles. The cars has been cleared off already, so there was no place to hide. Mark didn't mind, and began whistling as he walked, making good time as the sun moistened the frost on the grass.

He turned on his phone and checked the GPS, for Google Maps' species markers. The one that he wanted was still there, and had last been checked just a week ago. There should be a healthy den.

Mark didn't need a whole den, he thought, and felt the weight of the rifle on his back. He just needed one of them.

It took him a couple of hours to get into town. Finally, Mark hopped down from the offramp and headed past the old restaurants, with smashed-in glass windows and posters of Ronald McDonald's face, and hiked down the forest road that led to the gated communities.

He looked out into the forest as he walked, at the dry leaves and dead branches covered with snow. Some deer were spooked by his approach, and he snapped his fingers and watched them go, stomach rumbling. Oh well, he thought. I've still got plenty of beef jerky.

The place he arrived at was an upscale gated community, with the kind of houses that had a bathroom for every person and a garage door for every car. Mark stepped over the broken, wooden board that had once been lowered next to the guardhouse, and checked his phone to make sure of his destination. He thought he could see it from where he was at; it had an octagonal upper window, and blue walls.

Mark didn't go inside. Instead, he went to the house across the street, and tossed a few rocks in the door to make sure there was nothing inside. After that he pulled out a plastic chair from the dining room and set it up at the living room's picture window, where he had a good view of the blue house. Then he went through the rooms to see if there was anything else. The kitchen had already been cleaned out, but there was a stash of comic books in one of the upstairs bedrooms. He brought them downstairs, and leafed through them while waiting for movement outside.

It took longer than he had expected. Hours longer. Mark turned on his phone again, and checked Wikipedia. It said they were mostly nocturnal, and he had been hoping. Mark sighed, and snacked on some fruit leather while reading about Spider-man's second marriage.

When it was getting close to suppertime he saw a buck deer, walking across the road. Then another, and pretty soon there was a whole family of them. Mark gave them a weird look. This close to the den? he thought. Can't they, like, smell it? He wondered if the marker had been correct, and thought of bagging one of them just so he didn't come back empty-handed. Mark's stomach gnawed at him, and he remembered what his brother's meal had smelled like.

Then he saw it. Like a miniature gray-and-red wolf, the coyote leaned inside the open doorway of the house across the street, crouched low and waiting for them to come closer. Mark slowly got up, standing inside the shadows, and unshouldered his rifle and aimed at it.

He would only get one shot. He just hoped that the glass didn't deflect the bullet too much.

Mark had just gotten the coyote lined up in the crosshairs, when his phone rang. Immediately the coyote's ears perked, as did the tails and ears of the deer outside.

Mark froze, in the seconds of silence afterwards. Then his phone rang again, and he found himself inwardly cursing whoever'd decided to call him.

It rang a third time. The deer finally bolted, and the coyote leaped out and chased after them. Disgusted, Mark got out his phone and pushed Send. "What?"

It was Matilda's voice. "Mark, where are you? We're getting an expedition ready to go out hunting again."

"I'm in the suburbs. Okay? And I was this close to bagging my prize." He heard squealing, and snarling, and loud bellows outside. "And a whole herd of deer, while I was at it."

She said something, but he couldn't hear it. The bellows had gotten louder. "Look, I'll call you back. Okay?"

He couldn't hear what she said.

"Okay?"

"Okay!" he finally heard her exclaim.

He pushed Cancel, and stepped outside the front door. The herd was long-gone, but the coyote had downed one of the deer. It was snarling and tearing at it, and even at this distance Mark could hear the buck bellow in agony. It hurt his ears.

Mark unshouldered his rifle, took careful aim, and fired. The coyote dropped. A second shot, and the bellows stopped.

Mark ran over to where the two lay, only stopping ten feet away from them to smack himself on the forehead. "Argh!" he exclaimed, and followed it up with a few choice words. "What in the heck was I thinking?" He looked down at the two entwined bodies, then got out his gem and looked at it. It'd already begun to absorb the stray wisps of energy, the ones escaping from their husks. And he thought that it felt a bit heavier, too.

For a moment, Mark stood there, weighing the options in his mind as the gem slowly changed colors. He thought of getting a new gem, however long that might take. Then he looked down at the buck deer and its antlers, and a thought came to Mark's mind.

He held the gem out over the animals, until it glowed and practically dripped with energy. Then he held it close to his chest ... and let it drop, to smash open on the pavement.

* * *

That evening whole families ate around the campfire. Human children sat on logs and kicked their feet, waiting anxiously, while their parents moved around getting plates set up on the wooden tables. Matilda wore a warm green dress and earmuffs, and carried a salad bowl to the table where two venison roasts already lay.

She nearly dropped it when she saw Mark come into camp. He was wearing the same coat, but he had the face of a coyote ... and the antlers of a buck deer.

Mark unshouldered a sack with two legs sticking out of it, and dropped it next to his hooves. He looked over at the cooked roasts on the table; then looked up at Matilda, and grinned. "What, did they go on without me?"

Matilda stared. "I ... "

"All the more for me, then." Mark picked back up his bag, and went to go get his cooking utensils.

7

Writer's Guild / Independence Day -- A TF story

« on: June 15, 2009, 12:15:04 PM »

... by popular demand! Sort of.

This story was commissioned by a fur on one of the messageboards that I frequent, and he asked for a lot of small edits and added scenes. He's not responsible for the unusual format, though, which was inspired by a certain website! I also gather the name's already been used someplace ...

Apologies in advance, because it's kind of long. In fact, I'm going to have to divide it into multiple parts just to post it. ^.^; I'll make the other ones replies to this thread, so as not to clutter the boards.














May 10th

Mood: Okay
Location: Home

LS keeps saying I should try this whole online journal thing. So here I am. Let the friends list requests begin! Gotta friend 'em all, right? I kid, I kid ...

Edit: Wow, srsly? I didn't even know some of you had online journals! I'm flattered.




May 19th

Mood: Impatient
Location: Still at home

Apparently if you have one of these online journaling whatnots, you're supposed to write about yourself in them. I'm not sure I see the point, because I lead the most boring life ever and you don't want to read about it. But LS keeps bothering me, so here goes ...

Today I read library books. All day. And tomorrow I'm taking them back. Or maybe the day after. Who knows. I'm lazy.

Exciting, huh?




May 22nd

Mood: Bored
Location: Still at home

My last entry didn't satisfy LS. So today I'm going to write until I hit the word count she gave me. Here goes ...

bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored

... okay fine.

I live in a fourth-story apartment in the City of Gray. That's not what it's called (no kidding), it's just what I like to think of it as. It's shinier downtown, but it's just a shinier shade of gray. Even the buildings with glass sides just reflect the gray sky and the gray buildings and streets. There was a tornado near here a few days ago, and I was wondering if it would sweep me off to the Land of Oz.

My apartment, which I would think of as "My rockin' bachelor pad" if it were, in fact, rockin', has four walls and a ceiling. This sets it apart from some of the other units in the building. The mice and cockroaches know this, which is why I spend lots of time with them. Of course, it helps that I don't do the dishes often enough.

I make a living by doing odd jobs online and collecting unemployment insurance. This is a rare skill, as they've made it so hard that only people who are able to read can apply. Did I mention I like reading? I hate going to the library, though -- I'd buy from Amazon, but I like being able to read while eating. And for some reason, you need money to eat. Imagine that! I also hate going to the store, but it's another prerequisite to eating.

I'm still about a thousand words short of the word count she gave me. But a picture is worth a thousand words, so here's a picture I snapped of the view outside my window:

Error: Picture not found.

Edit: Rats, I still can't get it to upload. Any ideas? What am I doing wrong?




May 30th

Mood: Scared, nervous and frustrated
Location: Heck

I am never using a public library terminal to look something up ever again.




June 3rd

Mood: Sarcastic
Location: Not heck

LS keeps needling me to write. So here goes.

Let's see ... today's writing prompt, up on the online journal website, says "Have you ever hugged somebody you didn't know in person? Has anyone you didn't know ever hugged you?"

Answer ... yes. When I was active in the furry fandom. And I will never do so again for as long as I live. >_<

Edit: Both.

Edit 2: A close personal friend has informed me that she happens to be in the furry fandom, and doesn't like hearing people make fun of it. So the comments thread for this entry is now closed. Sorry.




June 5th

Mood: Wry amusement
Location: Dry apartment

My refrigerator just gave up and died on me. This morning. While I was still asleep.

I am so glad I didn't have any meat or animal products in there, or I wouldn't be eating for the rest of the week. *munches on celery and carrot sticks*




June 6th

Mood: Bemused
Location: The place with four walls and a ceiling

Remember our talk about furries, earlier on? That's what our talk about vegans the other night reminded me of. Apparently, in order to be a good ol' red-blooded American one must eat steak from a Texas longhorn every night, just toasted enough so that it's still raw and squidgy in between the gray parts.

FYI, I have dietary restrictions that keep me from eating animal products. Any of them. At all. I've been this way for a year now, for reasons that are, frankly, none of your business. Sometimes I feel like I'd kill for a hamburger, but the last time I went to McDonald's (for a salad, mind you) the smell drove me away. It's like death warmed over, and deep-fried in lard. And I can remember liking that smell, but now it just makes me sick. It's like my body knows that it can't digest it, and it's keeping me from making a serious mistake.

How serious? To the wise guy who talked about sneaking an egg into my "soymilk smoothie:" That would've killed me. I mean it. One night I woke up with the worst stomach cramps, and not a clue what had caused it. So the next day I checked the ingredient label on the expired bread that I'd bought, and it turns out it had milk and eggs in it. Now I always check the ingredients, even at fast-food restaurants, and if it's not vegan I don't eat it.

And to the other wise guy, who went on about "rabbit food:" Shut up. SHUT. UP.




June 12th

Mood: Furious
Location: Barricaded inside my apartment

I hate dogs.

I don't mean I dislike dogs in general. I mean I hate dogs. I hate every one of them individually, from Great Danes and little yippers to Chihuahuas that work for Taco Bell. I hate them all.

I live down the hall from a couple that keeps two German Shepherds. And they take them out for walks at least four times a day. Every morning, I get jolted out of my sleep by barking and whining and claws scratching their door. Then I lay there as I hear the door open and these claws, tons of them, clicking across the hallway. Coming closer. And I'm tired, I don't want it to scare me, I've been through this a million times, but I have to stave off this feeling of terror every single time.

Sometimes I see them in the hallway or on the stairs, and I have to duck out of the way really fast. Because when those dogs see me, they start barking. And they have the loudest bark, that hurts my eardrums and just pierces right through whatever mood that I'm in and sends me into a panic. Yes, I know I'm a wimp. I don't care.

You know what happened today? I was walking back up the stairs, clutching my MP3 player, trying to restore my shattered nerves after this confrontation I'd had at the Post Office. And I was so absorbed in what I was listening to, and in wanting to get home, that I bumped into the German Shepherds coming down the stairs. They started barking right next to me, and I threw myself up against the wall, staring at them, unable to think, unable to realize that I'd just flung my MP3 player down two flights of stairs. And the guy apologized to me, but I barely heard him over the sound of my heart beating and those dogs barking like crazy.

I don't know how long I stood there hyperventilating. And when I finally managed to calm down, I realized what had just happened and ran downstairs, to find an MP3 player with a cracked screen. That thing was my lifeline, on my trips outside my apartment, and now it won't even turn on anymore.

At least my headset still works. My stupid, custom-rigged headset. With a broken microphone, and tape holding the two parts together. I hate it I hate it I hate it.

And I hate dogs.




June 14th

Mood: ...
Location: maybe this is heck after all

sometimes, i really wish i could just curl up and die.




June 21st

Mood: Shaken
Location: The place where I spend my whole life

I apologize for my last entry. I've been under a lot of stress this past year. And I try to hide it, but sometimes it shows.

To those of you who suggested that I seek counseling: Maybe it'd help, but I can't afford it. I'm not a student, and I don't have any insurance.

LS has been trying to talk me through some of my issues. I'm not sure I'm ready to talk about all of them, and I feel bad about imposing on her anyway. But she insists, and I'm kind of glad that she does, because as stressful as talking about it has been it's also been a relief.

I'll let you all know how things turn out.

8

Writer's Guild / "Help Wanted" -- A transformation story

« on: June 11, 2009, 10:13:19 PM »

Hi all! New writer here ... well, I'm actually not new to writing, but I'm definitely new to here. ^.^;

I used to write family-friendly furry transformation stories on request, for people on another messageboard called Furtopia. Here's one that I wrote for a friend, based on him becoming his kitsune fursona ... it's still my favorite one that I wrote. Critique and feedback are welcome!












Help Wanted

Katherine Sato sipped at her styrofoam cup, the hot cocoa's steam warming her muzzle. She blocked out the lobby of First Federal; the rows of tellers and lines of patrons; the obsidian floor, and the high glass windows that looked out on snow-covered skyscrapers. There was only her, and her wet coat and cold desk, and the delicious warm drink in her claws.

She winced, and squirmed in her seat, trying to get her tails comfortable again. They were still sore from where she had fallen on them. And they were dirty and wet, and the back of her coat was dirty and wet, and her hair was all dirty and wet too. At least her side desk faced out into the lobby, so that no one would notice. But she noticed, and it grated on her like her unpaid credit card bills, and her boyfriend's unbought Christmas gift.

She found her claws digging into the styrofoam, and forced herself to relax. Zen, she thought. Clear mind. Nothing in the world except cocoa. Nothing in the world but expensive, overpriced-

She sipped a little too deeply, and started breathing through her muzzle trying to cool off her burning tongue. Good cocoa, she thought, and fanned cool air onto her tongue. Very good.

Stupid Kath.

Something made her tails twitch and her ears perk, and she looked up to see an unusual presence enter the building. It wavered like it was out of focus, and she shifted gears back and forth with her mind to look at both sides of it, like she would have at one of those books with the 3d illusions. One side was a young man in a business suit, clean and executive looking. The other side was a Kitsune like her, with brilliant white fur that had a golden sheen. But he only had one tail, and his clothes -- his real clothes -- looked old and cheap. A worn out jacket covered a thin t-shirt, and a pair of jeans that went down over his shoes.

Kath raised her eyebrows, watching him from across the lobby without his noticing her, and wondered what kind of prank he was trying to pull. She remembered her older Kitsune brothers' dumb antics back home in Vancouver, and the thought of someone like them trying to pull something at First Federal made her grin with anticipation. Go ahead, she thought. Bring it on. We'll see who has the last laugh -- the foolish young fox or the corporate behemoth.

Over the next few minutes, she kept glancing up from her paperwork to see how far he had gotten in line. A fox scent drifted towards her, on the cold air blown in by the doorway, and she detected a hint of forced confidence, overlaying an intense nervousness. She began to sweat as she realized that, because it made her recall her Becoming, and she didn't want to remember it. Or how scared she had been, or how much her brothers had tormented her.

Her conscience began chiding her, and as always it had her mother's thickly accented voice. "He is scared young man who has first Become, and you are just to ignoring him? You should getting up, going over there, saying hello to him. Those papers will still being there when you are to getting back." She imagined her mother's tails fluffed out, as she folded her arms in a huff.

Not NOW, Mother, Katherine thought, and made herself focus on work. But her mind kept drifting off. Was he really trying to prank them, she wondered, or just trying on a persona? Did he have any foxes in his family? Had anyone explained to him what had happened?

A few minutes passed, a few frustrating minutes spent writing reports in Microsoft Word. Then something loomed over the flat panel display on her desk, and she looked up to see the other fox. He was projecting a sheen of businesslike confidence, so strongly that she could only see the young man in the suit coat.

His eyes flicked down to the nameplate on her desk. "Hello, Miss Sato." He smiled at her.

His persona was strong, but felt so fake that it was off-putting. Just like most of the real execs I know, Kath thought. She vanished her own persona for him, letting him see her fox muzzle and three bushy tails, and relished the look of shock on his face. His persona flickered a moment, and past him Kath saw someone in line staring at his fox tail.

To his credit, the young fox recovered quickly. "Do they, uh ... " His eyes flicked to the side, and when he looked back down at her he seemed sheepish. "Do they hire a lot of Kitsune here?" He grinned nervously.

"Oh yeah," she said, and typed something into her report. "Lots. We're just all over the place here." She looked up at him. "Can I help you?"

"Well I, uh ... " He coughed, and pulled up a chair to her desk. "I was told you had a job for me," he said, and sounded like he was trying to be professional.

"Ah, yes," Kath deadpanned, still typing and looking away from him. "Can I see your resume?"

He got something out of his briefcase, and slid it across the glass desk towards her. She took it and glanced at it for a second. High school graduate, Microsoft Office experience, last position held two years ago. Unhireable. No wonder he was trying so hard to fit in.

"I'll make sure my boss sees it," she lied, and put it into a drawer without looking. "If you like, you can take a card," she said, and waved a hand at her business card holder.

He took one, and sat there looking at it for a long moment. Kath's face started to burn, as she realized that he wasn't going away that easily.

"Can I ask you a question?" he finally said.

"Make it quick," she told him.

"How'd you get hired on, here?"

And Kath knew what he meant. He had just Become, after all; he had discovered his powers all on his own, and the world seemed like a new place to him. Kath remembered flying for the first time, and thinking her brothers could never find her up there. She remembered trying on new personas, and grinning at herself in the mirror, and discreetly playing with foxfire, careful not to burn anything important.

But she also remembered the shock of discovering that her brothers were Kitsune too, and that now that she knew they had no end of ways to torment her. She remembered how quickly her elation and self-confidence had worn off, and how the Monday after that weekend had been just another school day, and how her friends hadn't even been able to tell that there was anything different about her.

She remembered her teenage years, and how irrelevant it had been that she was a mythical creature. Because nobody had liked her, and nothing could make up for that.

Kath remembered all this as she looked over at him, narrowly considering the naive young fox. And she knew that someone would have to burst his bubble, and that it'd be better done sooner than later.

"Fine," Kath said. "You want to know how I got this job?" She stood up, and indicated herself from the neck down. "This is how I got this job."

The young fox's face turned red, and he looked away.

"I know what you're thinking," she said, her own face reddened, and folded her arms as she spoke. "You're thinking 'Oh, I'm a Kitsune now, the world is magic! My every dream can be fulfilled! I'm going to go in and get a job at the bank, even though I haven't held a position in two flipping years.'" She gave him a scornful look. "You think anything can make up for that? Or for your lack of a degree?"

He had clasped his hands in his lap as she spoke, and was looking down at them now. "But ... " He looked up at her. "Isn't the world a magical place?"

"Yes." She sat back down. "And you know what the magical force that drives this world is? Money. That's why you are applying to work at a bank, and not at a dumb charity."

"But ... " And now all she could see was his real side, his fox side, sitting in a chair that cost more than his worn-out clothes did. "Today I ... I discovered that I can become anyone that I want to. And I flew. I flew under my own power! Does all that count for nothing?" He gave her a pleading look, and his voice cracked as he spoke.

"Have you tried foxfire yet?" she asked, abruptly.

"Fox ... fire? No," he said, twisting his face as he tried to think.

Kath held out her hand, and a flame the size of a cigarette lighter's appeared in between her fingers. "This is foxfire. See? There it is," she said, and idly played with the flame for a moment, a bored look on her face.

He held out his hand and concentrated on it, but failed to produce a spark.

"Know what it's good for?"

He looked up at her, his eyes daring to hope.

"Setting off the sprinkler system, and lighting cigarettes. That's it." She snapped her fingers together, and snuffed out the flame. Along with his hopes.

He looked shocked and hurt, and Kath found that she didn't enjoy that look on his face as much as she'd thought she would. She glanced back over at her display, and hoped that he would leave soon.

The corners of his eyes moistened, and his face twitched as he fought to maintain his composure. "I'll show you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll show you what Kitsune powers can do. I'll imagine myself as the brightest, most successful college student ever. I'll get the financial aid that I need. I'll ace every test, and I'll get that stupid degree, and I'll come right back here and shove it in your face." He glared at her, his eyes wet. "And then I'll rise to the top! I'll-"

"Want to know a secret?" Kath asked, her hands clasped underneath her chin and her elbows leaning on the top of her desk.

He stopped, and gave her a confused look.

She beckoned him closer. As he leaned over the table towards her, she pointed out into the lobby, and he looked where her fingers were pointing. "See that lady right there?"

"The, uh, African-American one? In the red suitcoat?"

"That's the one." Kath looked up at him. "She's a Kitsune."

He stared at Kath, not sure if she was joking or not. Then he looked back out into the lobby and squinted at the woman she'd indicated, trying to see her fox muzzle and tails.

"She comes in here every week," Kath went on, "to deposit her paycheck. Every now and then she asks us about a loan."

"What does she do?" the young fox asked.

"Some high-level position. President, Vice President, VP of Marketing. I dunno. She's gotten promoted a few times since I first saw her. Works at some Internet company."

Kath followed his gaze out into the lobby. The woman looked like a lioness ... poised, elegant and powerful. She looked like she didn't have the time to be waiting there. And in fact, as he watched a man came out of a back room and greeted her apologetically. She forgave him and shook his hand, and then they went down the hallway together.

"I couldn't see her tails," the young fox said.

"That's because she's forgotten she has them."

He recoiled, and stared at her again.

"That's what happens, when you take on a persona so intensely. You become it, and it becomes you, and you forget who you actually are." Kath continued to look out into the lobby, idly kicking her feet. "First you forget how many tails you have ... then you forget that you have a fox tail at all ... then you forget you can fly." She looked up at him. "Go ahead. Ask her if she's a Kitsune. See what kind of response you get."

He stared into the hallway, visibly shaken, trying to comprehend what he'd just heard. "How ... why?" He looked down at her. "Why would anyone let that happen?"

"Didn't you just tell me, yourself? You don't really want to be a Kitsune. You want to be another successful human, with money and power and fame. And you don't mind having Kitsune powers, if they'll help you accomplish your goal. But if they won't, you're willing to set them aside, and do whatever it takes." She smiled at him, a sly kind of smile that enjoyed the horrified look on his face. "You're starting to see how the world really works."

He looked away and just stood there, his hands in his pockets, staring down at the floor. And after a moment, Kath turned back to her PC's display, and started typing again.

The young fox mumbled something, and Katherine's ears perked. "Excuse me?"

"You," he said, and looked up at her. "How come you're still a Kitsune?"

She gave him an incredulous look. "I beg your pardon?"

"How come you still remember that you're a Kitsune? I mean, if that's really what you're supposed to do. Forget who you are, and forget you can fly, and do whatever it takes to earn money and buy things. Then why do you still have your tails?" His eyes bored into hers. "Did you lie to me, when you said your Kitsune powers don't help with anything? Or when you told me that's how the world really works, were you just lying to yourself?"

Kath stood up, kicked her chair back and gripped the edge of her desk. "Listen, you little snot!" He jumped back as her tails went ablaze behind her, the air rippling with heat distortions, and several people in line gasped. "Don't you ever talk that way to me. Ever!"

She glared up at his shocked face, and her eyes glowed. "Yes, I have my tails. Yes, I have my stupid powers! But I also have a job, and a life, and a place to stay besides my parents' house. And you'll never have any of that, because you're worthless! The corporate world doesn't want you, and you'll be lucky if you can find a job scrubbing tables at Arby's! Do you hear me!? I said-"

A loud, beeping noise cut her off. And for a second she looked around, startled, before the sprinkler came on over her desk.

The people in line cried out in alarm, unable to see why her outburst had made the sprinkler system go off but able to see the results. Her tails went out, and her suit was instantly soaked through. A second later her computer fizzled and gave off a loud spark, then shut down. Steam poured out of the case.

The young fox was nowhere to be seen.

Kath stood her chair back up and slumped into it, soaking wet all the way through, as her mother's voice chided her. "That was not a wery nice thing you did, Katerina."

She sighed. It's not a nice world, mom ...

* * *

Two weeks later

* * *

" ... consumer confidence at an all-time low, as evidenced by this year's dismal holiday sales. Macy's and JC Penney's have revised their fourth quarter earnings projections, and ... "

The TV newscaster went on, unaware that he was sitting inside of a beat-up plastic box on a bare wooden floor. The furniture had already been moved out, and Katherine's things were piled up in boxes, hastily patched up with boxing tape and with black marker scrawlings across them.

She stood in the kitchen nook, wearing blue jeans and a white sweater with the sleeves rolled up, and mopped at her face with the bandana she'd been using to tie back her hair. Then she looked past the TV set out the window, at the tops of the trees on the street outside, and sighed into the telephone. "Hi, mom ... "

" ... been unable to stem the tide of rampant bankruptcy. Many lending institutions have been forced to close their doors altogether, including the First Federal Bank of ... "

"Yeah, it's me." Kath smiled a sad smile, and twisted the telephone cord around her finger. "Listen, can I ... " She coughed. "Can I ask a favor of you and dad? I kinda need a place to stay for a few weeks -- maybe months -- and I ... " Her voice cracked.

She turned away from the window and hid her face, as she started to cry uncontrollably. "I know, mom," she said, her voice husky. "I know."

" ... pleas for a bailout were soundly rejected by both parties. But leading analysts warn that if taxpayer money isn't pumped into the system, and soon, the entire country could face a financial crisis."

Kath sniffled, and tore off a wad of paper towels before pressing it to her eyes, and then blowing her nose on it. She kept the phone to her pointed ear, occasionally nodding to it. "Yes," she said, and sniffled again. "Yes. Yes, I'm looking forward to your cooking, too." She opened the refrigerator door. There were a pizza delivery box and a half-empty two-liter bottle inside. "Believe me, mom, I'm looking forward to it."

" ... was brought to you by Consumer Refinancing Center. Got debt? We can help!"

"I love you too, mom." She nodded, then laughed, then sniffled again and brought another paper towel to her muzzle. "Yes. Okay, I'll see you there then. Do svidaniya!"

She hung up the phone, turned around and then stopped, taken aback. Floating outside her window was a familiar-looking young fox, leaning one arm on the windowsill and looking up at her blankly.

He didn't move or say anything. And Kath finally stormed over to the window, unlocked it and pulled it upward, paint flaking off as she did so. Cold air poured inside, and she ignited a foxfire in one hand, to ward off the cold and ward back the intruder. "What do you want?"

"Do you need any help?" he asked, unfazed.

"What makes you think I need your help?" she said, and sniffed.

He said nothing, but looked past her. And she turned and saw the stack of boxes piled up against the wall, haphazardly placed and crushing each other.

Kath took a deep breath, then let it out in a sigh. She hung her head in defeat, and squeezed her palm shut to extinguish the flames. "Come in," she said, without looking up.

He went around to the front door. And the TV played a commercial, that ended with scenes of a family playing on swings in a park. "So you can forget about your finances ... and spend time on what's really important."