This was meant to be a pointless fluff piece done over the course of one weekend.
Here it is, three months later.
![];)](https://crimsonflagcomic.com/forum/Smileys/default/arctic_wink.gif "Arctic Wink")
Enjoy, peeps.
O O O
Anywhere But Here The raccoon looked out at the snow. His breath fogged up the glass when he sighed. He traced his claw on the frost with one paw while the other fiddled with his hoodie's strings. He sighed again for good measure.
"Dringer, sigh anymore and I'll have to get a muzzle for ya." A red fox sauntered in, can of refried beans in paw. "Or stuff a bean burrito into your muzzle, whichever works best."
"I'll take the bean burrito option, Rex."
"Thought you would, you fake-Mexican-food-loving 'coon. As long as it perks those droopy ears of yours."
Dringer murmured unintelligible phrases. To anyone without fox ears at least.
"Don't you say anything about my mum," Rex snapped.
"I was referencing the general populous of mums."
"Still. My mum is included. Stop being so mopey." Rex pulled down Dringer's hood and rubbed the raccoon between the ears. "What grand plans did you have in the unknowns outside Wyoming anyway?"
"I don't know," Dringer grumbled, stuffing his paws into his hoodie sleeves. "Stuff."
"And things, I suppose," Rex said, tossing the bean can up and down.
"I just...need to get out of this place. I need to get out of..." He pulled open the curtains and pointed out at the outside. There lie the tundra: flat, white with scruffs of grass poking through, the far horizon would contain a jagged mountain underbite, if it weren't for the swirling snowstorm. "This!"
The fox rubbed his snout. "I don't know. I've always kinda liked the view."
"You know what people say when I say I live in Wyoming?" Dringer said, playing paws over masked eyes, "Sorry."
"You're being mellow dramatic, good chap," Rex said, giving his tail a wag, "Yer not looking at the bright side of the godforsaken landscape."
"Like: There will be a lack of subjects that can be infected by a zombie apocalypse?"
Rex snorted. "True enough. I just think you need to just enjoy the quiet."
A few moments of silence.
"But I don't waaaaaaaanna."
Rex slapped the raccoon across the muzzle. "Shush, you insufferable loctor. Well, if you really wanna get out, since the roads are closed...I do have a solution..."
Dringer's ears perked, then lowered. "Nothing to do with a toaster this time?"
"I make no promises."
Dringer chewed on this a few moments. "Carry on."
He followed the fox through the house, to the back room. He had not been back here before. Though they shared the house, they gave themselves enough space to be sane or insane if they wished to be without bothering the other. Dringer had the garage (which, in exchange, he kept the cars running). Rex had the laundry room (which, in exchange, he did the laundry). Dringer occasionally wondered what projects Rex was up to. But from occasional previews of the more absurd, he learned not to ask. It made his snow blower project pale in comparison.
Rex opened the door and flicked on a light. Dringer stepped in behind him. "Ah, looks like a dentist chair...leaving now."
Rex caught Dringer lightly by the tail. "Come back here you. It was the only chair I could find after the recliner was infected by fleas..."
"Ah, the ones the size of melons."
Rex shifted his eyes. "...yes."
Dringer became aware of the wires and computer towers surrounding the chair. "So...what is this exactly?"
"Haven't come up with an official name for it yet. One of those "hard to describe unless you taste it" sort of things."
Dringer made a face. "I have to lick the chair?"
"Haha. No. I suppose this really depends on how desperate you are to take a brief vacation."
"What does it involve?"
"How desperate are you first?"
"Is it safe?"
"Depends on your desperate-ness."
"I'm disconcerted by your focus on my desperateness."
"As far as I know, it is quite safe. The cockroaches I tested on seemed very happy afterwards."
Dringer didn't like the way Rex was smiling, or the twitch of the fox's tail.
Rex spread his paws, "All depends on where you want to go."
"How about anywhere but here?"
Rex draped an arm across Dringer's shoulders. "That can be arranged."
He placed Dringer into the chair and handed the raccoon a bike helmet riddled with wires. Dringer placed it on without question. The chair was oddly comfortable. One of those, that if in a dentist's office, you would be worried about the relative pain of the tooth operation.
Rex was typing at a keyboard. "Just need to collect your consciousness and we get get you on your way."
"They way you said that makes it sound like you're collecting my consciousness in a bottle."
"Better than your brain, and easier to digitize."
"...what?"
"Don't worry about it. I'm going to give you a smashing little vacation away from the depths of Wyoming."
Dringer reached up for the helmet straps. "You know, perhaps this isn't the best idea I..."
Then everything shifted.
O O O
Dringer did not quite know how to explain the moments that followed. He could not see, taste, or smell. Yet he could feel. Feel beyond reality, between universes and dimension, into the edge through time and space, down, over, and through. Or so he tried to rationalize in the string of fragmented parts that made up his mind.
Everything clarified, sharpened, returned.
“What happened?” he said, the words feeling strange and detached with an accent.
Accent?
“That was a bit of a mawslap and a half there,” he murmured, the strange accent remaining on his voice.
“We haven't even got to the show, mate,” another voice with an accent interjected. “If you're ready to start it, I am. So whatdoya say, Digs?” A kangaroo slapped Dringer on the back and, in turn, slapped Dringer back into reality. Or fiction, he didn't know at the moment. He was certain that there had not been a kangaroo next to him a moment ago. Then again, he didn't remember being in a big blistering red sand desert either. He tried to steady himself and found himself grabbing onto the kangaroo for support. He then found the paws grabbing for support did not look like raccoon paws at all.
“Digs, matey. You're not getting dehydrated, are ya? I thought I told you to take as many swigs as ye could on the way here. In fact, I think you lapped up half the jug. Now, I know you're a little out of sorts, and you think we should deal only with insects, but this project be close enough, mate. We're Roob and Digs, exterminators extraordinaire!” The kangaroo, Roob, Dringer figured, said this, while pointing a machete into the hazy blue skies.
Dringer thought he would find this proclamation comforting if he knew what the hell was going on. He was still trying to see how he'd got from point A from a questionable dentist chair in Wyoming, to here, feeling completely out of sorts in body and location, in...Australia, perhaps? It would explain the accent.
But just being in Australia did not change one's accent unless they were an idiot tourist...
Roob tossed him something that flashed in the sun, Dringer caught it on instinct. Another machete. What exactly were they doing here?
“Now, you watch that hole, and I'll flush the bugger out, got it, Digs?”
Dringer nodded, “I guess...”
“That's the spirit. See ye in a few hops,” the kangaroo said with a wink, before hopping off.
Dringer watched the kangaroo a few moments, shuffling around some brush, before looking down at the unfamiliar paw holding the machete. What sort of paw was it? I wasn't his own. Well, it was now but...he had a flash of inspiration. Dringer turned the blade, he rubbed at its dusty surface until he could see his blurry reflection. Pointed snout, pointed ears, tan fur, almost redish on the edges. He stuck his tongue out. Seemed like a properly cliché thing to do. He looked behind him and spotted a curled tail. It wagged a little at his bidding. He looked down. Rugged shorts and...ooo, digitigrade legs. He bounced a little on them. He'd always wondered how canines could deal with these.
Only then, did Dringer realize that at the moment, by all definitions, he was currently a dingo.
How?
Was it a dream or...?
He heard rustling from the hole. A sort of scrabbling of stone and sand of some creature moving about. Dringer glanced at where Roob was still hopping about. “Roob?” he called.
Dringer looked back at the hole. Or did Digs look back at the hole? He would worry about that later. He started to notice some details. The hole seemed to be fringed by a white silk. The winds changed. He smelt some smoke in his new canine nose. Coming from where Roob was. Was Roob burning something. Wait...he looked at the hole closer. That wasn't silk...that was web. And if that was web...
The most massive spider Dringer had ever seen burst from the hole, right at his face, fangs waggling, all eight legs reaching out.
"Blimey Charley!"
He flailed his paws at the leaping spider, one of which held a machete. The crack of a blade through exoskeleton and splatter of spider guts followed. Dringer stood there, the slime dripping down his face, staring at the two halves of twitching spider carcass. He wiped the blade on his pants.
“Nice show, Digs!” Roob called, hopping back into view. “That was…”
Everything shifted.
O O O
Dringer stumbled forward and suddenly found altogether different paws grabbing for balance on a grimy sink. He was breathing deep, as if settling down from a panic attack. He looked up into a cracked mirror and saw a different face than the one seen in the machete.
Dringer was no longer a dingo, that was for sure. He placed a tawny paw on his muzzle, he pressed the pink feline nose. By all accounts, he now appeared to be a cougar of some sort, with a sizable cut over his left eye. His whiskers twitched, sensing a certain electricity in the air. He looked down to find himself wearing a tattered looking tux.
His pants were kakis. Dirty, though not tattered and moth ridden like the tux. Why was he wearing a tux, anyway. Then again, why had he been a bug-exterminating dingo? Why wasn't he a raccoon? What exactly had that crazy fox done?
The tattered state of the tux matched the setting, he was in a place where soggy pieces of wood had been formed into the vague shape of a bathroom, or large outhouse.
"Get on our here you slack-tailed puma!" a gruff voice called.
Dringer squinted through an encrusted window. He could only see greenish and brown of the surroundings. The air was as soggy as the wood. His tan fur likewise.
"GET OUT HERE!" the voice bellowed.
"Just a min-" he started.
He didn't finish because of a gun shot, then half the outhouse door exploded and he hit the floor, scrambling under the sink. A few seconds later a snout poked through the new hole in the door, a large scaly snout of an American Alligator. The alligator brandished a shotgun. It grinned down at Dringer. "There ya are, ye puma. Stop wibbling like a guppy and get on out here. The ceremony is about ta begin."
"Ceremony?" Dringer squeaked.
The gator kicked open the door, waddled over, and pulled up Dringer with muddy claws. "Yes, Miter Landen. You're gonna be a fine husband for my dear Gertrude."
Outside, the scene was seething with gators.
Dringer swore. The gator who had retrieved him, nudged him with the barrel of the shotgun. "Don't you be teaching the little ones any bad language, you hear?" The currently-puma took note of the small gators scampering about his footpaws. He lifted his long tail from nipping range.
He was in a swamp. The trees were coated with moss and the branches sagged with ivy and moss. This appeared to be a gator community, shacks connected by rickety docks, blending into the murky surroundings.
Fine husband. The phrase finally set in and mixed with the details of the tux and the shotgun. Ahead, he saw a crowd. As they neared, an aisle with green scaled walls formed, leading to a sleek figure in a muddied white dress.
As he neared, he saw the gator in the bride dress was smiling. As he got closer, he saw the smile was forced. The gator lass took his arm and pulled him close. "I'm so sorry about this, Henry. My family is a little…over-zealous to see me married."
"Oh really, I couldn't tell," Dringer said, trying to catch his footing. His whiskers twitched nervously. He figured his grim sarcasm would fit the situation.
"Don't worry, I've called in a favor."
"I don't wanna know, Gertrude."
"I've told you before, call me Gerty."
"I think that is besides the point now."
"Are you alright?"
"I'm currently a raccoon in a puma's body at a shotgun wedding, what do you think?"
"I didn't think you were one of those spiritual inner-animal types."
"You have no idea."
"And by the power invested in me by this ‘ere great State of Georgia, you may kiss that there bride!" the reverend gator exclaimed.
Dringer and Gerty stopped. "Wait…when did…how…?" Dringer began.
Gerty sighed. "Gator weddings get straight to the point otherwise limbs are lost in anticipation for dinner."
"…I'm not dinner, am I?"
Gerty snorted. "Oh no. Don't be silly. We're gators, not savages. However…there was that one raccoon that…"
"Don't wanna know."
There was a whirring noise. The gators around stopped hooping and hollering when they heard it. They all looked around suspiciously.
Gerty pulled Dringer closer. "That's the favor. Now, get ready…"
"For what?"
She ran forward, pulling Dringer along, past the reverend, past the crowd, towards the edge of the docks, over the edge, through the air, towards the murk below…the boat interrupted the impact: A swamp skimmer sort of craft, piloted by a grizzled raccoon with a wide brimmed fishing hat. He saluted Gerty and Dringer, other paw on the steering lever, the large fan propelling them buzzing behind him.
"How is the new couple?" the raccoon yelled over the noise and the splashes of swamp water around them. Dringer could just hear the gun shots over the buzz, and assumed that's where the splashes were coming from. "
"Don't worry, Henry," Gerty said, resting her scaly head on his chest, "The best shot in that village is me. The rest couldn't hit the side of a bogbeast. I'm dreadfully sorry about all this."
Dringer awkwardly patted her head. "Ur…no problem…"
"You know, we're technically married still."
"Yeah?"
"I have been curious, Henry. What kissing a mammal might be like…"
Dringer looked desperately to the raccoon, who just gave a thumb up…
"Ur.."
Gerty closed in on her prey…
O O O
Wait…was this the taste of a kiss? It certainly tasted fishy enough. The scales were not nearly as rough as he would have imagined though. Wait, if this were a kiss, why did it feel as if he were biting on something? And why did he feel as if he were underwater?
Because he was underwater, immersed in a deep cold blue, dim light filtering down into upside down valleys of ice. His whole body moved through the water, jaws clamped down on some unknown thing that still thrashed. Up, movements smooth he couldn't even stop these instinctual actions nor did he want to risk doing so.
He broke the surface, diving into the air, before he flopped onto the snow. White spread all around. Blank snowy bright white. Dringer squinted.
"Great job, Mac! You got us a big one!"
Dringer turned to see a sea otter scampering up, outfitted in a puffy winter jacket, florescent orange.
He managed to unclamp his jaw from the object, what appeared to be a very large fish, it’s gullet ripped out. "No problem," he rumbled, licking his bloodied chops.
"Do you taste mercury?"
Dringer considered this, rubbing his chin with a fore-flipper. “I don't believe so.”
“Great,” the sea otter said, “Let’s get this fish to the station so we can do more tests.” Dringer swore the otter’s tail was wagging from this prospect.
Dringer, on the other flipper, still needed to get a hold of this situation and currently having flippers instead of paws was not helping. At least he felt warm, thanks to what he assumed was a good layer of blubber on his sleek body. The sea otter pulled up his hood and picked up the fish. Dringer hopped along behind, relishing the smell of blood on the frosted air. He hoped he could have some soon. That would be nice.
But that wasn't the main concern. How exactly was this happening? As far as he could tell, his brain was lose from his body, or at least his consciousness was. He was hopping huge distances without being restricted by his own body. He felt something on his neck. He looked down to find a card on a strap there. It had a picture of a seal of some sort sticking out its tongue, the name Rodney, the species sea leopard. Ah, that explained it.
Well, didn't explain anything really. Just whose body he happened to be residing in. But if he was in this body, where was the default occupant? Perhaps that was the nibbling at the edge of his consciousness, those little pulls that made him do certain actions and say certain things before he quite knew what he was saying. It was as if he were pushed into a play and needed to follow a certain script. As if he wasn't truly saying anything on his own free will. Was he really even being himself while in these bodies?
His head hurt. He wanted to eat more of that fish.
He opened his mouth to ask the sea otter if he could have some…
Everything shifted.
O O O
Dringer found himself dangling above an active volcano.
That couldn't be right. He looked up at his paws holding tightly to a burnt branch, and down to his footpaws, which dangled over a pit of spitting lava far below.
Yep. First impression had been correct.
He also appeared to be wearing a large emerald jewel around his neck.
Other observations were interrupted by the unsettling creaking of the branch he held on to. Then the crack. The branch shifted and he only barely kept a grip. The blackened cliff face was far out of reach. Then he heard the chanting. Above, peaking over the edge, were a row of painted chinchilla faces. Dringer prided himself in knowing chinchillas when he saw them. He had a chinchilla friend once. His hugs were fantastic with that plush fur.
These ones did not seem to be the hugging sort. The chanting didn't help his impression. Where the heck was he? Timbuktu?
No…Africa wasn't a native habitat of the chinchilla. Emphasis on "native." He looked back down at the jewel and at his clothing. Breathable shirt, light vest, kaki pants, wide belt, machete in a sheath…hellgates, was he an explorer of some sort? And what was he now…from the hanging legs and tail...
The chanting stopped. Dringer looked up. The faces were no longer there. The branch snapped. He fell. His paws kept hold of the branch. Perception slowed. He saw his snout as he opened his mouth to yell.
He heard the eagle screech before he made a sound.
Dringer hit something. Softer than rock and cooler than lava, and judging from the feeling from his stomach, he was going up. He found himself draped on a tawny hide, a massive wing flapping in front of him. Paws took hold of him and pulled him up into a hug. He awkwardly hugged back, distracted by what the heck he was riding on.
"Juke, you're all right, I'm so glad."
Dringer had enough time to register that this was a black panther speaking before she pulled him into a long full-muzzled kiss. Much nicer kiss than the gator gave, that was for sure. He didn't fight it. She didn't taste fishy. She tasted slightly of passion fruit… It made his issues fade away.
She pulled away, leaving what he knew was a dumb smile. She then punched him across the muzzle. "And that's for leaving me to fend for myself, ye blasted fox."
Rubbing the side of his face, Dringer shrugged. "I guess I figured that you and your…griffin…could fend for yourselves. You are a…talented…lass?"
The panther's expression softened. "You're a scamp, that's for sure."
"I try. So…really, is this a griffin?"
"Roberto, you idiot," the griffin countered, "I've saved your neck enough times, you should remember it by now."
“Yes…of course. So…what exactly is this artifact…” the panther asked, “After all that trouble, I hope it was worth it.”
“Ur…not sure yet…” Dringer brought his paw up to the jewel. It glowed, blinding him in an emerald sheen. The light covered him, sank into his body, causing a tingling down into his very bones. His snout contracted, his ears stretched, his tail extended, he felt the changes all along his body. By the end, his clothes were a little baggier and the jewel had turned orange.
“You…appear to have turned into a ringtail,” the panther commented.
“Oh.” Dringer looked down at his now sleeker and ring tailed body.
“You don’t seem to be very distressed by this.”
“Not today at least,” Dringer said with a wink. “I bet a kiss would make it all better…” He leaned in. The panther shrugged and took his face in her paws, and pulled him in and...
“Get a room,” he heard the griffin grumble, just before everything shifted.
O O O
Dringer lifted his face from a sticky counter and looked up through blurry vision. Alcohol fumes bit the inside of his nose and his tongue lifted the taste of it off his muzzle. A half full glass sat before him. He cocked his head muzzily to the side as he studied it, a hoofed paw tapping next to it. His own hoofed paw. He willed it to take hold of the glass.
He became faintly aware of the bar, of the patrons, of the chaos. His swig was companied by the music of an off-tune piano over breaking glass.
A mirror faced him over the counter. A mule deer faced him through the mirror. He tapped one of his half grown-in antlers. He waggled his comically over-sized ears. He used his long tongue to lick the bottom of the glass and ordered another of the same.
The world felt hazy on the edges. Dringer started giggling and he didn't know why. Oh, he really liked this body. It felt so cozy and nice and...he took another swig of the unknown drink. It burned on the way down. He lifted a paw to the coyote barkeep for another. Where was he? He looked down at the coaster. He squinted at it for a long time, trying to form the letters into something coherent. Almost seemed like another language, which he supposed could be completely possible in his situation.
Wait...no.
Cheyenne, Wyoming placed in front of a posing buffalo.
Everything shifted.
O O O
Dringer took off the helmet. Rex stood over him with a wide grin. Dringer punched him.
"What in hellgates was all that?"
"Just a little experiment of mine." Rex rubbed his snout. "Nothing special. Well…sorta special. Just something I made in my spare time…"
"No, what happened to me? Why was I…"
"…having an out of body experience?"
"…that works. Multiple out of body experiences."
Rex tapped his paws on the knobs and levers. "That was the plan. You see, I took your request of 'anywhere but here' and fed it into the system" He pointed at the screen of scrolling 0s and 1s. "The system did the rest. It makes an equation that took into account all available sentient consciousnesses, and sent your own consciousness to temporarily integrate with theirs. It runs off a dash of math and a dash of chaos and a lot of battery power."
"You were just throwing my consciousness out there at random?"
The fox tapped the raccoon's nose. "Nothing is random, my dear 'coon. You admit that every situation you were in was interesting and, most definitely, not here."
"So I wasn't in danger?"
"Your consciousness was securely tethered to your body through the entire event."
"That's not an answer," Dringer said, pacing around the fox.
"Well…it was experimental…but you wanted an adventure…and I figured you wouldn't mind and…"
Dringer pressed both paws into Rex's chest and, before the fox could react, he was secured in the chair and the helmet was being placed on his head. "Ur…Dringer?"
"Yes, Rex?" the raccoon said, ringed tail wagging as he went to the controls.
"What exactly are you doing?"
"You'll understand in a bit, my dear fox." He flipped a switch.
Everything for Rex shifted.
O O O
Rex evaluated the mountain and sniffed the air. He shook himself. Where was he? Mountains met him at every turn where he stood on the mountain pass. He looked at his arm and then his tail. Gray with black markings. He licked his chops and felt his muzzle. Feline?
The setting and species came together in his mind. Snow leopard, Himalayas. Dang it. He hoped Dringer knew how to bring him back and…
Something dropped on him from behind. He lay face down in the dirt, someone sitting on his back. A face peaked into the corner of his vision, of soft features and feline grace. She spoke in a gravely yet sultry tone, “Ah, the female snow leopard finds her natural prey…the snow leopard male…” She nuzzled against his neck and hugged him close.
Rex hoped Dringer wouldn’t bring him back
too soon.
