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Post by Kristofor on Jun 28, 2021 10:47:11 GMT -6
Kristofor can't help himself anymore. The antics between the crow and the sharp toothed person make him start shaking with laughter. The two dont' stop bickering to see their patient enjoying their spat. The spat ends up taking them both out the window, utensils in tow. "Are they gone?" a quiet common voice comes from the door. Pale eyes peek around the corner. He nods. "Oh thank goodness. Our butler gets so irritated with us when we screw up... and he's been super irritated since the solstice." Its the gardener? They are dusting some dirt off their very commoner clothing. "Uh... can I ask a question?" he nods again. "Can I pet you, mr fox?" Wasnt expecting that. 'Just don't pull out my fur worse then it already does.' the fox sighs, letting his arm hang off the bed. A gentle shift forward, and trembling pale fingers, dust free,... drift over the shorter fur around his forearm. 14
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Post by Kristofor on Jun 28, 2021 10:52:17 GMT -6
"You're so soft!" the garderner cries out, taking such care to not pull out any fur. "Are all foxes as soft as you? I've never petted a fox before. where do you come from. whats your name. why has mr. butler been taking care of you? why are you looking so happy? Do you eat meat or fish?" the questions come out in a complete word waterfall. Kristofor redoes the words in his mind... "I doubt other foxes are as soft as I am; I wash my fur more frequently then other foxes do." he starts off. "My home is far to the northwest, in the forest." two down. "My name is Kristofor." "Hi Kristofor!" "Your butler's...friend helped me when I was in trouble, and they had a bezoar pen." the gardener looks confused. "Its an item to combat poison and allergies." An 'o' of understanding. "I'm happy that your butler has a good friend to banter with, and I like both meat and fish." 15
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Post by Kristofor on Jun 28, 2021 11:49:03 GMT -6
This human? seemed to never run out of questions to ask, and although still kind of tired, the fox answered most of the questions asked as truthfully as he would manage. A few got a bit too personal, likely because of the child-human's excitement, and he only put a finger to his face and mentioned it being a secret. It didn't disuade the child for more then fifteen seconds or so. "I saw your face in the newspaper. Did you really win a houlou show?" really the questions just never stopped coming. "Yes, somehow." He's not going to brag, its a modest thing. It also restricted Dawson from entering again. He could enter 'normal' shows though. Maybe he would. The houlou is handsome. Finally the questions seem to peeter out. He leans against the pile of pillows, which is quite plush for what he's used to. Which is a giant fluffy pet bed that fits him perfectly. 16
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Post by Kristofor on Jun 29, 2021 4:58:05 GMT -6
"uh... if you need anything before our butler lets you go, please don't hesitate to ring." he gestures at a little bell string hanging by his bedside. Yeah, definitely a bell string. "I better get back to work before he gets maaaad. Bye mr. kristofor!" the gardnener finally skips out. Literally skips, like its the best day of his life. 'Note to self, do not handle worginu without gloves...' the fox grumbles to himself as he lies back. He is not the kind of layabout kind of fox. Something... anything, he kind of wants to have a book or a fiddly item. He's an active creature. And being active, having something to do. Not nearly as bad as his fidgety cousin. The rolled up papery thing he spreads out over the blanket and begins to read. Its like a very flat book, and you can move the pages over and around with a pinch. 17
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Post by Kristofor on Jun 29, 2021 5:02:44 GMT -6
At present there were four types of worginu themself, and four species released by said portion of the labs. He doesn't keep an ear to the ground so the whelp corp doesn't make any sense to Kristofor. These puppies grew large enough to ride... and the big bad...yes, acid based. Who wanted an acidic dog anyhow. Well... the human population had carnivorous almost anything, so he shouldn't be surprised. Inside these walls felt like a different universe entirely. Some days he fished for a reason to keep staying here. But now being a shop owner, once he got a steady amount of customers, less having to scrounge for credits to pay his rent. Who knew each month could use so many numbers. Its part of growing up, he told himself. And the amount of creatures depending on him he tried, really tried to keep a low number. A reaaaaaly low number. 18
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Post by Kristofor on Jun 29, 2021 5:07:11 GMT -6
Huh, here was an entry on those carnivorous deer. The repointe. Someone's idea of a fox crossed with a deer, and the deer's physical geneage won out, except for the fluffy tail and the face. Strictly ate meat, and if you weren't looking, might eat the jewels right off a fancy person's hand. To keep their gemming armor healthy? huh. Well he owned nothing of value in terms of rocks. Kristofor didn't need rocks to feel fancy. Hell, he's a SILVER FOX, which isn't exactly unshowy. Briefly he pats his snout and his nose. The puffiness almost felt gone, and the fur wasn't burnt away. Thank goodness. The ring around his neck didn't match the length of the rest of his fur, but it now started sprouting the loose blonde fur, which meant normality for him. His paws? Also lucky, the softer black and silver bristle that covered to his claw tips. 19
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Post by Kristofor on Jun 29, 2021 5:22:17 GMT -6
The fox turns the page on the carnivourous deer. Also four breeds, but two were more suited for jumping then for pulling. Those outside must be pulling types....no? He searches his memory, the creature had literal orbs attached to their antlers... those were jumpers? No way. But in the summer solstice heat, ok, jumpers made sense, their fur is thinner then the other? at least to his eyes. The picture isn't too discuring to his his eyes. And he's tired. and bored. Time must slip away because by the time Kristofor's aware of his surroundings again (or his reading tunnel vision is super good), the butler comes back with more water, acting as much like a carer should. "If you're able to walk around without faceplanting, you can leave." the butler mentions to him. His eyes look like bits of flint, like he's seen a lot in his life, even though Kristofor chalked his human age to be likely that of his uncle...? 20 +1 Kristofor
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Post by Nadia on Jun 29, 2021 5:29:57 GMT -6
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Post by Kristofor on Dec 14, 2023 4:49:43 GMT -6
He felt like getting lost today. Suffolk needed a walk and would get one. It would be long; he packed a good amount of homemade fish jerky to share between them, a water bottle, like an all-day hike sort of packing into his satchel. Filling up the houlou food and water bowls, making sure all the cabinets were locked tight so no nosey noses would get into something they should not (and knowing his pack, they totally would). The larger creatures in the kennel had food and water, the heat was switched to a comfortable state, taking the repointes rudimentary face harness to tie a rope around it and lead him out. He had no muzzle on today. Wouldn't need it, because getting lost would be just the two of them. Suffolk's introduction to color in his mouth might turn into a problem because now he wanted to snack on anything and everything. Like a puppy, only approaching taller then him. December 1
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Post by Kristofor on Dec 14, 2023 4:57:45 GMT -6
The repointe trots ahead of the fox who follows behind, looking this way and that. There's the clack of teeth together, Suffolk's ears canted back suddenly. He looks. The fox is drinking while walking. Is there nothing this fox can't do? Walking and drinking is more then he can do, which is eating and walking; Theres two ways of getting lost; in the fur, and in the mind. The water washes away the bitter taste in his mouth as Kristofor stowed his water bottle. Determined. Yes. He was getting lost today. Getting to the mansion's outer lane is something he can do without going into the city's main thoroughfares; taking a side alley or two; keeping an eye out for any mad cats or snitching rats. One whiff of either and he'd turn right around to go another direction. Going for frequent walks helps him learn the lay of the cobble and wood-stone land that is this city. The familiar cobbles of the mansion's path out of town-city under his paws at last. 2
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Post by Kristofor on Dec 14, 2023 5:07:54 GMT -6
The day is not cold but a mild morning; nippy to the paw on first step out of a warm apartment; Cloudy; it might even snow later. He can feel the contours of the stones under his paws, as his shoes are left behind today. If anything, the only identifiable bit about him is his appearance. He's not the only fox in the city, that much is indeed true. A foxfolk worked the local...pet shop. Yes, that was the term. He would go introduce himself on another day. Not today. He's getting lost. The fancy wood and stone structure that is of human make more likely then not looms over the stone and metal fence that separated the mansions property from the main road. As he walks, he observes. Landmarks. Because for some reason, nothing looked right when you crossed into the archway; The archway doesn't give him the heebie ba jeebies as the fox has explored the grounds more then once, willingly. So as he stands with Suffolk on the step, it doesn't bother him one bit. Dusting his path behind him while stepping over the threshold, he erases his own footprints? Suffolk watches the fox kick the path a bit... that's something he does already; his tail being long enough to trail and brush out his own hoofprints. 3
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Post by Kristofor on Dec 14, 2023 5:14:36 GMT -6
Its a snow covered landscape as soon as his paws cross into the mansion grounds. Trees, lights, but the snow isn't cold. Maybe because his paws are already getting a tad numb from the walk on chilled cobblestones. Shifting his satchel further into the reach of his spine, Kristofor puts the rope in his mouth as he drops to all fours and looks at fox-height for how the world appeals. Everything feels.... larger. Different. Scraping his forepaw nails into the chilly snow a few times. A branch cracks, his ears canted to the side. He looks. The repointe is testing the length of his tether, again. That sharp maw has found a branch, ripping it free of the tree. He can hear crunching sounds before its spat out onto the ground. Mrrrgh. Suffolk doesn't like tree branch taste. A gentle tug with his head to guide his larger escort animal away from the broken up branch. There's more trees to look at, as this 'forest' inside a fence is larger then it appears. 4
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Post by Kristofor on Dec 14, 2023 5:21:49 GMT -6
His weight feels different after going so often on his hind legs; like people, on his 'hands' as Kristofor walks along. His posture looks stupidly awkward, his tail end almost skunk position as he walks along. He pauses more then once to stretch his front half forward as far as he can do comfortably, rotating his shoulders so his front legs, his 'arms', don't overextend. A pop... then another pop... that's better. His position seems to relax some, lowering his tail end to a more natural position. Getting in touch with his wild roots, that's what he told himself he's doing. The walk flows more fluidly now that his limbs aren't rotated for upright walking. Fox is small? Suffolk is confused; he's so used to fox walking on two legs, not walking like him, on ...all legs. Because Repointe aren't sentient and cannot count. He sniffs the cold air; there's a faint smell of meat on the wind. Ooh, wheres that. He wants to taste colors. Suffolk tugs in another direction besides forward, and because he wants to get lost, Kristofor lets him lead to wherever. 5 +1 Suffolk
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Post by Kristofor on Dec 15, 2023 5:10:53 GMT -6
No sooner had half an hour passed of simply walking around in the snow, his paw pads growing colder and colder with each step, did the fox and repointe stop. There's a large space here, smelling of animals. Suffolk had stopped because he'd caught sight of a large roast, slowly moving before him. a growling inside his gut, the foxfawn trots forward to examine this color-smell he sees before him. A snarl, a roar. Something moves forward to meet them. To the right! His muscles tighten and the fox jumps; He jumps higher then he full intended, right over Suffolks back. But he didnt' judge his landing, flat on his muzzle and hands instead. Ouch. "Bristol! Whoa, whoa. Calm down!" he hears voices, half buried in the snow. "London! Calm down, its a little 'un! You crazy beasts, get a grip!" The roar becomes a shriek of indignance. The sounds of boots in the snow... he doesn't think much more because its very cold.... 6
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Post by Kristofor on Dec 15, 2023 5:21:18 GMT -6
"-lying there in the snow" "purpose?-" The sentences are muffled, something he barely hears as he wakes up. There's the smell of char, the crackling of a fire in the hearth... which has a different smell then outdoor fires. Campfires. Of mulled spices. ...feathers? Kristofor's brain takes a few minutes to reboot, lost on what they were saying, briefly. a groan; he stirs, finding himself laying on his back in a soft bed. The fireplace crackles a bit on the left, a log left burning breaks in half, casting a few sparks upwards. "I figured you'd come to soon." he hears someone enter the space with bed and fire; a bedroom. The sounds of snow breaking off of boots. "Took me by surprise when you hopped up and away from that little repointe; does he belong to you?" ...he thinks about this... belongs? A faint nod of assent; yes, the foxfawn belongs to him. 7
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