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Post by Kristofor on May 25, 2021 4:31:36 GMT -6
'Well', he tells himself, carefully working through a nasty tangled knot from bird feet, 'At least I can hold objects again.' The black tangles weren't easy to see, even with the filtered sunlight rolling its way through the window over him. Giving up for now, the fox got up, packed his comb into his satchel and started gathering materials carefully. Without usage of his paws, they had kinda forgotten on how to act like fingers. His hands shook with gripping objects like people did, just a little bit. Oh good, see him fish now without having use of his paws. The bird smacked its toothy beak repeatedly against a gap in the floor, pecking it like something was going to come out. Or just doing it for hte hell of it. The truth is, he really doubted the fact that this baby bird is anything more then that; a baby bird who like smashing its face in. 13
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Post by Kristofor on May 25, 2021 4:38:19 GMT -6
He caught sight of himself in the mirror, walking backward and forward past it while packing his satchel with what he wanted to take out for the day. His fur was a mess. Lengths of it turning slowly blonde and loosening to the point he oculd pull them out and make a mini-himself with the hair. Groan. Unwilling to look at his wretched reflection any longer, the fox hurried into the room he'd claimed as his personal den, no dogs allowed, and put on the replacement shirt and shorts that he'd come to the city in. Note of being more comfortable in your new home is how often an animal runs about in the natural state. Finally dressed and hiding the state of his fur, Kristofor sought around to find the baby bird, who continually tried pecking the area where the floorboards met. Putting his paws around it, the baby squabbed loudly at the sudden movement of being lifted up. 14
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Post by Kristofor on May 25, 2021 4:48:34 GMT -6
From his viewpoint, Kristofor thanked whatever watched over on note that the bird hadn't made any damage to the floorboards. Just made itself, himself, more upset by not managing whatever it was trying to do. He was trying to do. Hard to believe this feathery little runt is a male. Opening his palm, he tries to coax the baby bird back into the satchel. Squabbing about it, it tumbles head first into his mobile nest and kicks about randomly, making noise of being stuck. It takes a few minutes for him to figure himself going right side up so the fox with food can give him a piece of meat along with a berry and zip the bag up around him. the berry bursts with biting down on it, weeping clearish juice down its gullet. Oooh, sweet! Thus teh baby discovers his love of grapes and Kristofor finally decides to call him Cabernet, the name of the grape he'd bought. 15
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Post by Nadia on May 26, 2021 3:23:10 GMT -6
Quick, before it darts away!
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Post by Kristofor on Nov 22, 2021 6:07:13 GMT -6
If he's biting toes after looking for a bug, the little brat must be bored. Kristofor made some food for himself and the dogs before opting to take Darwin out for a walk to the river. There's enough space on the banks now that he can not get in nearly as much trouble and won't chew anything important for walking (like his toes). A bit of a cracking yawn escapes the fox as he stretches his arms up to the sky while walking. His bag for going to the river has several items inside and draws curiosity from the pup before he goes back to finishing his business against an unsuspecting tree outside the apartment. They never knew what was coming for it. He wanted to try and work on the two together, but the longhair pup fell straight asleep after being stuffed to the point of food coma. Go, he told himself. She's got Dawson there. 16
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Post by Kristofor on Nov 22, 2021 6:13:04 GMT -6
Like the overstimulated pup he is turning out to be, Darwin keeps lunging forward on the rope harness leash to go look around. Having to be hauled away from pretty much anything that didn't want to have a curious brown puppy nose right into it. Namely, other animals, people, garbage, the like his aunt would keep his young cousins away from. Why not his mother? He didn't have siblings or remember her is why. Several attempts to keep the pup contained but allowed to roam, and a close call with some discarded sharps in trash that he sees first, Kristofor just scoops the pup up and has to put up with having paws pressed into his muzzle and jaw as he jogs on two legs down to the river. Just away from any other human made hazards. Human towns are as dangerous as the more traveled animals of the wood mention; and cities are worse. 17
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Post by Kristofor on Nov 22, 2021 6:17:37 GMT -6
Working to make fox's life hard because he does NOT want to be held right now, it is like trying to contain an eel. Darwin whines, wriggles, kicks, puppy punches, even tries to get his sharp little teeth attached to those big proud tall ears of his but is waylayed by a paw nudging his head away. Once he did get enough skin to make the fox yelp but it does not make him drop him, instead it makes him stop, and give him a nip on the paw, AGAIN! Why! He wants down, put him down! The fox growls at him like big dog who looks like him does; don't do that. Worry. He licks his mouth again and lets his tongue hang casual, totally playing innocent. He knows what he's done, the imp. But they don't let him down until he reaches place with big water. Darwin remembers this place. 18
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Post by Kristofor on Nov 22, 2021 6:20:32 GMT -6
Kristofor all but not gently lets the pup bound downwards when he reaches sandy beachy area. One can get in hardly any trouble here, if he can stay away from the water. The amount of rope he has is about... estimatedly fifty feet of rope, so if he ties it off to a tree and makes sure the brat dog doesn't get himself tied up on something or around himself, that should be fine. He doesn't want to fish the animal out of the water. Not that Kristofor wouldn't do it, he would... but getting wet is not the fox's idea of a good time. There's a nice strong looking tree on the edge of the beach, which he moves towards, keeping an eye on the pup while lashing the rope to a tree. That'll give him about... with this length.. he estimates twenty feet worth of wandering. That should be enough, right? 19
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Post by Kristofor on Nov 22, 2021 6:27:32 GMT -6
He doesn't understand why small animals are more of his choice, but some of the animals are... dare he say it, too large for him to handle, even in his imagination. Something larger then Dawson? Not sure he can handle that himself. Small and medium is just right of a size for him to keep. And unlike those kennels of endless proportion or sprawling farms full of massives, he's happy with having a small amount of creatures. If Dawson ends up having an arrangement of another pup, that isn't the worst thing in the world? But he'll be attending a puppy class to get the little brats to listen to him besides the accompanying bark and yaps. Fox barks and yips mean about the same, even between the difference of instinct. Dogs will naturally chase foxes and its a fact. Darwin hasn't tried chasing him, and Dawson knows better. But he hasn't exhibited chasey behaviors. 20 6.0 Darwin
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Post by Nadia on Nov 22, 2021 6:46:21 GMT -6
Not a fish, but it's something.
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Post by Kristofor on Aug 9, 2023 4:56:11 GMT -6
"You must've impressed him somehow if they're letting you take an egg from their clutch." The fox is outright puzzled. There's an egg, the size of a potted plant, in a box, at his feet. Before him is the crowlike servant boy with red-brown clever eyes. "It's over a year late, but thanks for the advertisement during Faelot. Good day." and they're gone before he can interrupt. 'What's he talking about', the fox wonders to himself as he peers into the box again. Its a big egg, covered in thorns. At least the box came with handles, made of sturdy wood , and much larger then what he'd normally go for when selecting a box. The dogs are shut up in the upper portion of the apartment today, snoozing off the warm afternoon. A heatwave sweeping the city. Unlike being able to go to the river and play at home, this would be difficult to take there himself. If he didn't have a pull cart that is. 'Why not, lets go to the river.' Wet season 1
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Post by Kristofor on Aug 9, 2023 5:04:54 GMT -6
As he's proceeding down the cobblestone path, the nyssa-beaten pull cart is rattling something FIERCE as he takes the quickest way to the river. The cooler the climate, the happier he is. Especially in this plains-forbidden heat. Like he's wearing next to nothing, satchel across his spinal column and wearing his shorts and sneakers, that's it. If he owned fox-paw sandals, he might try those instead. Because getting grit between the web of his toes HURTS. Picking it out is no treat either, with two hounds snuffling at your feet at given moments. What interest do his paws, which are very like there's, have then. BUMP CRACK Oh no. The cart bumps hard, and the egg bounces hard enough in the box to make a loud crack noise. 'Oh no. oh...oh no.' Panicked, Kris stops pulling the cart to come around and check on the egg. It has a small star pattern of cracks on its shell from the bouncing impact. He doesn't even know WHATS IN IT YET. and its already going to be an omelette. Um... Ah. He digs out his beach towel, one that is saved for himself for bathing, and wraps the bottom of the egg up in the towel. The bounces shouldn't be so bad now. Right? RATTLE RATTLE RATTLE BU-BUMP THUMP -CRACK 'OH NOOOOO' 2
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Post by Kristofor on Aug 9, 2023 5:11:57 GMT -6
Okay, this is not a great idea. He should've left the cart at home and carried the egg by hand instead. Its an EGG, after all, not a rock shelled tort-le. Whatever it was. Stopping again, Kristofor can see the cracks have spread slightly on its shell. His stress level is going sky high and hasn't had the thing for fifteen minutes yet. The box is too heavy and awkward to abandon the cart and carry the box to the river. How far was he? Where was he? Not like he has access to a map or anything. WHat if he just carried the egg and pulled the cart along with his supplies in it instead. Thats a better idea. So he sluffs off his satchel with his river going supplies into the cart, something that is much less likely to be banged around and broken from the journey in this more beaten up then he figured cart. Or he just chose a less maintained path. Lifting the egg in both paws, the fox holds it close to his chest, with luck he won't be pricked by those scale thorns. and QUICKLY walks and bumps his way down to the rivers' edge. Gravel's not much better on the pull cart as it rattles worse then ever to park it near where the fox likes to hide from the sun out here. 3
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Post by Kristofor on Aug 9, 2023 5:22:31 GMT -6
Darkness. bu-bump Its warm here, and safe. bu-bump A bit cramped though. bu-bump CRACK Beneath! bu-bump Light filters from below, and a tiny amount of chill. Is it time to leave the warm? Bu-bump bu-bump Another sound...a life sound? its muzzy... cramped. Something scrapes the space, splitting something with a shifting inside. CRACK
'What are they trying to do, give me a heart attack or something as thanks'. the fox complains to himself as he carefully nestles the egg in a divet of gravel to unload his cart of supplies for his river outing for himself. 'An egg even of what. A giant rabbit? No thanks.' Over the burble of the river which is much fuller looking, the beach he likes is less 'available' then he'd prefer, but nothing's going to swell up and sweep away his stuff, he thinks. Still making sure to jam the cart between two trees so it doesn't get moved away some reason. That cart is going to need some repairs. Maybe a rock to beat it back into shape. 4
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Post by Kristofor on Aug 9, 2023 20:42:13 GMT -6
The stress is draining his energy fast, maybe it was time for a nap. That sounded like a better idea. Taking his towel out of the beat up little pull cart, the fox spreads out the violet towel upon the rocky river shore. Still hard ground but not as difficult to align himself in rest pose then with tamped down dirt. Even with dark fur, sunburn is possible. He hates the smell of those stinky human made sunscreens. Just sleep in the shade is the option. The towel flutters a bit from the breeze carried over the water. Not wanting the egg to freeze from its space in the gravel, the fox picks it up gently, a few shards of broken shell falling away into the grit at his feet, carrying it with one paw spread out on its bottom, the underside of the egg is quite warm. 'Good night egg' he murmurs, curling up around it. Maybe he imagined it in a stress heightened state, but it felt like he heard a pair of heartbeats. Gradually, his form relaxes, and breathing slows to sleep. He's slumbering, and somehow doesn't hear the cracking growing larger. -pomph- for when he wakes up, the egg is in pieces in his arms. and something else is there instead, heated by his body. 5
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