Desmond rubbed the sleeping dust from the corners of his eyes, rolling over in his full-size bed until he was within reach of his nightstand and his spectacles and phone that sat atop. Tapping the screen on his phone brought the device to life, revealing his wallpaper and twenty-four-hour clock. It was 9 a.m., and he'd only gotten about five hours of sleep if that, thanks to the late summer thunderstorm that was currently ripping through town.
As a mole, his fingers were tipped with longer claws than the average beast. They thus couldn't make use of capacitive touchscreen-based devices, so he had to special order his phone from the manufacturer, which made waiting for new devices a pain in the ass due to the extended wait time needed. Still, he was thankful that the option was even offered. Like hell would he ever find himself buying one of those cheap devices explicitly made for the long-clawed in mind. They were always several years behind and used the cheapest parts available.
Des tapped the SMS notifications: two from Toh and one from Advrik, which were replies to a late-night text. He'd ignore Toh's texts for now. Today was the mole's first day off in a week, and he wouldn't be bothered by his employer/landlord.
ADVRIK: Probably going to have to call off the hike in the morning if these thunderstorms keep up.
He'd seen the message last night and wanted to feign disappointment, but he'd not wanted to go on the hike anyway, so he just let it slide until morning. To his relief, the storm was still raging and didn't seem to have any inclination of letting up anytime soon either.
Bringing his PC out of sleep mode, he opened his blog to see what sort of new traction his series of short stories was pulling in. He'd gained a steady following since it began and would regularly get comments asking what his sources were or where he was stationed, none of which he answered. He had hidden himself behind a VPN, given himself a unique online alias that betrayed any fact that he was a mole and had kept any mentions of the recent news of GhalCo coming to town out of the picture. That would single Brickhedge out in a heartbeat.
His latest piece had been about Advrik and Brigid, plus a bonus short about a lion that terrorized a helpless mole. No names or descriptors were used, merely referring to each beast as what they were. It had gained the most traction yet with a lively debate in the comments section, with most of the comments consisting of arguments between incels in favor of getting molested by another beast and others trying to draw a clear line between molestation and simple flirtation.
He tried not to think about the lion's advances too much, particularly after discovering she was the local doctor. In his written piece, he had overly fabricated the lion's actions towards him greatly, but the reality was far less dramatic. Did he feel comfortable being flirted with to such a degree? Yes, but did he necessarily want it? Sadly, no, for Desmond Mogu had realized in his late teens that he was both asexual and aromantic. Aeroace, he'd be considered, though it wasn't something he talked to anybeast about or advertised or anything. He was him, and that's all there was to it.
He would have thought differently if the lion had come along in his early teens and offered him that same sort of attention. During his "I want to be Doug Funnie" days of youth, those were long gone, just like his libido.
In the texts from Toh himself, they were just well wishes for the day, encouraging Desmond to try and make the most of it despite the weather. That had come in at 5am this morning. The latest one had been sent not even an hour ago, and it read,
TOH: You've been living with us for several months, but I don't think you've joined us for a weekly tenant dinner. Half the beasts living there don't even know you exist, so why don't you spend the day exploring the upper floors and getting to know some of them? It might do you some good. ;3
Desmond hated when anybeast used emojis in their messages, even more so when the beast was older than he was. Cringe, he thought, as he lazily replied, "I'll think about it," before dropping the phone and lying back down.
What the cat said was true, much as Desmond hated to admit it. He'd lived in Brickhedge since April and hadn't met anyone besides Toh in this building. Not that he had concerned himself with the venture early on, but events had changed the mole for better or worse, and while he doubted (hoped) he'd never discard that shell, it wasn't exactly hurting to venture outside it more often.
Doing so certainly helped to find inspiration for further entries in his story.
Relenting to his curiosity, the mole tossed the thin sheet away from his round, fat body and slipped out of bed. The room was a cool sixty-eight degrees, colder than his parents had ever allowed him to keep his room back home.
His nose tentacles wriggled about lethargically, their shallow nerve endings responding to the chilled, damp air.
"I'll just go up and rummage through the kitchen for breakfast. If I don't see anyone else, then oh well, at least I tried, right?" The mole slipped on a clean pair of overalls over his favorite yellow shirt (with the horizontal red strips running through it) and then left his room, walking through the actual basement floor and heading for the staircase leading up.
Stepping into the main floor of the boarding house was like stepping into a totally different climate for the mole. His tentacles rapidly came back to life in the crushing, oppressive seventy-five-degree room. His paw claws clacked against the tacky white and green tiles that covered the kitchen floor.
He adjusted his glasses and looked around the room and the spaces beyond for signs of life, but the ones he found were those of passing cars outside the main entrance.
The only noises were the steady electric hum of the air conditioning and refrigerator, which the mole had not noticed at any point before now: It was positively massive, like one you'd see in some billionaire's mansion or the back of a fancy five-star restaurant in New York.
It made sense to be able to store a bunch of food, considering the boarding house was more like communion and that every beast was expected to contribute in some way, but still, damn!
Desmond had never contributed anything beyond paying his rent, so after today, he'd have to buy something to replace what he was about to eat.
He flicked the switch beside the basement door, but it turned the light on behind him. He'd have to track down the actual kitchen light switch somewhere in the dark, gloomy room.
No sooner did he take a step than the overhead light turned on! His head darted left to right, checking the main entryways for a sign of life, but he quickly realized that a motion sensor triggered the lights here.
"Neat," he said as he walked up to the fridge. I half expected a clapper." He squinted as he scanned the top of the fridge and the several boxes of cereal that stood close to the edge. They were all family sizes, all stuff that was high in fiber or had dried fruit.
"Shit," he said, louder than he wanted.
"And you will do just that if you eat any of that," a voice replied; a beast he hadn't heard coming now loomed over him. "Here, let me show you something cool, but don't go telling Mr. Daniels, eh?" The beast, who still stood too close for the shorter Desmond to identify properly, reached their long arm to the top of the fridge and pulled away a box of Bran Flakes. A thin, membranous sheet of skin extended from the odd beast's wrist to their hip.
Desmond adjusted his glasses, swallowed the snarky reply he'd otherwise spat, and said, "I know my eyes are pretty bad, but even I can see those are bran flakes."
The taller, seemingly winged beast smiled and waved the short, fat beast over to the table, but not before retrieving a gallon of milk and some bowls and spoons.
Seated across from this unfamiliar face, he could identify that it was a she—a very old she at that. The beast's black and brown fur had lost a lot of its luster, with patches of grey and white here and there. She had long, reddish hair (also faded) that grew down to her back and was kept in a ponytail. On the sides of her head were small, rounded ears that, like Desmond, meant she, too, was prey.
But what WAS she, he wondered.
Popping open the top of the box, the beast moved her thin, wrinkled hands, opened a second box hidden within, and poured an avalanche of multi-colored rings into her bowl.
"Fruit Loops!" Desmond exclaimed.
"Toh won't buy this sort of cereal, so I have to hide it in plain sight whenever I bring some into the house." She poured some milk into her bowl and then slid the items towards Desmond, who repeated her actions.
"Cheeky." He said, taking a bit spoonful of cereal. The two beasts regarded each other in silence, Desmond trying to figure out what sort of beast she was in his mind.
"All right, I gotta ask," the taller, older beast started, "What in the blue blazes are you? I've never seen such a unique-looking nose before, and I've been all around the world in my career."
"I'm a star-nosed mole. My name is Desmond, Desmond M-- Just Desmond." He awkwardly stretched his arm across the table, trying to initiate a handshake, nose tentacles following suit. "I'm guessing you're some sort of fucked up bat?"
The beast opposite of him took his claw and shook it, her hand much smaller and feeling way more frail than he expected. "My name is Moss, and I'm a Colugo, not a bat," she held up her left arm and wriggled the wrinkly membrane that hung from her wrist, "Guess this took you by surprise, eh? Well, that makes two of us, you fucked-up looking mole."
He hadn't expected her to return his insult, nearly spitting out a mouth full of chewed-up cereal and milk. She was easily double his age and then some, but she had a spark there that only one other beast in town had shown, and that beast was currently occupying his best friend's time.
No comments:
Post a Comment