“Up yours!” the purple fox shouted, not caring one iota for the attention it and accompanying gesture had drawn.
She’d survived nearly being run over by the speeding minivan, but the coffee and spiced walnut muffin she’d been carrying had not. Scattered and splattered across the pavement.
She crossed her arms and tilted her head sideways, contemplating whether she should head back to town hall to see if there were any muffins left or if she should cut her losses and head home to finish unpacking. There had been so much more luggage than she imagined.
Unseen and unheard by the fox, a dirty-looking grey cat snuck up behind her, placing a hand firmly on her shoulder, and squeezed.
Tightly.
“Oh fuck shit!” She shouted, jumping away from the intruder—his hands and the pads that cushioned his fingers and palm were dried and cracked, the little ravines filled with dirt and grime.
“Did ah scares yuh,“ his voice drenched in the most unsavory sounding southern accent she’d ever had the misfortune of hearing in person.
“I meant ya no harm, ma’am. Just checkin’ up on yuh after that there near run-in…” his eyes drifting immediately away from her eyes to her cleavage.
She tugged her pink and black plaid button-up back up to her shoulders and pulled it shut. Being ogled was fine, and she didn’t mind. Being in her 30s now, she found that fewer eyes fell upon her, even with her unique attributes. A big-titted fox wasn’t as eye-catching nowadays, it felt. She sighed.
However, this cat not only sounded it, but he was one of the fucking ugliest pieces of redneck hillbilly trash she’d ever seen.
“I’m fine.” Offering no gratitude in return for the feline’s feigned attempt at heroism. She rolled her eyes as the cat’s blatant show of perversion lingered. “Eyes up here, dumbass.”
“Well now, that isn’t anyway tuh talk tuh somebeast who was jes’ checkin’ up on you.”
Fuck this and fuck him. His voice was so grating that if everybeast in this town sounded even remotely like him, she’d have to break it to Eligh that she was moving back to Canada.
It really didn’t help matters that the asshole was ugly as all fucking hell, either. Call her superficial or whatever, but the fox had an unnerving feeling about this one. Time to put a fucking end to it.
If the poorly grown mustache beneath his nose and mullet weren’t enough to immediately make her wretch, the dirty wife-beater over blue denim jeans certainly would.
“Say, ah think we jes got off on tuh wrong paw, eh? Mah name’s—“ he reached out his hand, but she turned and walked away, cradling herself as her slender legs pulled her across the sidewalk as gracefully as a leaf caught in a gentle autumn breeze.
While she carved some distance between her and the unsavory feline, she distracted herself by thinking of the chain of events that had led to her being here in the first place.
Brigid had moved to the US from Vancouver several years ago. Her parents weren’t working-class beasts by any stretch of the imagination; The house she’d grown up in was an immaculate three-story affair and was located within the quote-on-quote “rich people” neighborhoods. She never took to that life like her older twin sisters did, embarrassing her family whenever she could, just by being herself.
Her genetics had a radically different idea for her life as well.
Sporting a smooth, velvety coat of lavender purple fur broken up by a streak of white that runs from her chin, over her breasts, and ends between her thighs.
Her hair was jet-black, running to her lower back, and typically kept in a thick braid. No beast, save for her siblings, could claim to have ever seen her with her hair down.
Brigid’s most striking features as a fox, however, weren’t her bright pink eyes or the cute way the black, ink-like fur on the tip of her tail or her ears wisped away like the stroke of a calligrapher finishing a sentence.
It definitely wasn’t the mottled grey spots all over her ass and hips.
As a fox, the species was historically known for their minimal body fat and tall, narrow bodies. And save for a slight impression of hips on females; one would be unable to tell a fully-clothed male from a female if viewed from behind.
That is unless the female was Brigid.
Through some kink in her DNA, likely the same one that gave her her purple fur, Brigid had blossomed like most other beast species during puberty, ultimately growing impressively large breasts (for a fox, at least) and a cute little figure by the time she reached maturity at twenty-one.
Strolling through Main Street at a faster pace than she would have preferred this morning, Brigid couldn’t help but find herself gazing into the many small businesses that lined the streets.
Stopping in front of what appeared to be a clothing shop, a big CLOSED sign hanging from the glass door, the fox gazed inside at the massive amount of clothing displayed within. Lining the walls as well as from hangers dangling on large A-frames.
Mannequins of all shapes, sizes, and species lined one side of the building, each dressed in what was being advertised overhead as the ‘Springtime Sunshine’ line.
The very first mannequin was that of a fox, slender and tall with no curves to speak of. It towered over her by almost eight inches! That was the golden standard for the species. That’s how her mother looked, her father and her two sisters, and literally every other fox she’d ever met or seen on television.
Stepping back so that her reflection lined up with the outline of the mannequin, her extraordinary figure and top-heavy features became immediately apparent, torn pants and all.
Now granted, the torn pants were a fashion choice. Brigid clung to the early 2010s fashion trends tightly, particularly those of the Gothic and Scene styles. Being well into her thirties wasn’t going to stop her from dressing any particular way. Shit, at that age, she could damn well do whatever she wanted. The opinions of others held little weight on her conscious.
The fox had been curious, though, about what it must feel like to shop for clothes tailored specifically for your species.
From the time she’d hit puberty and found that the fairly form-fitting, narrow-shouldered gender-neutral clothes designed for foxes were impossible for her to wear, she’d had begun shopping for general canid or even for smaller clothing designed for wolves in order to find attire that suited her.
Bra shopping had been an entirely other hassle that wasn’t worth dredging up right now.
The sound of two voices snapped her out of her reverie. The motion from her head quickly swiveled around, causing her braid to flip from hanging over her shoulder to dangling off her back, coming to rest like a halted pendulum.
A lioness with the thickest, most beautiful hair she’d ever seen strode gracefully towards her, a pastry in one hand and coffee in the other. The fox stood awestruck by the incredible image the lion created: A thick fur coat of seafoam blue, contrasting nicely against the equally pretty pale seafoam green of her hair.
She was dressed up, sporting an open black blazer over a tight white t-shirt and black pants.
Walking beside her was a shorter beast also sporting green hair, though far more unnatural in its appearance—the dark roots confirming her suspicion.
His identity became clear as the pair drew closer—an opossum in scrubs.
The lion and the opossum walked by, paying her no mind as they mingled in a spirited discussion.
“Oh hey!” She waved her hand as the pair turned around, finally acknowledging her. “Shitty of me to bother you, but could I possibly ask where you got that coffee? I’m new in town and—“
The opossum smiled and whispered something to the lioness, who kept on walking. He turned back to the fox and closed the distance. “Sure thing, see if…”
Two blocks later, Brigid finally came upon the coffee shop. The opossum gave her a nice, clean set of instructions: “Keep heading this direction; Two crosswalks down, third building in the row.”
The marsupial’s instructions were dead on as she walked up to a quaint little coffee shop built halfway between Corn and Tomato Street. The outdoor seating area was mercifully hidden beneath large umbrellas, with an extra table and set of chairs beneath the building’s roof.
“Toh’s Beans & Bakery,” read the big banner sign outside, which was hand-carved just like the big signs at each exit of town.
The smell of freshly brewed coffee and sweet, buttery pastries filled with locally-made fruit fillings wafted out of the heavy glass door every time it opened or closed.
Beside the door was a chalkboard with a crudely drawn cup of coffee and the advertisement for today’s special.
Awestruck at the sight of what she was sure to be her new hangout—which was right across the street from her apartment, no less—she had missed the fact that the redneck cat from earlier had been steadily approaching her.
Her ears fell flat against her head in realization of her predicament.
Sure, she could single-handedly bust this motherfucker up until he resembled a bloody pile of hair and bone, but her problem stemmed from not only being a fresh new face in town but also her ties to the new government official. And she was sure that beating up a local, even if he deserved it, would look really bad on Eligh right now.
Not wanting to take any chances quite yet, she slipped between a pair of flamingos that had exited the cafe and then through the set of doors herself.
Unsure if the cat had seen her or not and, quite frankly, unwilling to look behind her, she gracefully strode through the quaint cafe. Its interior layout somewhat reminded her of the coffee shop from Friends, only no couch, and it wasn’t populated by a bunch of the unfunniest sitcom characters ever… that she knew of.
The little bells above the door signaled that somebeast had entered behind her.
Oh, how she wished Eligh was here. Pushy males like this were easier to brush off when you had a seven-foot-tall hulking mass of muscle to cling to, even if he was gay as fuck. They didn’t know that, and that’s what mattered.
The orange cat working the counter must have sensed her uneasiness and had—in the middle of serving another customer—gestured for her to step up front beside the counter.
Hesitant at first; he was a cat too. They could be in cahoots together! “Don’t be a fucking specist, Brigid, jeez,” scolding herself mentally, “Fucking residual speciesm leftover from the grandparents”, then stepped forward, excusing herself with one of the most polite-sounding tones she’d ever used as she pushed her way past the other beasts who had been in line before her, including that of a wolf with the most striking pair of red eyes she’d ever seen.
The two shared a quick glance and a little smile before she disappeared towards the front of the quickly growing crowd.
“Just stay up here near the counter,” the orange tabby had said, quickly excusing himself from another customer. “Don’t ask how I knew something was wrong; just go with it if he approaches you, okay? The name is Toh, by the way. Welcome to my cafe and Brickhedge as a whole.”
The name on the fucking sign out front. It was THE Toh, the namesake of Toh’s Beans. And he had just saved her from having to seriously fuck up her first local.
The stray cat hung around the cafe for close to an hour, keeping his distance while simultaneously keeping a watchful eye on the fox. Never did he once attempt to approach, much to her relief, which had been felt two-fold when he left and had gone in the opposite direction of her apartment building.
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