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"writing": "[b][u][center]A Wusky’s Place Under Dragons\nChapter 1\nFor FriskeCrisps\nBy Draconicon[/center][/u][/b]\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n“Twenty, forty, fifty,” the catfish butcher muttered, counting out the bills and slapping them into the wusky’s palm. “There, now get lost, kid.”\n\n“Thanks,” Crisp muttered, tucking the cash into his pocket. \n\nIt was the same kind of interaction that every business had with him these days. Unofficial ‘courier’ jobs – taking notes, small deliveries, and ‘rare ingredient’ packages from suppliers to small businesses – might be a semi-necessary occupation, but nobody liked him. They only tolerated him because they knew that it was cheaper to get someone like him rather than the certified delivery people that would cost three times as much. Cheapness kept him employed. \n\nIt also kept him couch-surfing, but that wasn’t going to change anytime soon. \n\nCrisp kicked away from the butcher shop, his scooter rattling under him. The wusky made a mental note to take it to one of his friend’s garages and make sure that everything was tightened up properly and nothing was coming loose; the last thing that he needed was his only way to earn money disappearing out from under him. For now, though, there was something else that needed tending. \n\nGrumble, grumble. \n\n“Yeah, yeah, we’re getting food,” Crisp muttered, resisting the urge to hug his stomach. “Calm down.”\n\nHis stomach rumbled at him again. Couldn’t blame it, really; he’d been on his feet, kicking his scooter up and down hills for the last five hours, and he hadn’t had a break during that time, either. Each courier job needed to be done as fast as possible, and any delay meant that he could get fired or skipped over for someone else. Considering he was saving up to get a motor on the back of his scooter, he couldn’t afford to get dropped from any job before that happened. \n\nStill, it meant that when the last job was done, he was starving. He was just glad that the catfish had tucked in that last ten. Meant that he could hit somewhere other than a dollar menu to get some dinner for the night. \n\nAs he scootered down the street, passing small pawn shops and small warehouses converted to coffee shops, Crisp tried not to think about what he’d be doing in the next few days. More runs between stores, more bidding in the early morning hours for delivery jobs from the docks to some of the upper-class apartment buildings, and more desperate runs from one end of the city to the other where he’d see things that he’d never be allowed to own. His heart nearly sunk through his chest and out his feet to think about it. \n\nInstead, he just kept kicking on. There were other things to think about. Food, a comfy couch, a friend to hang out with at the end of the day – \n\n[i]Not much compared to what the guys at the top have.[/i]\n\nCrisp shook his head. He’d think about that when he had food, not before. \n\nAs he kicked down the street, he eventually wound up at the front door of a grocery store. He stepped off the scooter, folded it up, and stuck it in his backpack. The older bull with a gut poking out under his shirt standing at the front door waved as he walked in. \n\n“Good day, kid?” the bull asked. \n\n“Good enough for the deli.”\n\n“Heh. Stock up, then. Ain’t gonna be like that every day.”\n\nThe wusky nodded and walked on. He didn’t know the bull’s name and the bull didn’t know his, but he was around every good day for something better than fast food and stomach troubles. Maybe that made him a regular. \n\nThe store was just upscale enough to show some of the signs that the butcher shop, corner stores, and pawn shops in the other part of town didn’t. The front door had a few sigils on the frame, glowing as he walked in, and there was a security guard near the tills. Not armed with a gun – that had gone out of fashion fifty years ago, according to the history books – but with a wand. Crisp was 90% sure that it was secondhand, at best, but didn’t look too hard at it. Cops and security guards were twitchy at the best of times. \n\nBut it was nice to be able to head to the hot-food corner and not have to worry about some pickpocket or thief sneaking in and causing trouble. This place had connections. \n\nThe dingo deli worker looked over the counter as the wusky approached. Tan-furred face splitting into a grin, the canine chuckled and pulled on a pair of gloves. \n\n“The usual chicken strip meal?” \n\n“Yeah, and potato wedges if you got some.”\n\n“Heh, got a haul today, huh? Well, I think we got some extra today. Might be able to swing you a deal.”\n\n“Thanks. I really, really appreciate it.”\n\n“Get yourself a drink; I’ll get it bagged up so you can pay quick.”\n\nCrisp nodded his thanks and walked down the counter of hot food – full of chicken strips, fried chicken, mac and cheese, and other quick hot food – to the fridge at the far end. Soda, water, energy drinks: they were all there. As he pulled it open and grabbed a water, though, his legs nearly buckled. \n\n[i]Ugh…more tired than I thought…[/i]\n\nShaking his head, he held onto the fridge door until his legs stopped shaking. Soon as they were stable, he pulled the water bottle free, shut the door, and walked over to the register. The dingo already had his food bagged and ready, and he’d even thrown in a couple of barbecue sauce packets. \n\n“Didn’t have to do that,” Crisp muttered. \n\n“Yeah, but you need ‘em. And the store can kiss my ass about giving them out for free.”\n\nNodding his thanks, he paid up – cost him the full extra ten dollars, but it was worth it. Declining the receipt, he walked over to one of the cheap formica tables around the deli. There were lots of free seats today; he imagined most of the usual customers were either busy elsewhere or had been hustled out as soon as they finished their food. \n\nSame thing would happen to him when he was done, he imagined. Wasn’t like he had the money to shop at someplace like this. Not when he was saving up. Maybe later, when he had the money, but – \n\nNo, food first. Bad thoughts second. \n\nHe ripped the paper bag open, the rush of old-but-juicy fried chicken smell hitting his nose. Over-salted, over-seasoned, probably over-fried, but he didn’t care; it wasn’t a fast food burger for the hundredth time this month, and that was a treat for him. \n\nTwo of the chicken strips disappeared in less than a minute. Flavor – overdone, resting too long, didn’t matter, [i]flavor[/i] – hit his tongue and the wusky groaned in pure happiness. It faded quickly as he chugged half the water bottle to feed the rest of his needs, but at least he had something. \n\nAt least he was feeling a little better. \n\nAs he settled in, slowing down with the rest of his meal, all the thoughts that he had been keeping at bay during the scooter ride started to come back. With the distraction of an actual meal to soften the blows, this time Crisp let himself think about it. \n\nThe rest of the day was honestly going to suck. Even though he was heading to Victor’s house – a calico friend of his from his attempt at college days – Crisp knew that he wasn’t actually going to see the cat. There’d be no hanging out, not with Victor at work on night-shift. He was going there purely to wash-up, couch surf, and get some rest before he had to head out for more work before the sun came up. \n\nAnd if that wasn’t sobering enough, what was out there for the rest of his life was worse. He was a courier, an unofficial, non-unionized courier, which meant that he had no protection if things went bad. He had no safety net if a car hit him, or if he got sick, or anything else threatened what he did. If he was off the job for a day or two to recover – let alone longer for something more serious – then the regulars he worked for would replace him. He’d have to find new clients. \n\nAs for working upward…yeah, he was saving for an engine for the scooter, which would help speed things up and put less stress on his legs. Yes, he was trying to get some mods for it that would let him carry more than he could stuff in his backpack, which would let him take on some different jobs. \n\nBut would he ever get enough to get out of courier work? Probably not. \n\n[i]Because I’m not up there enough to get one of the Families to look at me.[/i]\n\nFamilies. Should basically say dragons, really. They were the ones that ran all the Families, were the patriarchs and matriarchs that ran everything behind the scenes. Everyone knew they did, wasn’t like it was a secret. \n\nCrisp snorted as he remembered how stupid he’d been back in school, buying into all the democracy stuff that people spouted. He still liked to pretend that it was how the world worked, that people voted for the sort of leadership they wanted and either it worked out or they waited until the next election to try and fix it. \n\nWasn’t how it worked, turned out. The elections happened, the Families sent their money in, and whoever was in government got paid out the ass to do what the Families – or rather, the dragons at the top – asked them to do until they were voted out and replaced with someone else that wanted to cash in on the money. Every so often someone would break the mold and not do what the dragons demanded, and that helped keep the illusion of democracy running enough that the voting kept happening, but Crisp had come to realize that it didn’t matter. Unless the majority of people voted in ignored the Families – something that’d never happen – nobody would get what they wanted. \n\n[i]And without knowing someone from the Families, good luck getting a good job anywhere.[/i]\n\nCrisp shook his head. He felt like a conspiracy theory nutcase, but he’d seen too many job applications get tanked just because he didn’t have any dragon-related experience on his resume. Every time that he tried and failed, only to see someone that wasn’t trying as hard get the job because of who they knew, it was hard not to feel like garbage. \n\nHe sighed as he shifted to the potato wedges. Used to be that he thought that he’d be able to get something on his own merit, but ever since he graduated high school, he’d learned hard lessons. Crisp tried not to think about it too hard, preferring to remind himself that he was still getting by as an entrepreneur, sliding through life as a self-employed person and doing alright for himself, but…\n\nWell, it was harder and harder to make himself believe it. He was going from friend to friend, surfing on couches, finding places that’d pay a pittance to try and build up to the next bit that’d probably barely pay any better, and – \n\nThe wusky sighed, rubbing his forehead as he felt some of the background depression sliding forward. Probably shouldn’t go any deeper. \n\nInstead, he sat up and looked at the TV. The news was on, a vixen talking about some new scandal from the Bouyar Family, the local dragons that ran most of the stuff in their part of the city. \n\n“Reports state that the current patriarch of the Bouyar family has been found guilty of importing and distributing illegal medical materials. This is a harsh blow for the family, a long-standing pillar of the community and a powerful force on the political scene. Doubtlessly this will cause ripples in the circles of power for decades to come –” \n\n“Uh-huh…”\n\n“According to our observers in court, the judge has fined the family three million dollars. Hopefully, this money will be put to use helping those that have been affected by the drugs in the streets.”\n\nCrisp shook his head, looking back down at what remained of his meal. He highly doubted that the money would make that much of a difference; he’d bet that the family would cut some kind of deal with the court, the court would take a cut, and whatever got to the city itself would be a much-reduced figure. \n\nAs for it being a punishment for the family…well, the Bouyars were worth at least five hundred million, last he checked. He doubted that they’d miss three million, particularly since they were probably going to earn that much back in a month, at most. \n\nHe sighed. The world was all screwed up, and he had no idea how anyone could think that it was fixable. It probably wasn’t. \n\nDipping one of his last potato wedges in the sauce, he swirled it around as he imagined what his life would be like. Maybe he could eventually get a studio apartment. Maybe he might get one of the dragons out there to pay attention to him. Maybe there was an old classmate that still remembered him out there, someone that’d do him a favor and get him an in at one of the companies that were paying better. \n\nMaybe. \n\nProbably not. \n\n[i]God, I’m just right on the line of depression, aren’t I?[/i] Crisp thought, resting his head on his hand. [i]Anyone else would be crying from all this. All I’m doing is shrugging it off and sighing.[/i]\n\nHe leaned back, catching sight of himself in the deli glass. He was getting toward thirty, hovering right before the big three-oh, and he looked…tired. His eyes were bleary, his black and white fur sagged down – some of it matted with sweat, the rest just haggard – and his red coat hung over a white shirt that had seen better days. Black and white shorts on slender legs, a tail that hung down and looked like it was verging on giving up, black and white high-top sneakers that looked like they were on the verge of ripping in places – \n\n[i]God, I look terrible. No wonder some of the guys are looking at me with so much sympathy lately.[/i]\n\nNot that sympathy could do much. He needed something different, bigger and better, something that would change his life rather than just giving him something else to float on. He needed – \n\n“I really appreciate you meeting with me, Mr. Bouyar.”\n\nCrisp sat straight up, eyes going wide. That name – \n\n“I wish I could say that it was a pleasure, Councilman Cawler, but I honestly feel like you’re losing me here.”\n\nCouncilman? And Bouyar? \n\nCrisp slowly turned his head, looking out of the corner of his eyes. There, coming down the bakery aisle at the edge of the deli dining section, were two men. One, a crow, was dressed to the nines in the formal attire of a city councilman. He was a little short, perhaps an inch shorter than Crisp himself, and he had shimmering rings on his talons and a monocle over one eye. He looked every inch the rich city politician, and the wusky was half-sure that he had seen the man during the campaign season a few months ago. Someone that had campaigned on cleaning up the streets and driving the homeless and other undesirables away from the more populated areas. \n\nNot a good man, in other words, and he looked every bit as slimy as his politics had made him sound. \n\nThe other, however, was dressed far more casually but more carefully. A green-scaled dragon – the Bouyar, Crisp realized – was dressed in a pair of jeans that were incredibly carefully distressed, his wings were decorated with a gold ring on each pointed joint-tip, and he wore a designer T-shirt that was both casual and upper class at the same time. He even had a bow-tie rather than an actual tie, looking like someone that was going to college and joking about looking serious. \n\nCrisp looked down, catching sight of the dragon’s sneakers – pull-on, rather than laced – and realized that they were just as huge as the rest of him. The green dragon had to be at least six and a half feet tall, and those massive shoes reflected that, looking plush and full and…well, both wide and long. He bit his lips and looked away, knowing better than to look like he was spying on the people of power. \n\n“That seems a little harsh, Mr. Bouyar –”\n\n“Allister, please. My father is Mr. Bouyar, though he [i]did[/i] send me here to take care of things.”\n\n“Well, things are being taken care of, Allister. There’s nothing wrong with what we’re doing. And besides, your family did pick me just for the politics that we’re advancing. After all, think of how much higher value everything is in this part of town? I’m sure that your family’s property values have risen by at least ten percent.”\n\n“Twenty, actually, which is part of the reason I’m a little concerned. It seems…fast. Faster than just moving people would account for.”\n\n“Perhaps I just efficient, Allister. Besides, so long as you get what you want, what does it matter? The Families aren’t affected, after all.”\n\nIt was like being privy to something that would get him put in jail, he felt. Crisp didn’t dare move as the conversation continued, knowing that the only bit of safety he had was the fact that neither of them had noticed him yet. If they did, then…\n\nWhat would they do?\n\nWould anyone really care what he said? Would he even have the guts to talk to someone about the blatant way that a dragon had his thumbs on the scales? Fuck, he didn’t even know if he could bring himself to think about this conversation later. \n\n[i]Just…don’t move. Don’t talk. Don’t let them notice you.[/i]\n\n“I prefer to know how my family’s allies are using the money we donate,” Allister said, shrugging as he put his hands in his pockets. “It’s one thing to do what you promised. It’s another thing to do it in a way that makes things worse down the line. After all, we’re paying you to do things right. Not cut corners.”\n\n“Your father was not so…objectionable when we had our meeting before the campaign. I hope that the Bouyars are not having…buyer’s remorse?”\n\n“We’re having…buyer’s concern. After all, we can’t get our money back, but we can choose whether we want to keep spending money on you…or your opponent in a few years’ time.”\n\n[i]I am so glad that he’s not talking to me with that tone,[/i] Crisp thought, suppressing a shiver that wanted to run up and down his spine. [i]Friendly but with so much edge. Jesus. Fuck.[/i]\n\n“Well, you don’t have to worry. We [i]are[/i] making things better, as we promised on the campaign trail. Everyone is doing better in this part of town.”\n\n“Really? And him?”\n\n[i]Him? Oh. Oh, no.[/i]\n\nDragging his head up from his meal, the wusky saw both the crow and the dragon looking at him. He didn’t move. He just stared. \n\n“What about him, Allister? He’s just a customer,” Councilman Cawler said, shrugging. “He’ll be heading home soon.”\n\n“Are you saying that he’s not welcome here, then?”\n\n“Well – no, that isn’t – Well, what is your issue, Allister?”\n\n“One look at him and you can tell that he’s not doing well. Part of your promises, Mr. Cawler, was to make things better. Looking at him, I’m wondering how that’s going.”\n\n“Well –”\n\n“You.”\n\nCrisp wanted to run, but his legs didn’t listen to him. So, instead, he sat there as the imposing dragon walked over and leaned against the table. The dragon held out his hand. \n\n“I would like your name.”\n\n“…C-Crisp.”\n\n“Crisp. I see. And a phone number?” \n\nThe wusky answered on instinct, rattling off his phone number in seconds. Allister nodded again, turning around. \n\n“I will be in contact. Mr. Cawler, I will be conducting a few surveys of my own, just to see how things are going for the average person in your district. If they’re as bad as I think they are, we might have to…renegotiate.”\n\n“I – I tell you, it’s fine. Your family –”\n\n“My father might be fine with just the numbers. Some of us have other concerns.”\n\n[i]Okay, not going to be here to listen to an argument,[/i] Crisp thought, jamming the last of his food in his mouth and getting to his feet. [i]I’m not going to be a target just because some rich asshole thinks that I heard too much.[/i]\n\nHe moved fast. Around the dragon, out of the dining area, through the front door. Even as he ran, he was pulling his scooter free and unfolding it. By the time he hit the parking lot, he had it on the ground and he was scooting away. \n\nHe pushed himself even harder than usual. The last thing that he wanted was to be anywhere near the store when Allister and the councilman were done talking. \n\n#\n\nForty-five minutes later – and with a leg that felt like it was going to fall off at any second – Crisp arrived at Victor’s apartment. He wobbled his way up two flights of stairs and walked down the open-air corridor. The calico’s apartment was all the way down at the far end of the building, and by the time he reached it, he felt like he was going to fall over. \n\n[i]Gah…really need…to pace myself…[/i]\n\nBut at least nothing had happened. Nobody had called his cell – one of the few things that he forced himself to keep charged and topped up – and he hadn’t run into anything bad on the way here. Maybe he had lucked out. Maybe the dragon hadn’t been that bothered and wasn’t actually going to call him. \n\nMaybe. \n\nHe fumbled around the little decorative birdhouse by the door. No birds ever called that place home – maybe they just realized that it was put up by a cat – but the key rested inside. Eventually, he managed to pinch around the thick end and pull it out. \n\nClick. \n\nHe stepped inside the apartment, shrugging off his coat and leaving it on the floor by the front door. As he stepped over it, he stepped on the heels of his shoes, popping his socked paws free, and he left those behind, too. \n\nPiece by piece, he stepped out of his clothes until there was nothing left, by which time he had reached the bathroom. He stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and all but collapsed into the shower. \n\nAs the hot water rained down, he whimpered with relief. It felt like it was washing all the soreness and tiredness off of him, leaving behind only the core of himself. He leaned against the tiles, sighing in pure happiness as he enjoyed the hot water streaking through his fur. His claws rustled through the dampening strands, bringing some of the heat down to the skin below and taking away even more of the sweat that soaked him from head to toe. \n\n[i]I needed this. God, I needed this.[/i]\n\nHe let himself enjoy the feeling of being under the soothing hot water. Eventually, he reached for the shampoo, fumbling about until he found it and started spreading it over his back and head. It was all mechanical, something that he did on autopilot while the rest of him was just recovering from the long day. \n\nAnd yet…\n\n[i]That dragon…[/i]\n\nAllister had been terrifying, no doubt about it. The green dragon was taller than anyone that he had met before, even taller than the guards at the store and the bull greeter. He had a presence to him that made him all the more intimidating, beyond merely being a dragon. He…he was focused, for lack of a better term, and if you weren’t part of that focus, then you were something else, an object on the edge of his vision that didn’t matter…\n\nUntil it did. \n\nHe still remembered how it felt to be under those eyes when Allister turned to him and asked his name. Even though he still didn’t know why the dragon wanted his name, he could remember how it felt to be stared at. \n\nIt was like a bug being pinned to a collector’s board. He hadn’t been able to move then, and just thinking about it almost pinned him in place now. \n\nAnother shiver. Not going through that again. Not a chance. Not in a million years. \n\nOnce he felt clean, he shut off the water and grabbed a towel. He’d toss that in the dryer before he left for work tomorrow morning, should be fine. Victor had never minded before, and he doubted that’d changed. \n\nFluffy and dry, he slid back into his briefs and made his way through the apartment. He never would have done that while Victor was at home, but without the calico around, it was…kind of nice to wander about like that. Plus it was just freeing, and he was still a little overheated, and – \n\nWell, maybe he liked to show off just a bit. The tight white briefs pulled close to his groin, hugging his cock and balls just enough to show them off even while he was soft. The little bit of residual moisture in his crotch fur and the bit of sweat in the briefs combined to make them hug him that little bit tighter, too. \n\nDespite his plans to settle in and watch TV, though, he felt a wave of tiredness come over him. No matter how he tried to ignore it, trying to tell himself that he didn’t have this kind of privilege very often, exhaustion was much more persuasive. He needed sleep, and he needed it yesterday. \n\n[i]Ugh. Fine, body, fine.[/i]\n\nShaking his head, he trundled back to the bedroom. The bed was already made – Victor was that kind of clean freak – and a pair of clean sweat pants that he’d left behind on another visit were folded over the pillow. Crisp smiled, picking them up and pressing them to his face. Fresh-washed, too. \n\n[i]Thanks, Victor.[/i]\n\nShaking his head, he resisted the urge to just put them on. They were the only clean clothes he had to his name, and it’d be better to have those to wear tomorrow – \n\n[i]Ugh, I should have thrown everything in the washer…[/i]\n\nWell, he could still do that. Throw everything in the wash, get up early to throw them in the dryer, and then wear them to the next job. He could make that work. He should make that work. \n\nNope. Too tired to make that work. \n\nThe wusky fell into bed, groaning as he did. The soft mattress all but swallowed him up, and he nuzzled into the pillows as he got comfortable. A deep, happy sigh slipped past his lips as he rolled onto his side, pulling one of the other pillows in close and holding onto it for support. \n\nJust as he closed his eyes properly, the memory of the dragon asking for his phone number hit him again. \n\n[i]…I gave him my number,[/i] Crisp thought, a shiver running down his back. [i]God, I hope he forgets it. Or just doesn’t need it. Or anything.[/i]\n\nAfter all, for all that Allister was a little different to the dragons that he’d seen on TV day in and day out, he was still a dragon, and nobody got away from meeting a dragon unaffected. The best he could hope for was that he was forgotten. \n\nShould happen. After all, he was a nobody, and Allister was a Bouyar. Rich family didn’t really care about the lower class. Not really. Even if he was pushing Cawler to keep a campaign promise that the crow had abandoned as soon as he got into office. \n\n[i]Sleep now, thinking later.[/i]\n\nCrisp rolled onto his other side, closing his eyes tighter. The sooner that he forgot about the meeting, the sooner that he could move on, and the sooner that he could pretend that it had never happened in the first place. \n\nSleep. \n\nSleep would make him feel better. \n\nSleep would let him move on. \n\nSleep would bring another day. \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[b][u][center]The End[/center][/u][/b]\n\nSummary: Crisp is having an interesting start in this new series. A wusky in poverty, he gets the attention of someone that, honestly, he should have avoided. \n\nTags: No Sex, Introduction, Wusky, Husky, Wolf, Hybrid, Dragon, Dragon Superiority World, Poverty, Series, Crow, Worldbuilding, Getting You Informed, Modern, Magic, \n",
"writing_bbcode_parsed": "
A Wusky’s Place Under Dragons Chapter 1 For FriskeCrisps By Draconicon
“Twenty, forty, fifty,” the catfish butcher muttered, counting out the bills and slapping them into the wusky’s palm. “There, now get lost, kid.”
“Thanks,” Crisp muttered, tucking the cash into his pocket.
It was the same kind of interaction that every business had with him these days. Unofficial ‘courier’ jobs – taking notes, small deliveries, and ‘rare ingredient’ packages from suppliers to small businesses – might be a semi-necessary occupation, but nobody liked him. They only tolerated him because they knew that it was cheaper to get someone like him rather than the certified delivery people that would cost three times as much. Cheapness kept him employed.
It also kept him couch-surfing, but that wasn’t going to change anytime soon.
Crisp kicked away from the butcher shop, his scooter rattling under him. The wusky made a mental note to take it to one of his friend’s garages and make sure that everything was tightened up properly and nothing was coming loose; the last thing that he needed was his only way to earn money disappearing out from under him. For now, though, there was something else that needed tending.
Grumble, grumble.
“Yeah, yeah, we’re getting food,” Crisp muttered, resisting the urge to hug his stomach. “Calm down.”
His stomach rumbled at him again. Couldn’t blame it, really; he’d been on his feet, kicking his scooter up and down hills for the last five hours, and he hadn’t had a break during that time, either. Each courier job needed to be done as fast as possible, and any delay meant that he could get fired or skipped over for someone else. Considering he was saving up to get a motor on the back of his scooter, he couldn’t afford to get dropped from any job before that happened.
Still, it meant that when the last job was done, he was starving. He was just glad that the catfish had tucked in that last ten. Meant that he could hit somewhere other than a dollar menu to get some dinner for the night.
As he scootered down the street, passing small pawn shops and small warehouses converted to coffee shops, Crisp tried not to think about what he’d be doing in the next few days. More runs between stores, more bidding in the early morning hours for delivery jobs from the docks to some of the upper-class apartment buildings, and more desperate runs from one end of the city to the other where he’d see things that he’d never be allowed to own. His heart nearly sunk through his chest and out his feet to think about it.
Instead, he just kept kicking on. There were other things to think about. Food, a comfy couch, a friend to hang out with at the end of the day –
Not much compared to what the guys at the top have.
Crisp shook his head. He’d think about that when he had food, not before.
As he kicked down the street, he eventually wound up at the front door of a grocery store. He stepped off the scooter, folded it up, and stuck it in his backpack. The older bull with a gut poking out under his shirt standing at the front door waved as he walked in.
“Good day, kid?” the bull asked.
“Good enough for the deli.”
“Heh. Stock up, then. Ain’t gonna be like that every day.”
The wusky nodded and walked on. He didn’t know the bull’s name and the bull didn’t know his, but he was around every good day for something better than fast food and stomach troubles. Maybe that made him a regular.
The store was just upscale enough to show some of the signs that the butcher shop, corner stores, and pawn shops in the other part of town didn’t. The front door had a few sigils on the frame, glowing as he walked in, and there was a security guard near the tills. Not armed with a gun – that had gone out of fashion fifty years ago, according to the history books – but with a wand. Crisp was 90% sure that it was secondhand, at best, but didn’t look too hard at it. Cops and security guards were twitchy at the best of times.
But it was nice to be able to head to the hot-food corner and not have to worry about some pickpocket or thief sneaking in and causing trouble. This place had connections.
The dingo deli worker looked over the counter as the wusky approached. Tan-furred face splitting into a grin, the canine chuckled and pulled on a pair of gloves.
“The usual chicken strip meal?”
“Yeah, and potato wedges if you got some.”
“Heh, got a haul today, huh? Well, I think we got some extra today. Might be able to swing you a deal.”
“Thanks. I really, really appreciate it.”
“Get yourself a drink; I’ll get it bagged up so you can pay quick.”
Crisp nodded his thanks and walked down the counter of hot food – full of chicken strips, fried chicken, mac and cheese, and other quick hot food – to the fridge at the far end. Soda, water, energy drinks: they were all there. As he pulled it open and grabbed a water, though, his legs nearly buckled.
Ugh…more tired than I thought…
Shaking his head, he held onto the fridge door until his legs stopped shaking. Soon as they were stable, he pulled the water bottle free, shut the door, and walked over to the register. The dingo already had his food bagged and ready, and he’d even thrown in a couple of barbecue sauce packets.
“Didn’t have to do that,” Crisp muttered.
“Yeah, but you need ‘em. And the store can kiss my ass about giving them out for free.”
Nodding his thanks, he paid up – cost him the full extra ten dollars, but it was worth it. Declining the receipt, he walked over to one of the cheap formica tables around the deli. There were lots of free seats today; he imagined most of the usual customers were either busy elsewhere or had been hustled out as soon as they finished their food.
Same thing would happen to him when he was done, he imagined. Wasn’t like he had the money to shop at someplace like this. Not when he was saving up. Maybe later, when he had the money, but –
No, food first. Bad thoughts second.
He ripped the paper bag open, the rush of old-but-juicy fried chicken smell hitting his nose. Over-salted, over-seasoned, probably over-fried, but he didn’t care; it wasn’t a fast food burger for the hundredth time this month, and that was a treat for him.
Two of the chicken strips disappeared in less than a minute. Flavor – overdone, resting too long, didn’t matter, flavor – hit his tongue and the wusky groaned in pure happiness. It faded quickly as he chugged half the water bottle to feed the rest of his needs, but at least he had something.
At least he was feeling a little better.
As he settled in, slowing down with the rest of his meal, all the thoughts that he had been keeping at bay during the scooter ride started to come back. With the distraction of an actual meal to soften the blows, this time Crisp let himself think about it.
The rest of the day was honestly going to suck. Even though he was heading to Victor’s house – a calico friend of his from his attempt at college days – Crisp knew that he wasn’t actually going to see the cat. There’d be no hanging out, not with Victor at work on night-shift. He was going there purely to wash-up, couch surf, and get some rest before he had to head out for more work before the sun came up.
And if that wasn’t sobering enough, what was out there for the rest of his life was worse. He was a courier, an unofficial, non-unionized courier, which meant that he had no protection if things went bad. He had no safety net if a car hit him, or if he got sick, or anything else threatened what he did. If he was off the job for a day or two to recover – let alone longer for something more serious – then the regulars he worked for would replace him. He’d have to find new clients.
As for working upward…yeah, he was saving for an engine for the scooter, which would help speed things up and put less stress on his legs. Yes, he was trying to get some mods for it that would let him carry more than he could stuff in his backpack, which would let him take on some different jobs.
But would he ever get enough to get out of courier work? Probably not.
Because I’m not up there enough to get one of the Families to look at me.
Families. Should basically say dragons, really. They were the ones that ran all the Families, were the patriarchs and matriarchs that ran everything behind the scenes. Everyone knew they did, wasn’t like it was a secret.
Crisp snorted as he remembered how stupid he’d been back in school, buying into all the democracy stuff that people spouted. He still liked to pretend that it was how the world worked, that people voted for the sort of leadership they wanted and either it worked out or they waited until the next election to try and fix it.
Wasn’t how it worked, turned out. The elections happened, the Families sent their money in, and whoever was in government got paid out the ass to do what the Families – or rather, the dragons at the top – asked them to do until they were voted out and replaced with someone else that wanted to cash in on the money. Every so often someone would break the mold and not do what the dragons demanded, and that helped keep the illusion of democracy running enough that the voting kept happening, but Crisp had come to realize that it didn’t matter. Unless the majority of people voted in ignored the Families – something that’d never happen – nobody would get what they wanted.
And without knowing someone from the Families, good luck getting a good job anywhere.
Crisp shook his head. He felt like a conspiracy theory nutcase, but he’d seen too many job applications get tanked just because he didn’t have any dragon-related experience on his resume. Every time that he tried and failed, only to see someone that wasn’t trying as hard get the job because of who they knew, it was hard not to feel like garbage.
He sighed as he shifted to the potato wedges. Used to be that he thought that he’d be able to get something on his own merit, but ever since he graduated high school, he’d learned hard lessons. Crisp tried not to think about it too hard, preferring to remind himself that he was still getting by as an entrepreneur, sliding through life as a self-employed person and doing alright for himself, but…
Well, it was harder and harder to make himself believe it. He was going from friend to friend, surfing on couches, finding places that’d pay a pittance to try and build up to the next bit that’d probably barely pay any better, and –
The wusky sighed, rubbing his forehead as he felt some of the background depression sliding forward. Probably shouldn’t go any deeper.
Instead, he sat up and looked at the TV. The news was on, a vixen talking about some new scandal from the Bouyar Family, the local dragons that ran most of the stuff in their part of the city.
“Reports state that the current patriarch of the Bouyar family has been found guilty of importing and distributing illegal medical materials. This is a harsh blow for the family, a long-standing pillar of the community and a powerful force on the political scene. Doubtlessly this will cause ripples in the circles of power for decades to come –”
“Uh-huh…”
“According to our observers in court, the judge has fined the family three million dollars. Hopefully, this money will be put to use helping those that have been affected by the drugs in the streets.”
Crisp shook his head, looking back down at what remained of his meal. He highly doubted that the money would make that much of a difference; he’d bet that the family would cut some kind of deal with the court, the court would take a cut, and whatever got to the city itself would be a much-reduced figure.
As for it being a punishment for the family…well, the Bouyars were worth at least five hundred million, last he checked. He doubted that they’d miss three million, particularly since they were probably going to earn that much back in a month, at most.
He sighed. The world was all screwed up, and he had no idea how anyone could think that it was fixable. It probably wasn’t.
Dipping one of his last potato wedges in the sauce, he swirled it around as he imagined what his life would be like. Maybe he could eventually get a studio apartment. Maybe he might get one of the dragons out there to pay attention to him. Maybe there was an old classmate that still remembered him out there, someone that’d do him a favor and get him an in at one of the companies that were paying better.
Maybe.
Probably not.
God, I’m just right on the line of depression, aren’t I? Crisp thought, resting his head on his hand. Anyone else would be crying from all this. All I’m doing is shrugging it off and sighing.
He leaned back, catching sight of himself in the deli glass. He was getting toward thirty, hovering right before the big three-oh, and he looked…tired. His eyes were bleary, his black and white fur sagged down – some of it matted with sweat, the rest just haggard – and his red coat hung over a white shirt that had seen better days. Black and white shorts on slender legs, a tail that hung down and looked like it was verging on giving up, black and white high-top sneakers that looked like they were on the verge of ripping in places –
God, I look terrible. No wonder some of the guys are looking at me with so much sympathy lately.
Not that sympathy could do much. He needed something different, bigger and better, something that would change his life rather than just giving him something else to float on. He needed –
“I really appreciate you meeting with me, Mr. Bouyar.”
Crisp sat straight up, eyes going wide. That name –
“I wish I could say that it was a pleasure, Councilman Cawler, but I honestly feel like you’re losing me here.”
Councilman? And Bouyar?
Crisp slowly turned his head, looking out of the corner of his eyes. There, coming down the bakery aisle at the edge of the deli dining section, were two men. One, a crow, was dressed to the nines in the formal attire of a city councilman. He was a little short, perhaps an inch shorter than Crisp himself, and he had shimmering rings on his talons and a monocle over one eye. He looked every inch the rich city politician, and the wusky was half-sure that he had seen the man during the campaign season a few months ago. Someone that had campaigned on cleaning up the streets and driving the homeless and other undesirables away from the more populated areas.
Not a good man, in other words, and he looked every bit as slimy as his politics had made him sound.
The other, however, was dressed far more casually but more carefully. A green-scaled dragon – the Bouyar, Crisp realized – was dressed in a pair of jeans that were incredibly carefully distressed, his wings were decorated with a gold ring on each pointed joint-tip, and he wore a designer T-shirt that was both casual and upper class at the same time. He even had a bow-tie rather than an actual tie, looking like someone that was going to college and joking about looking serious.
Crisp looked down, catching sight of the dragon’s sneakers – pull-on, rather than laced – and realized that they were just as huge as the rest of him. The green dragon had to be at least six and a half feet tall, and those massive shoes reflected that, looking plush and full and…well, both wide and long. He bit his lips and looked away, knowing better than to look like he was spying on the people of power.
“That seems a little harsh, Mr. Bouyar –”
“Allister, please. My father is Mr. Bouyar, though he did send me here to take care of things.”
“Well, things are being taken care of, Allister. There’s nothing wrong with what we’re doing. And besides, your family did pick me just for the politics that we’re advancing. After all, think of how much higher value everything is in this part of town? I’m sure that your family’s property values have risen by at least ten percent.”
“Twenty, actually, which is part of the reason I’m a little concerned. It seems…fast. Faster than just moving people would account for.”
“Perhaps I just efficient, Allister. Besides, so long as you get what you want, what does it matter? The Families aren’t affected, after all.”
It was like being privy to something that would get him put in jail, he felt. Crisp didn’t dare move as the conversation continued, knowing that the only bit of safety he had was the fact that neither of them had noticed him yet. If they did, then…
What would they do?
Would anyone really care what he said? Would he even have the guts to talk to someone about the blatant way that a dragon had his thumbs on the scales? Fuck, he didn’t even know if he could bring himself to think about this conversation later.
Just…don’t move. Don’t talk. Don’t let them notice you.
“I prefer to know how my family’s allies are using the money we donate,” Allister said, shrugging as he put his hands in his pockets. “It’s one thing to do what you promised. It’s another thing to do it in a way that makes things worse down the line. After all, we’re paying you to do things right. Not cut corners.”
“Your father was not so…objectionable when we had our meeting before the campaign. I hope that the Bouyars are not having…buyer’s remorse?”
“We’re having…buyer’s concern. After all, we can’t get our money back, but we can choose whether we want to keep spending money on you…or your opponent in a few years’ time.”
I am so glad that he’s not talking to me with that tone, Crisp thought, suppressing a shiver that wanted to run up and down his spine. Friendly but with so much edge. Jesus. Fuck.
“Well, you don’t have to worry. We are making things better, as we promised on the campaign trail. Everyone is doing better in this part of town.”
“Really? And him?”
Him? Oh. Oh, no.
Dragging his head up from his meal, the wusky saw both the crow and the dragon looking at him. He didn’t move. He just stared.
“What about him, Allister? He’s just a customer,” Councilman Cawler said, shrugging. “He’ll be heading home soon.”
“Are you saying that he’s not welcome here, then?”
“Well – no, that isn’t – Well, what is your issue, Allister?”
“One look at him and you can tell that he’s not doing well. Part of your promises, Mr. Cawler, was to make things better. Looking at him, I’m wondering how that’s going.”
“Well –”
“You.”
Crisp wanted to run, but his legs didn’t listen to him. So, instead, he sat there as the imposing dragon walked over and leaned against the table. The dragon held out his hand.
“I would like your name.”
“…C-Crisp.”
“Crisp. I see. And a phone number?”
The wusky answered on instinct, rattling off his phone number in seconds. Allister nodded again, turning around.
“I will be in contact. Mr. Cawler, I will be conducting a few surveys of my own, just to see how things are going for the average person in your district. If they’re as bad as I think they are, we might have to…renegotiate.”
“I – I tell you, it’s fine. Your family –”
“My father might be fine with just the numbers. Some of us have other concerns.”
Okay, not going to be here to listen to an argument, Crisp thought, jamming the last of his food in his mouth and getting to his feet. I’m not going to be a target just because some rich asshole thinks that I heard too much.
He moved fast. Around the dragon, out of the dining area, through the front door. Even as he ran, he was pulling his scooter free and unfolding it. By the time he hit the parking lot, he had it on the ground and he was scooting away.
He pushed himself even harder than usual. The last thing that he wanted was to be anywhere near the store when Allister and the councilman were done talking.
#
Forty-five minutes later – and with a leg that felt like it was going to fall off at any second – Crisp arrived at Victor’s apartment. He wobbled his way up two flights of stairs and walked down the open-air corridor. The calico’s apartment was all the way down at the far end of the building, and by the time he reached it, he felt like he was going to fall over.
Gah…really need…to pace myself…
But at least nothing had happened. Nobody had called his cell – one of the few things that he forced himself to keep charged and topped up – and he hadn’t run into anything bad on the way here. Maybe he had lucked out. Maybe the dragon hadn’t been that bothered and wasn’t actually going to call him.
Maybe.
He fumbled around the little decorative birdhouse by the door. No birds ever called that place home – maybe they just realized that it was put up by a cat – but the key rested inside. Eventually, he managed to pinch around the thick end and pull it out.
Click.
He stepped inside the apartment, shrugging off his coat and leaving it on the floor by the front door. As he stepped over it, he stepped on the heels of his shoes, popping his socked paws free, and he left those behind, too.
Piece by piece, he stepped out of his clothes until there was nothing left, by which time he had reached the bathroom. He stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and all but collapsed into the shower.
As the hot water rained down, he whimpered with relief. It felt like it was washing all the soreness and tiredness off of him, leaving behind only the core of himself. He leaned against the tiles, sighing in pure happiness as he enjoyed the hot water streaking through his fur. His claws rustled through the dampening strands, bringing some of the heat down to the skin below and taking away even more of the sweat that soaked him from head to toe.
I needed this. God, I needed this.
He let himself enjoy the feeling of being under the soothing hot water. Eventually, he reached for the shampoo, fumbling about until he found it and started spreading it over his back and head. It was all mechanical, something that he did on autopilot while the rest of him was just recovering from the long day.
And yet…
That dragon…
Allister had been terrifying, no doubt about it. The green dragon was taller than anyone that he had met before, even taller than the guards at the store and the bull greeter. He had a presence to him that made him all the more intimidating, beyond merely being a dragon. He…he was focused, for lack of a better term, and if you weren’t part of that focus, then you were something else, an object on the edge of his vision that didn’t matter…
Until it did.
He still remembered how it felt to be under those eyes when Allister turned to him and asked his name. Even though he still didn’t know why the dragon wanted his name, he could remember how it felt to be stared at.
It was like a bug being pinned to a collector’s board. He hadn’t been able to move then, and just thinking about it almost pinned him in place now.
Another shiver. Not going through that again. Not a chance. Not in a million years.
Once he felt clean, he shut off the water and grabbed a towel. He’d toss that in the dryer before he left for work tomorrow morning, should be fine. Victor had never minded before, and he doubted that’d changed.
Fluffy and dry, he slid back into his briefs and made his way through the apartment. He never would have done that while Victor was at home, but without the calico around, it was…kind of nice to wander about like that. Plus it was just freeing, and he was still a little overheated, and –
Well, maybe he liked to show off just a bit. The tight white briefs pulled close to his groin, hugging his cock and balls just enough to show them off even while he was soft. The little bit of residual moisture in his crotch fur and the bit of sweat in the briefs combined to make them hug him that little bit tighter, too.
Despite his plans to settle in and watch TV, though, he felt a wave of tiredness come over him. No matter how he tried to ignore it, trying to tell himself that he didn’t have this kind of privilege very often, exhaustion was much more persuasive. He needed sleep, and he needed it yesterday.
Ugh. Fine, body, fine.
Shaking his head, he trundled back to the bedroom. The bed was already made – Victor was that kind of clean freak – and a pair of clean sweat pants that he’d left behind on another visit were folded over the pillow. Crisp smiled, picking them up and pressing them to his face. Fresh-washed, too.
Thanks, Victor.
Shaking his head, he resisted the urge to just put them on. They were the only clean clothes he had to his name, and it’d be better to have those to wear tomorrow –
Ugh, I should have thrown everything in the washer…
Well, he could still do that. Throw everything in the wash, get up early to throw them in the dryer, and then wear them to the next job. He could make that work. He should make that work.
Nope. Too tired to make that work.
The wusky fell into bed, groaning as he did. The soft mattress all but swallowed him up, and he nuzzled into the pillows as he got comfortable. A deep, happy sigh slipped past his lips as he rolled onto his side, pulling one of the other pillows in close and holding onto it for support.
Just as he closed his eyes properly, the memory of the dragon asking for his phone number hit him again.
…I gave him my number, Crisp thought, a shiver running down his back. God, I hope he forgets it. Or just doesn’t need it. Or anything.
After all, for all that Allister was a little different to the dragons that he’d seen on TV day in and day out, he was still a dragon, and nobody got away from meeting a dragon unaffected. The best he could hope for was that he was forgotten.
Should happen. After all, he was a nobody, and Allister was a Bouyar. Rich family didn’t really care about the lower class. Not really. Even if he was pushing Cawler to keep a campaign promise that the crow had abandoned as soon as he got into office.
Sleep now, thinking later.
Crisp rolled onto his other side, closing his eyes tighter. The sooner that he forgot about the meeting, the sooner that he could move on, and the sooner that he could pretend that it had never happened in the first place.
Sleep.
Sleep would make him feel better.
Sleep would let him move on.
Sleep would bring another day.
The End
Summary: Crisp is having an interesting start in this new series. A wusky in poverty, he gets the attention of someone that, honestly, he should have avoided.
Tags: No Sex, Introduction, Wusky, Husky, Wolf, Hybrid, Dragon, Dragon Superiority World, Poverty, Series, Crow, Worldbuilding, Getting You Informed, Modern, Magic, ",
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