Shifti - User contributions [en]

Talk:The Tower in the Torch

2009-09-03T23:31:37Z

Lloyd Brunnel: /* Heads Up */ new section

Nice opening, no prizes for guessing what's about to happen though ;)
--[[User:Fibio|Fibio]] 15:51, 25 August 2009 (UTC)

:Considering that I've written two stories where he's a fox... not really, no =D -- [[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd Brunnel]] 16:25, 25 August 2009 (UTC)

Good start, Lloyd. I like the character and this is a rather decent story. -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 21:50, 25 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|I agree with everything said above. This is looking to be a great introduction for Jonas.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 23:15, 25 August 2009 (UTC)

Oh yeah! Great intro for Jonas, I can't wait for the next part! :) —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 08:00, 26 August 2009 (UTC)

== How to vocalize ==

The next part of this story has Jonas trying to talk, but I'm not sure how to write it out. Foxes don't make the same types of sounds as other canines/candids so I can't just do things like "rawr" and whatnot. I've been looking over http://www.foxforest.org/upclose/voicescarry.shtml since this page has recordings of fox voices but I'm still stumped. Any suggestions? --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd Brunnel]] 17:39, 26 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|I've never known how to write out animal noises, other than describing what they may sound like. Onomatopoeia are hard like that...}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 18:16, 26 August 2009 (UTC)

== Stumped Again =( ==

Blarg! Writer's block attacks again! I know I want Sam's role in this story to be based around powering through and right now I want her to be making Jonas do something but I can't figure out what. My current idea is that she makes him help her decorate the rest of the house but ironically I can't think of how he'd do that given his physical limitations. Anyone have a suggestion? --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd Brunnel]] 14:41, 30 August 2009 (UTC)

: Hmm. Maybe she starts decorating with gingerbread cookies or small flower bouquets; that seems like it would be appropriate for the circumstances -- visually festive as well as providing an interesting aroma. And it seems like Jonas would be the only one able to position them to cover the house without the odor being overwhelming in any one spot. If you don't like that particular idea, try thinking along those same lines; how would you decorate ''differently'' if someone in your family was suddenly much more interested in odor and less interested in sight? [[User:Phaedrus|Phaedrus]] 16:05, 30 August 2009 (UTC)
::It's not that he's more interested in odor--true it's now stronger than his sight in terms of range and degree but he'd be up close to whatever he's working on so it wouldn't be that much of an issue. The idea here is that Sam wants to keep Jonas as busy as possible, both to keep his mind occupied and to make him adapt to his body. This might be easier if I actually did any decorating around the holidays... what needs to be done other than a tree and putting tinsel on stair banisters? --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd Brunnel]] 16:25, 30 August 2009 (UTC)
:::The problem with answering that is that there's no consistency -- I don't think I've ever been in two houses that were decorated for Christmas in the same way. On the bright side, that means that you can get away with anything. But here's one option: One of my old coworkers' families didn't go with the traditional huge tree in the living room; they had small trees (maybe just 3') in ''every'' room in the house, and a larger tree (but still not as large as usual) in the living room for the presents. And every one of those trees was decorated. A fox could probably handle putting the ornaments up on at least the majority of a small tree like that. [[Special:Contributions/24.17.111.80|24.17.111.80]] 16:43, 30 August 2009 (UTC)
::::You've just given me a brainwave, thank you very much. --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd Brunnel]] 16:56, 30 August 2009 (UTC)
::::Well... no, not really... just got a small idea out of this. I guess I need to think through what I actually want to happen in this first XD --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd Brunnel]] 18:49, 30 August 2009 (UTC)

== Heads Up ==

Although not technically "on hiatus", progress on this story will either be slow or non existent since my friend's birthday is coming up and I want to write a story for him. In the meantime, if anyone has any comments about how they feel the story is progressing, I would love to hear them. --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd Brunnel]] 23:31, 3 September 2009 (UTC)

The Tower in the Torch

2009-09-02T19:30:12Z

Lloyd Brunnel: Revised previous section, added new chunk.

{{WIP}} {{Universe|Pig and Whistle}}{{byline|user=Lloyd Brunnel|author=Lloyd}}
==December 19th, 2027, 18:21==

I leaned forwards over my desk, examining the strange object in my hands. It was an early Christmas present from Dad: one of the new prototypes his company had come up with. He would sometimes bring one home from work and let me fiddle with it; I’d try and figure out what it was and, on rare occasion, try to improve it. Ostensibly it was market research—if someone could figure the product out without needing to be told it meant that it was more accessible to the consumer—but we both knew it was because I loved to tinker with things and that—as much as he would go on about ‘finding your own path’—Dad was more than happy encouraging me to follow in his footsteps as an inventor. Not that I needed much persuasion.

The prototype I had been given this time was one of the weirdest I had ever seen. It was a strap of leather with a series of Plexiglas bubbles on the end. Guessing from the drawstring, this was supposed to be wrapped around part of the body, but it was too long to be for an arm and too short to go around the waist.

I was feeling lightheaded so I rubbed my forehead to clear my thoughts. The cold must be messing with me—I’d been feeling off all day and the dizzy spells weren’t helping any. Grabbing a sweater from my dresser I returned to my desk and re-examined the leather strap. I could easily imagine it as some kind of belt, but that didn’t make much sense—Albion wasn’t about weird fashion accessories, it made teefer adapted technology.

A light bulb went off in my head as the obvious solution came into focus. The strap was a TAT, which meant that I would know what it was if I figured out which species morph it was meant to help. I flipped the strap over and examined the three slit openings beneath where the glass bubbles were on the other side. Gills came to mind, maybe this was meant to go around the user’s neck? I tried tying it around my own neck—it seemed to fit and the bubbles were where a teefer’s gills would be, though I had some trouble tightening it without choking myself. So I knew where it went—around the neck of a fish morph—but not what it did. The openings ruled out some type of ballast tank or swim-bladder substitute, but maybe the bubbles had to be filled with something…

I grinned as the answer came to me—water, obviously! I ran to the bathroom and opened one of the bubbles to fill it with water in order to test my theory. As I closed the bubbles and retied it around my neck and chill ran down my spine as the water began to seep through the openings onto my skin. It was a gradual, but small flow—there must be a pressure seal inside the leather itself to control the release rate. I untied the strap and headed back to my desk. Now that I knew what it was, it was time to start fiddling—my favorite part. I took out my tools and went to work.

Ten minutes later I leaned back in my chair, smiling at the finished product. I was a little disappointed that there wasn’t much I could change about the strap other than replacing the drawstring with a clasp, but it still felt good to be able to improve something Dad’s R&D department came up with.

A light from the window caught my eye and I looked out through the frosted glass over the yard. Christmas lights had just flickered on across the trees—probably Sam’s doing. I grinned at the thought; my sister may have been three years my senior but she was the youngest at heart and would make it her personal mission each year to decorate the house for the holidays. After admiring the coloured display my thoughts returned to the TAT lying on my desk. I grabbed the strap and ran downstairs to show off what I had done.

Dad was in his office—or rather, his workshop. Scraps of paper lined the room and the floor was covered with discarded blueprints, cables, and various bits of failed inventions. Mom always nagged him about the mess but he never listened. “Albion wasn’t founded on brooms and mops.” He’d say, and I was inclined to agree; clutter sparked the creative mind more than cleanliness.

For once, Dad wasn’t pouring over his workbench when I entered—he was at the desk doing paperwork.

“Ah, Johannes,” he beamed as I stepped over some loose cables, “out of your room so soon? Don’t tell me you’re stumped already.”

I grinned, showing him the strap. “Sorry, not this time. It’s a lubrication device, meant to prevent gills on fish morphs from drying out.”

He chuckled. “And here I was thinking you wouldn’t figure it out until New Year’s. Oh well, it’s the thought that counts.”

I nodded and placed the strap in front of him. Dad immediately picked it up and examined the ends where I replaced the drawstring.

“Clasps?” He inquired.

I nodded again. “The string was good but I almost choked myself trying to tighten it. Besides, knots can get loose over time or become almost impossible to undo. This way the user can tighten it easier and it won’t be hard to undo.”

“Wonderful!” He enthused. “I can’t wait to bring this in to the office. There was a pool going around on whether you’d be able to do anything with this one, and I daresay—Dr. Sauls is going to be out quite the penny.”

He patted me on the head, then frowned. “You’re feeling a bit warm, everything all right?”

I blinked. “Yea, I’m fine. The cold’s just getting to my head.”

“Fair enough.” Dad said, adding, “You may want to go help Samantha set up the rest of the lights by the way; trees are all well and good but your mother would kill us both if she fell off the roof again.”
“Ah, right.” I replied hastily. I ran to the hall closet and threw on my winter jacket, scarf and boots before darting out the door. Sure enough, when I reached the front yard my sister was already leaning the ladder up against the garage door.

“Hey, Sam!” I called out.

She turned, beaming when she saw me. “Oh, Johannes! Let me guess, Mom sent you out to help me?”

“Dad.” I corrected when I reached her.

Sam made a pouting look. “One time! One time I mess up—”

“You fell off the roof for the fifth time in three years.” I interrupted. “You’re not very co-ordinated.”

I held out a hand. “Let me do the lights, you can hold the ladder.”

She sighed. “Fine. But make sure to do it right!”

“Yea, yea.”

Sam gave me the lights and held the base of the ladder as I climbed on to the overhang above the garage. Stringing the lights wasn’t that hard—Sam had stuck holders on the rain ducts a few years back so all I had to do was feed the cable through the little hooks. I had finished setting up about half of them when I started to feel dizzy again. I was also starting to feel hot so I unbuttoned my coat.

“You ok up there?” Sam called from the ground.

“Yea… it’s nothing.” I called back. I was starting to feel weak so I hurried to finish the rest of the lights. As I leaned over to hook in the last one my head suddenly felt like it had caught fire. I dropped the lights and immediately pulled off my scarf but it didn’t help, the heat just continued to build and spread across my body as my vision blurred. Everything lost focus and I keeled over, blacking out as I fell from the roof. The last thing I heard was my sister’s panicked yells.

==December 19th, 2027, 20:57==

I woke up in a hospital bed. Mom, Dad, and Sam were sitting across from me against the wall. There was something heavy on top of me, I tried to move it but couldn’t muster the strength. Sam raised her head at the sound of my rustlings.

“He’s awake!” She exclaimed. Immediately my family jumped up and rushed to my bedside, all talking at once.
“Oh thank God you’re alright!”

“I’m so sorry; I shouldn’t have let you go up.”

“The snow broke your fall—you don’t even have a sprain.”

“Not so… loud.” I managed to say weakly as I rubbed my head. “Head… hurts.”

When they fell silent I turned to Sam. “I fell… off the roof?”

She nodded. “You just swayed, sort of, and then keeled over. You hit the snow and I let go of the ladder and ran over to you.” Blushing, she added, “It almost hit you when it fell over actually.”

“Samantha ran and got your father and me and we drove you to the emergency room.” Mom continued. “You didn’t seem to be hurt but you were burning up and wouldn’t respond to anything.”

I suddenly clued in to why I was in the hospital bed. “So I’m sick?”

“Blowtorch Fever.” Dad answered solemnly. “You were peaking 120 degrees when the doctors got to you. So far they’re keeping your temperature down with the ice blanket—” He gestured to the heavy quilt covering me, “—and you’re being kept under observation until it goes back to normal.”

“Lovely.”

Mom patted my head. “We’ll visit you every day until you get released, but for now the doctors say that you need to get some rest.”

I nodded absently, already feeling tired. I rested my head against the hospital pillow and my family filed out of the room. As the last one flicked off the light switch, I was already fast asleep.

----
I’m not sure how long I was asleep, or even if I woke up; I felt separated from my body, passing fevered dreams and drained consciousness and back again without registering anything around me. My whole body was burning and sore, it felt like my insides—heck, even my bones—were squirming. Voices floated vaguely through my ears but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Eventually the heat and pain faded, and the weight of the ice blanket was removed. I curled into a ball and rested my head on my pillow… it was so warm and fuzzy…

==December 22nd, 2027, 12:00==

Slowly, I opened my eyes. I was still in a hospital room, but it was different than the one I was in when I first woke up. It was… fresher, somehow. I couldn’t smell any of the antiseptic or medicine that usually filled hospitals, just clean air. It was nice.

I lay there on the bed, absently listening to the *whump* *whump* *whump* of the fan and the *whirr* *whirr* *whirr* of an air purifier as I enjoyed the moment. I wasn’t hot, and no part of my body was sore, which meant the Torch must have passed. It was actually kind of funny, I had just gotten over one of the most dangerous diseases in modern history and now I felt more rested and better than I ever did in my life—it was like I was a new person.

Despite my current feeling of serenity, I had a weird feeling. I could feel my head lying on part of my body, but my arms and legs were both beneath me. I raised my head from my pillow curiously and looked down—then froze at what I saw. What I had thought was a pillow was actually a long, bushy, furry… thing. After a few seconds my mind unfroze and a single word came to mind: ''Tail''.

I stared at it, unwilling to believe what it was. It couldn’t be mine, it just couldn’t! But I had felt it—felt ''with'' it. Immediately I sat up and grabbed my backside, my eyes pressed shut and praying not to find what intellectually I knew was there. It was no use—instantly my hands found the spot where the tail… ''my'' tail…. met my own, furry back.

I took deep breaths, trying to calm myself. Still keeping my eyes closed I ran my hands over my body, feeling the thick fur that now covered my skin. Just a tail and some fur, I thought, nothing I couldn’t deal with. But as my hands reach my head I felt my heart race as it felt peaked ears at the top of my head, and a long, narrow muzzle topped with a cold, wet, and whiskered nose. It was still all right though, I could handle—owch!

I had cut myself! Pulling my hand away from my muzzle I finally opened my eyes and saw what had done the deed. My nails were thick, black, and elongated into sharp claws; I tried making a fist and watched with a sort of morbid fascination as they partially retracted into my… my….

My throat tightened as I registered the rest of my hand—or what used to be my hand. Leathery pads covered my palm, surrounded by light brown fur—the same shade my hair used to be. It was unmistakably a paw and—as I realized with horror—completely thumbless. I quickly looked down and found that my feet had met with the same change; they were now the limbs of an animal—elongated, heelless, and covered with brown fur that gave way to bright orange halfway up my leg.

I looked around desperately for my family, a doctor, ''anyone'', but all I found was an empty room. Even worse, everything past the cabinet next to my bed was a complete blur, and when I tried to call out a high-pitched yelp left my throat—was there ''any'' human left in me? I had to find out, even though I was scared to know the answer.

There was a small hand mirror—or what I could make out as a hand mirror—lying on a table sitting against the wall at the far end of the room. Without thinking I pushed myself off the bed and onto my legs as I had always done—then promptly lost balance and fell over onto the floor. Swearing internally, I tried to pull myself onto my hands and knees. It took a moment to register that my legs weren’t long enough to bend that way anymore, and that when I stretched my legs my toes met the ground perfectly. Tenitavely, I tried something similar with my hands; I pressed my padded fingers against the ground and placed my weight on them. Since standing on all fours didn’t result in my falling over, it would have to do for now—I could learn how to walk properly later, the mirror took priority.

My first few steps were awkward and stumbling until my tail began to twitch and angle itself reflexively to counterweight my balance. Slowly, I made my way across the floor to the table, the linoleum feeling cold—but distant—beneath my paws. As I reached the table, a sinking feeling was beginning to grow in my stomach as I realized just how big everything in the room was—how small had I become? Rearing back onto my legs, I tried to grab the mirror but my thumbless hands couldn’t get a grip—I only succeeded in knocking it to the floor before losing my balance again. Pushing myself back onto all fours, I approached the mirror, took a deep breath, and looked.

Time froze when I saw my reflection, and whatever hope I still carried died. I searched vainly for some sign of humanity, but there was none to be found. Even my eyes had been altered—their pupils were vertical and their irises were a pale gold. All I could see, and all the doctors saw when they finally arrived, was a small, scared-looking fox, looking desperately at the mirror’s cold, uncaring glass.

==December 22nd, 2027, 13:08==

“God, I’m so sorry you had to wake up alone.” Sam said as she sat next to me on the bed. “We were getting lunch in the cafeteria and the doctors were rushing to deal with a code.”

I growled an acknowledgement and she rubbed my head. It felt nice—but I hated myself for enjoying it.

“I can’t imagine what it must have been like.” Mom said, “Having to wake up all alone in a new body. If it had been me I’d have—”

“Mom…” Sam said sternly, and she stopped talking. I wasn’t paying attention though, I was looking at Dad. He was just… standing there, a few feet from the bed, staring at the wall just above my head. He had a strange look on his face; I couldn’t tell what he was thinking—even his scent was ambiguous. But why wasn’t he looking at me?

A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts and we all turned to see a doctor enter carrying a bathroom scale.

“Is this a bad time?” He asked.

“No, you can come in.” Mom answered. The doctor approached and set the scale down next to me. Sam and I both stared at it.

“I just need to take some basic measurements if that’s all right.” The doctor said, looking at me. I nodded, unsure of what else to do.

“Ok then, if you could just stand up a bit so I can get your length I can begin.”

Length... the height measurement for an animal. I stood up on all fours as the doctor took a measuring tape out of his pocket and ran it along my body. Then he motioned towards the scale and I mutely stepped on it. There really wasn’t much else to it other than that, and the doctor just took note of the results and jotted them down on my chart.

“He’s a around a metre in length and about 5 kilos.” The doctor said as he turned to my parents. “How old is Johannes, by the way?”

“Sixteen.” Mom said. He screwed up his eyes as if he were doing some complex calculation. After a minute he unfocused and made another note on the chart. “All right then; that seems to be in order.” Turning to my parents he added, “The attending will be able to answer any of your questions about TFOR and Johannes’s options, but right now the best thing to do would be to let us keep him here for a few days. Fullmorphs are harder to properly assess than hybrids so we’ll need time to run some more in depth tests. Right now though, the best thing to do would be to let him get some more rest. The transformation process is incredibly tiring.”

Mom turned to me. “We’ll visit you every day, don’t worry.” She said before motioning to Dad and they both followed the doctor out of the room. Sam gave me another rub on the head before following them.

As they closed the door closed, the reality of my situation began to sink in. I was a fox—an animal, and I would be for the rest of my life. Sure I could get through whatever the doctors wanted, but what then? School would start again in two weeks—how could I use a pencil without thumbs or carry all my books when each was practically half my size? I felt another pang of despair as I realized that I wouldn’t be able to use a tool again; screwdrivers, scissors, hammers, even tweezers—they all needed thumbs to operate. All I ever wanted was to be was an inventor like Dad and that seemed to be the one thing I would never be able to have now. I gazed dejectedly at my feeble paws, what was I supposed to do now?

My mind began to fill with thoughts of zoos and wildlife preserves—the ultimate destination of fullers who couldn’t make it in the real world. I gritted my teeth—no, I couldn’t let that happen to myself. I was still me dammit! I still had my mind and my dignity; I couldn’t afford to let myself lose either of them!

Filled with a morbid sense of determination, I moved over to the side of my bed—it was time to relearn how to walk. Digging my pa—hands into the mattress I carefully lowered myself onto my legs. I was careful to place my weight only on the balls of my feet this time—my failure from earlier was still fresh in my memory. Gently, I pushed myself off of the bed and stood upright....then a half second later I lost balance and fell over again. I couldn’t let myself get discouraged though—it may not have been much but this attempt had been an improvement, however small.

Once more I pushed myself onto four legs and climbed back onto my bed—it would be easier to practice balancing first before worrying about rearing back. Again I lowered myself onto my legs and pushed off from the bed, and again I fell over after less than a second. There must be more to this than simple balance—I’d have to think it through.

I thought back to earlier when I had managed to walk across the room. Even though I was on all fours I still wasn’t able to balance properly unless my tail was helping—maybe the same principle applied to going upright? Climbing back onto the bed I flexed my tail to see if I could get it to move the way I needed. Yes, it could do it—the thing was surprisingly mobile. This time when I pushed off from the bed I made sure to keep my tail extended to help me balance. Steady...steady...success!

I was standing! I didn’t care that I stood barely two metres tall, and I didn’t care that my legs felt like they were about to snap. None of that mattered because for the first time since waking up I had at least a small glimmer of hope. I took a triumphant step forwards and—

The second my foot left the ground my remaining leg buckled and I toppled over, slamming into the floor. I had to be doing something wrong, but what? I went to climb back onto the bed but stopped as a jolt of pain shot through my leg in protest. If it hurt this bad from just a single try another could sprain or even break it. I realized that my bones must be smaller—and therefore, more fragile—than when I was hu—before I changed. Fine, I could wait a day before relearning how to walk properly—for now I would just have to settle for all fours.

I began to pace across the floor, unsure of what to do next. After a few minutes I realized that I wasn’t wobbling anymore—I was walking perfectly fine. A chill ran down my spine; it was unsettling how easy it seemed—how natural it felt to walk like this. I had been changed less than a day and already it felt like I could have been this way my entire life...what was wrong with me?

My ears turned towards the sound of the door opening and I spun around to see another doctor enter, carrying a deck of cards.

“Hey there, Johannes.” The doctor said. “I’m Dr. Nichols, the veterinarian who’s been attending your case.”

My heart sank. They gave me a vet?

“I’m going to start with a basic physical.” Nichols said. I nodded and mutely followed his commands as he looked over every part of my body. He took my hands and spread out their fingers as much as possible before examining my claws then doing the same with my feet. He felt up my tail, testing my muscle control in the new limb. Nichols pushed my lips away and looked over my teeth—“All canines.” he joked—before taking out a pocket light and shining it down my throat.

“All righty, everything seems to be in the right place.” He said, making a note on my chart. “Next I want to make sure you’re vision’s ok—foxes and humans have radically different eyesight.”

He stood up. “I’m going to walk away slowly, just signal when you can’t see how many fingers I’m holding up.” Nichols held up three fingers and began to retreat. After five feet I had to stop him by raising a hand. He nodded and made another note on my chart. Coming back into range, Nichols sat down in front of me and held up his deck of cards.

“I also need to check your colour vision too. Each of these has a different coloured face, just nod or shake your head if the colour you see is different from the one I’m saying.”

He showed me the first card.

“Red.” I nodded.

“Blue.” I nodded.

“Yellow.” I shook my head, it was white.

“Orange.” I nodded.

“Brown.” I shook my head, it was pink.

“Green.” I shook my head, it was a weird brownish-yellow

Nichols stopped when I made my last response. He flipped the card over to check the face himself, and then made yet another notation on my chart.

“Johannes, the card I just showed you did indeed have a green face. You’re green-colour blind, which means that your eyes are entirely canine.”

Strangely, this news didn’t worry me as much as I thought it would. Green was never my favourite colour and for the life of me I couldn’t think of a situation where I would be at a disadvantage not being able to see it—though I tried very hard to think of one.

“All right, there’s just one last thing we need to do.” Nichols said as he stood up. “You’re scheduled for a scan so we can check your insides—make sure everything is in the right place and all. But don’t worry—” he hastily added when he saw the shocked look on my face, “—I’m sure you’re all right, it’s just procedure for any teefer with a significant size alteration.”

That didn’t make me feel any better. It also didn’t help that I had to be wheeled to the radiology department in a device that—despite being called a “teefer transport unit”—looked an awful lot like a crib. To make things worse, the second I was brought out of my room my nose began to burn with hospital odours—medicine, antiseptic, and whatever fluids were oozing out of the patients we passed. I had to bury my nose in my tail to manage the smell, and even then it didn’t fully block it. After the longest ten minutes of my life, we finally arrived at radiology. Nichols lifted me out of the crib-thing and set me down on a table attached to what I guessed was some form of imaging machine.

“Just hold still so you don’t distort the images and everything will be fine.” Nichols said as he pressed a button on the machine. The table I was on began to retract back into the scanner. I was starting to feel a little claustrophobic, but it was nothing I couldn’t deal with. As the machine powered up it began to make a loud *whump* *whump* sound. Still, I could handle it. But as the scanner began to do its thing the noise increased.

*whump* *whump* *whump*

I pressed my ears against my head and tried to focus on other things, but the sound just continued to increase. I was starting to get scared.

'''*whump* *whump* *whump*'''

Deep breaths... just had to remember to take deep, calming breaths.

'''''*WHUMP* *WHUMP* *WHUMP*'''''

I couldn’t take it anymore, I had to get out! Certainty filled my mind as I ran out of the machine, stumbling a bit as my paws tried to get traction on the polished surface. I jumped to the floor and ran out of the room before the humans realized what I was doing. I rushed through the halls and around legs, looking for a way out of the hospital. I didn’t want to be here anymore, I had to find a way home. A room came up on my right and I veered into it, pushing the door closed behind me.

Now that I had some time to get my bearings, I realized that I was in a supply closest. I looked around. Boxes, boxes, mops and—a window! I yipped happily as I saw the light peaking through behind a stack of boxes. I clambered up the pile and pushed aside the box blocking the window—it fell to the ground and spilled paper towels across the floor. I found the lock on the window and tried to turn it but my paws couldn’t get a good enough grip. I tried clasping my jaws around the knob to try and turn it—that worked. Inspired by the rush of fresh air from outside, I squeezed through the window and ran as far away from the hospital as I could.

User talk:Phaedrus/Wishes

2009-08-31T01:29:29Z

Lloyd Brunnel: Praise and questions

This is an enjoyable story but I'm not really sure I understand the part about the blood clot or what the last line means. --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd Brunnel]] 01:29, 31 August 2009 (UTC)

User talk:Concerned Reader

2009-08-31T00:07:46Z

Lloyd Brunnel: Soon to be homesick...

Welcome to Shifti! Always glad to see new contributors. This is a bit of a standard boilerplate introduction that will hopefully help get you started on some of the basics you might not have noticed. Firstly, there's a main index of help pages at [[Help:Contents]] - a link is provided in the default sidebar titled "Help." It's a good idea to browse through the table of contents there so you'll know what information is available should you need it.

If you're here to post stories, there's a guide specifically for the basics of that over at [[Help:Posting stories]]. General editing assistance is at [[Help:Editing]], and information about how to use talk pages (like this one) is at [[Help:Talk pages]]. If any of the formatting seems esoteric at first, don't worry - wikis are collaborative and other editors and administrators will come around to help tidy up anything that's left in a messy state, if you want. The more complex details can be learned later as you go.

You can set up a personal homepage for yourself at your root user page, which you can find by clicking on your user name at the top of the page. Use your user page however you see fit; most authors generally list their stories there, along with a bit of biographical information about themselves and perhaps some links to other websites. See [[Help:User pages]].

If you have any questions, you can either click the edit link for this page and write it here or you can follow the link in my signature to my own home page and leave it in the talk page over there. You can find a list of Shifti's administrators at [[Shifti:Administrators]]. Once you've got your bearings, feel free to delete this welcome message from your user talk page. [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 04:53, 2 June 2009 (UTC)
:Yep - you just got the welcoming boilerplate that everyone gets. Anyway, thanks for the interest in the [[PAW Collab]] - reallife has interfered, but it might get back on the road to being completed! As the official "Story #200" for Shifti, it really should be finished, no?
:Oh, and let me extend a hand and give you a hearty "Welcome to Shifti" shake! -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 04:53, 2 June 2009 (UTC)

Thanks a lot for the links on my talk page. I just thought I'd reply on YOUR talk page. The program is cool, but frankly speaking, Infocomm Studies is one of my worst subjects in school. I just somehow fail to grasp it (that's why I'm so depressed about my chances of making Bungie). But still, thanks. Can't believe you remembered that I mentioned that. :) --[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]], 2:59, 1 July 2009 (+0800 GMT)
== Reading ==
*Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? - Philip K. Dick
:I actually have this one on my bookshelf. The movie is good, but it cannot match the intricate and twisted story that PK Dick weaves in the novel.

[[wikipedia:Stranger in a strange land|Stranger in a Strange Land]] - Robert A. Heinlein
:Another one that is on my bookshelf right now. This book was one of the inspirations for the 'Hippie' counter-culture movement. Do you Grok it ?

[[wikipedia:Starship Troopers|Starship Troopers]] - Robert A. Heinlein
:Again, this is on my bookshelf right now. A chilling look at a futuristic quasi-fascist world-state and warfare that shoots to the heart of how militaries were run during [[wikipedia:World war 2|WW2]].

[[wikipedia:Otherland|The Otherland Saga]] - Tad Williams
:A modern cyberpunk novel in which all the main characters are tied together through the events that occur in a secret, ultra-high-tech virtual reality constructed by a set of rich magnates. I can't say much more without destroying the hours of fun it is to read this one novel that is spread across four volumes - and was sold as four different books.

[[wikipedia:Old Man's War|Old Man's War]] - John Scalzi
:The first of a trilogy about war in the far future, fought by earths elderly that have been given new bodies. Scalzi manages to give the combat a feel of urgency and immediacy that is rarely matched and the intricate machinations hinted at in this novel are explored and fleshed out in later novels in the series.

... There are many, many more. But I can't just keep going on and on with this :)
-- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 23:36, 3 June 2009 (UTC)

::I'll have to look into some of these. The Otherland Saga sounds like [[Wikipedia:Serial Experiments Lain|"Serial Experiments Lain"]] mixed with [[Wikipedia:Ghost in the Shell|"Ghost in the Shell."]] I, in my younger years, watched the [[Wikipedia:Roughnecks:_Starship_Troopers_Chronicles|Starship Troopers Cartoon]] that aired on UPN's morning run. I haven't had a chance to read the book yet, but have heard conflicting reviews.

::A book that I think most people should read, especially if they're interested in future tech and government, is Cory Doctorows [[Wikipedia:Little_Brother_(Cory_Doctorow_novel)|"Little Brother"]]. --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 21:04, 4 June 2009 (UTC)

:::Starship Troopers quality depends on whether you can separate yourself from your own political views long enough to see what points Heinlein is trying to make. 'Otherland' is... 'Otherland' - you have to read it to understand it, really, but your statement seems close. And... I follow Doctorow on Twitter and lots of other media but actually have not yet read a single one of his novels. I'm currently making my way through an action series that is still being printed ('The Lost Fleet') and don't have much money free other than that. -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 02:32, 8 June 2009 (UTC)

== Congratulations! ==

Yep - you heard me. Congratulations on going to college. Good luck, too. I dropped out after one semester and have been regretting that decision recently. -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 22:44, 30 August 2009 (UTC)

Ooh, grats on college CR! You must be nervous, I know I am and I'm moving into residence tomorrow =( --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd Brunnel]] 00:07, 31 August 2009 (UTC)

Talk:The Tower in the Torch

2009-08-30T18:49:25Z

Lloyd Brunnel: never mind...

Talk:The Tower in the Torch

2009-08-30T16:56:24Z

Lloyd Brunnel: Thank you mysterious stranger!

Talk:The Tower in the Torch

2009-08-30T16:25:28Z

Lloyd Brunnel: Clarification and specification

Talk:The Tower in the Torch

2009-08-30T14:41:50Z

Lloyd Brunnel: /* Stumped Again =( */ new section

User talk:Phaedrus/A Trickster's Tail

2009-08-30T13:18:26Z

Lloyd Brunnel: Makes sense

I strongly advise that you remove the Adult tag from this story and simply use the author's note as a disclaimer. The "adult" material is minor and I would hate to think someone missed out on your wonderful story because they were turned off by those three red Xes. --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd Brunnel]] 03:14, 30 August 2009 (UTC)
: Thank you so much for the advice (and for listing this story in your favorites -- that's a real honor). I'm not at all sure what to do with this. It seems to me that there are two ways that something can be 'adult'. One way is by being explicit. There's not really any of that in this story -- there's some foul language, but nothing out of the ordinary these days; and there's some sexual content, but it's left to the imagination. But it seems to me that something can also be 'adult' purely on its themes, and I still have the feeling that that's the case here. I mean, it does have sexual intercourse going on ''during'' a transformation (a transformation to full-animal form by both parties, no less), and I think that the mere concept of that would be offensive to a substantial number of people. And I'm inclined to err on the side of caution. So I think I'll leave the 'adult' tag for now. But I'll definitely think it over; when I become more familiar with the site and see how other similar stories are tagged, I might change my mind. --[[User:Phaedrus|Phaedrus]] 03:40, 30 August 2009 (UTC)
::That makes sense. I guess my definition of adult comes from having to sift through the stuff on CYOC >< --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd Brunnel]] 13:18, 30 August 2009 (UTC)

User talk:Phaedrus/A Trickster's Tail

2009-08-30T03:14:29Z

Lloyd Brunnel: Created page with 'I strongly advise that you remove the Adult tag from this story and simply use the author's note as a disclaimer. The "adult" material is minor and I would hate to think someone ...'

Lloyd's Favorites

2009-08-29T22:33:33Z

Lloyd Brunnel: added A Trickster's Tail

Hi and welcome to Lloyd's Favorites page! The stories I've placed here are ones that I personally enjoy and I hope you do too!

You may notice that most of the stories here have the 'short' tag on them; this has to do with my attention span as I tend to be extremely critical of longer pieces. Also, unless I am positive that a story falls into a specific category, it won't have an icon; for example, simply having an unexplained transformation won't earn a {{BP modmagic}} label. {{favorites list}}

{| border="1" rules="rows" frame="above" style="border-color:#ccc;"
{{BP header1|My Favorites|top=true}}
{{BP header2|Anthro|top=true}}

{{BP row
|icons= {{BP long}} {{LB star}}
|title= [[User:Phaedrus/A Trickster's Tail|A Trickster's Tail]]
|author=[[User:Phaedrus|Phaedrus]]
|genre={{BP modmagic}}
|blurb= Technically part of the defunct No More Fakes universe, this story spins off onto its own and is a wonderful tail about a man who ends up sharing his body with a Native American trickster spirit. Although labled adult, there is only one real adult scene in this piece and it's done quite tastefully.}}
{{BP row
|icons={{LB star}}
|title= [[True Reflection]]
|author= [[User:Martin Divo|Martin Divo]]
|genre={{Horror}}
|blurb= Anthro dog TF, but the story focuses more on the psychology involved as a woman is slowly turned into a loyal servant by her captor. Think furry Stockholme Syndrome but creepier.}}
{{BP row
|icons= {{BP short}}
|title= [[User:Jetfire/Silver Fox Tracks|Silver Fox Tracks]]
|author=[[User:Jetfire|Jetfire]]
|genre={{BP modmagic}}
|blurb= Part of the Paradise saga. While I don't pay much attention to the series I do enjoy this particular story for the ending.}}
{{BP row
|icons= {{LB star}}{{BP long}}
|title= [[User:Slyfordtrabbit/Drift Away|Drift Away]]
|author=[[User:Slyfordtrabbit| Slyford]]
|genre=
|blurb= One of Slyford's better stories on this site in my opinon. It also makes me think of To Kill a Mockingbird for some reason.}}
{{BP row
|title= [[The Day the Universe Changed]]
|author=[[User:Bryan| Bryan]]
|genre= {{BP SF}}
|blurb= The second story in the Winds of Change universe in which the fateful day is told from the perspective of three different people.}}
{{BP row
|icons={{BP short}}
|title= [[Gonna Rain Tomorra]]
|author=[[User:Viqsi| Viqsi]]
|genre={{BP SF}}
|blurb= Another WoC story. It's hard to suprise old people.}}
{{BP row
|icons={{BP short}}
|title= [[User:Eirik/Wolf in the House|Wolf in the House]]:
|author=[[User:Eirik| Eirik]]
|genre=
|blurb= A reporter confronts a senator about some unusual activities. Amusing and a bit tongue in cheek near the end.}}
{{BP row
|icons={{LB star}}{{BP short}}
|title= [[Where's the Beef?]]
|author=[[User:Xodiac| Xodiac]]
|genre={{BP comedy}}
|blurb= People who buy Spells 'R Us costumes usually end up locked into their disguise. Usually.}}
{{BP row
|icons={{BP short}}
|title= [[User:Eirik/'Tis a Full Moon, Of Course|'Tis a Full Moon, Of Course]]
|author=[[User:Eirik|Eirik]]
|genre={{BP comedy}}
|blurb= As a fellow wearer of glasses, I sympathize with this common predicament.}}
{{BP row
|icons={{LB star}}
|title=[[User:Weremoose/Insane|Insane]]
|author=[[User:Weremoose|Weremoose]]
|genre=
|blurb= A doctor's newest patient thinks he's a werewolf. Could it be true?}}

{{BP header2|Animal|top=true}}

{{BP row
|icons={{BP short}}
|title= [[User:Virmir/Slips of Paper|Slips of Paper]]
|author=[[User:Virmir|Virmir]]
|genre=
|blurb= A fox TF told through a series of inner dialogues; no real plot to speak of but I find it refreshing.}}
{{BP row
|icons={{BP short}}
|title= [[User:Eirik/Reality Bites|Reality Bites]]
|author=[[User:Eirik|Eirik]]
|genre={{BP SF}}
|blurb= A look at the complexities involved in human to animal transformation. This is either ironic or depressing depending on how hopeful you are that TF technology becomes practical in our lifetime}}
{{BP row
|icons={{LB star}}{{BP short}}
|title= [[User:Eirik/Passing Fad|Passing Fad]]
|author=[[User:Eirik|Eirik]]
|genre={{BP comedy}}
|blurb= Perhaps the most absurd plot I have ever encountered. Looks like Ford was right, albeit a little delayed.}}
{{BP row
|icons={{BP short}}
|title= [[User:Eirik/Best Friends|Best Friends]]
|author=[[User:Eirik|Eirik]]
|genre={{BP modmagic}}
|blurb= Part of the Visionary saga. Short, sweet, and a happy ending.}}
{{BP row
|title= [[User:Eirik/Little Boy Lost|Little Boy Lost]]
|author=[[User:Eirik|Eirik]]
|genre=
|blurb= A young boy lost in the woods encounters a family of foxes. This story has a nice slice of life feel to it.}}
{{BP row
|icons={{BP short}}
|title= [[User:Virmir/Abysses|Abysses]]
|author=[[User:Virmir|Virmir]]
|genre={{BP modmagic}}
|blurb= My favorite version of the creation mythos to date.}}
{{BP row
|icons={{BP short}}
|title= [[User:Eirik/The Pantry is Bear|The Pantry is Bear]]
|author=[[User:Eirik|Eirik]]
|genre={{BP comedy}}
|blurb= This is why you pay attention to what you're about to eat.}}
{{BP row
|icons=
|title= [[Legacy of Flight]]
|author=[[User:Bryan|Bryan]]
|genre=
|blurb= A man realizes his heritage and finds a different kind of enlightenment.}}
{{BP row
|icons={{BP short}}
|title= [[User:Eirik/Best Laid Plans|Best Laid Plans]]
|author=[[User:Eirik|Eirik]]
|genre= {{BP modmagic}}
|blurb= The best laid plans of mice and men are prone to go awry...}}
{{BP row
|icons={{LB star}}
|title= [[User:WolfyDrake95/Finding Himself|Finding Himself]]
|author=[[User:WolfyDrake95|WolfyDrake]]
|genre=
|blurb= Horribly, horribly depressing, but terribly, terribly good.}}

{{BP header2|Toon and Inanimate|top=true}}

{{BP row
|icons={{LB star}}{{BP short}}
|title= [[User:Michael Bard/Somebody's Watching|Somebody's Watching]]
|author=[[User:Michael Bard|Michael Bard]]
|genre={{Horror}}
|blurb= I have a feeling this refers to Slyford T. Rabbit but I'm not sure. In either case, this story isn't so much 'creepy' as 'darkly ominous' if that makes any sense.}}
{{BP row
|title= [[The Sly Fox Show - Tune In and Toon Out]]
|author=[[User:JT Fox|JT Fox]]
|genre={{BP modmagic}}
|blurb= Third story in the Sly Fox series from Xanadu. Shame no more are being written, as it's a very interesting concept to work with.}}
{{BP row
|title= [[User:Michael Bard/Losing Himself|Losing Himself]]
|author=[[User:Michael Bard|Michael Bard]]
|genre={{BP modmagic}}
|blurb= Part of the Xanadu universe and a weird type of TF in which a man in a fursuit turns into a man in a fursuit. Part tragic, part creepy, there's probably some form of moral here but I haven't got a clue what it is.}}

{{BP header2|Miscellaneous|top=true}}

{{BP row
|title= [[User:Phil Geusz/Anubis|Anubis]]
|author=[[User:Phil Geusz|Phil Geusz]]
|genre=
|blurb= For some reason this story keeps getting categorized under the Blind Pig setting. In either case it is a gripping tale of a young man's voyage at sea and the impossible events he witnesses.}}
{{BP row
|icons={{LB star}}{{BP short}}
|title= [[User:Slyfordtrabbit/Eternal Glory|Eternal Glory]]
|author=[[User:Slyfordtrabbit|Slyford]]
|genre={{Horror}}
|blurb= A horror story involving Care Bears, what else can I say?}}
{{BP row
|title= [[User: Phil Geusz/Body By Harmani| Body By Harmani]]
|author= [[User: Phil Geusz|Phil Geusz]]
|genre=
|icons= {{BP short}}
|blurb= Vanity in the extreme.}}
{{BP row
|icons= {{BP long}}
|title= [[Witchhunt]]
|author=[[User:Bryan|Bryan]]
|genre={{BP modmagic}}
|blurb= Immediate sequel to the Xanadu origin story. Involves witches and sniper rifles.}}
{{BP row
|title= [[The Perils of Voice Acting]]
|author=[[User:Joysweeper|Joysweeper]]
|genre={{BP modmagic}}
|blurb= A Xanadu story featuring the issues of unresolved plotlines.}}
{{BP row
|title= [[The Diary of the Dead Guy]]
|author=[[User:Guvnor Of Space|Guvnor Of Space]]
|genre={{BP modmagic}}
|blurb= Zombie story without brain eating. Shame, I know.}}
{{BP row
|title= [[The Last Interview]]
|author=[[User:Guvnor Of Space|Guvnor Of Space]]
|genre={{BP modmagic}}
|blurb= Must. Resist. Urge. To Pun.}}
{{BP row
|icons={{LB star}} {{BP short}}
|title= [[Deus Ex Machina]]
|author=[[User:Bryan|Bryan]]
|genre={{BP comedy}}
|blurb= One of the harder parts of writing a TF story is making the character go along with it.}}

{{BP header2|Web Comics and Off-Site Stories|top=true}}

{{BP row
|title= [[http://www.taur.net/~ottercomics/tcw/| The Changing Workplace]]
|author= Oren the Otter
|genre={{BP comedy}}
|icons={{LB star}}
|blurb= A comic based around the premise of what it'd be like if the TSA was an actual place of employment. Updated semi-regularily.}}
{{BP row
|title= [[http://tsa.transform.to/worlds/tbp/14wanderersways.html| Wanderer's Ways]]
|author= Wanderer
|genre={{BP comedy}}
|icons={{LB star}}
|blurb= A bit of insight into the methods of the Blind Pig's favorite werewolf.}}
{{BP row
|title= [[http://transform.to/~mwbard/tbp/wandererchristmasresolutions.html| Christmas Resolutions]]
|author= Wanderer
|genre=
|icons={{LB star}}
|blurb= A sweet little christmas tale from the Blind Pig. Also has a minor tie-in with [[User:Cubist/Christmas Rush|Christmas Rush]].}}
{{BP row
|title= [[http://www.transformationlist.com/story/ Phaedrus's Interactive Stories]]
|author= Various
|genre=
|icons=
|blurb= Three fairly fleshed out choose-your-own-adventure stories. Fairly addictive and the highest quality of any interactive storylines I've encountered. Also has no porn, which is always a plus.}}
[[Category:Story lists]]

[[Category:Story lists]]

Outfoxed

2009-08-29T13:22:43Z

Lloyd Brunnel: changed Cat tag to the pre-existing Feline one.

{{TF tag|type=Animal|degree=Anthro|species=Feline}}{{title|name=Outfoxed|author=Fibio|user=Fibio}}

{{author endnote| Writen in an afternoon this piece was a response to 'Dire Warning' on the list. Just for anyone who doesn't know the UGTFV is the Union of Gratuitous TransFormation Victims and are out to extract revenge on the authors of their suffering. }}

It was a normal day until the doorbell rang.

I got up, grumbling over being interrupted while doing nothing in particular on the internet, and thundered downstairs.

“Hello, can I help...” I petered out, as I found a fox on my door step. At about four feet tall, on his hind legs and dressed in rough woollen clothing he clashed utterly with the ordinary street behind him.

“Are quite you sure you’re in the right universe?” I asked, as the rather flustered looking vulpine as he fumbled with a sheet of paper and what looked like a gold amulet. There was something very wrong with this exchange, but no one on the quiet suburban road seemed to have noticed the fact there was something not known to mankind on my welcome mat.

“Greeting’s sir or madam as applicable,” he read, in a quavering voice. “I am here as a representative of UGTFV, here to ad...”

“UGTFV?” I said, wrestling my tongue around the syllables. “I heard about you guys, some kind of dire warning about writing transformation stories. Aren’t I supposed to get an angry mob?” I leaned forwards to peer up and down the road, just in case there was a transformed horde ready to descend on me hidden just out of sight.

The fox hastily flipped his typed sheet.

“While we regret that we could only send a single agent at this time you understand we have a very long list of targets to administer justice to. However we have taken great pains to ensure the irony of your punishment is not diminished.”

“That’s great kid... Kit, but I don’t write transformations, at all.”

This stopped him dead in his tracks.

“Um, are you sure?” he sputtered.

“Pretty much,” I replied.

He inverted the paper, scanning for a response, then flipped it again. On the third turn I just snatched it off him.

“I wasn’t briefed for this,” he explained, as I raised an eyebrow at him.

“Just go back to your bosses and tell them that not all the readers are writers,” I told him, as he stepped back looking a little panicked. I had to feel sorry for the little guy, its not often you face down someone with about two foot of height on you.

“I... Um... Ah, well you see...” he stuttered, ducking his head and flattening his ears against his skull.

“This is my first job,” he admitted, after a moment. “And, they’re going to be judging me on how I do.”

“Well I’m sorry, but you’re just going to have to tell them that someone made a mistake,” I said, shrugging.

“Yeah, but you could just let me use this anyway.” He held up the cat’s head pendent with a hopeful smile.

“Sorry, I don’t want to mess up your system,” I countered, maybe a might fast, as I tore my eyes away from the gold which shone all too invitingly. “I’m sure you’d get in even more trouble if you changed someone who you weren’t supposed to.

“Okay,” he replied, with such a forlorn expression I wondered if he’d bite my hand if I tried to pat him on the head.

“If that’s all I don’t want to keep you,” I said, smiling. Well showing canines at least. That pendant was seriously freaking me out.

“Oh wait,” he cut in suddenly, just as I was about to slam the door.

“Yes,” I hissed.

“What about this one?” he asked, with a hopeful gleam in his eyes.

“This what?” I queried, fighting the urge to slam the door in his face.

“This story,” he explained, brightening up. “If you’re transformed now then you have written a TF story and I have a legitimate excuse to change you.”

“But in order to transform me, you must first have changed me in the first place,” I pointed out, heart pounding in my ears. I had to get rid of him “I think that’s a bit of a catch twenty two.”

“Damn,” he sighed, somehow managing to click his fingers. “Well, I’d best be reporting back.”

“Best of luck,” I called after him, as he took about three steps before vanishing in a puff of logic. Then I slammed the door and bolted it, before sinking to the floor, panting as I tried to slow my heart to a less apoplectic level.

“Ha, dodged the bullet there,” I muttered to myself, getting to my feet, trembling a little bit more than I’d like to admit and making my quiet way upstairs. “He’s right though, this would make a great story.”

I settled back into my chair and brought up a word processor, chuckling to myself as I began to write the conversation down while it was still in my memory.

“It’ll take a better man than that to outfox me though,” I wrote at the end, unsheathing a claw to scratch an itch on my nose. “He should have realised that if an event requires itself to have happened in order to occur, then an event could also have to occur because it caused itself to happemn.”

I hit the wrong key for the umpteenth and looked down at my hands in frustration. Then turned them over and saw the leathery pads where my palms should have been.

“Oh f-

[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Dire Warning]] [[Category:Fibio]] [[Category:Feline]] [[Category:Anthropomorphic]]

Talk:Outfoxed

2009-08-29T13:21:34Z

Lloyd Brunnel:

Hey, nice work! This story's pretty nice. I like it. :) —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 08:02, 26 August 2009 (UTC)

Just a heads up, but you may want to change the name of this story or add your user tag to it (check the Help menu). There is another series on Shifti that is also named Outfoxed, and this one is a vore series which you may not want this story mistaken for. --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd Brunnel]] 13:21, 29 August 2009 (UTC)

Lloyd's Favorites

2009-08-29T13:18:07Z

Lloyd Brunnel: Removed my star from Phaedrus's Interactive Stories. No offense intended.

Hi and welcome to Lloyd's Favorites page! The stories I've placed here are ones that I personally enjoy and I hope you do too!

You may notice that most of the stories here have the 'short' tag on them; this has to do with my attention span as I tend to be extremely critical of longer pieces. Also, unless I am positive that a story falls into a specific category, it won't have an icon; for example, simply having an unexplained transformation won't earn a {{BP modmagic}} label. {{favorites list}}

{| border="1" rules="rows" frame="above" style="border-color:#ccc;"
{{BP header1|My Favorites|top=true}}
{{BP header2|Anthro|top=true}}

{{BP row
|icons={{LB star}}
|title= [[True Reflection]]
|author= [[User:Martin Divo|Martin Divo]]
|genre={{Horror}}
|blurb= Anthro dog TF, but the story focuses more on the psychology involved as a woman is slowly turned into a loyal servant by her captor. Think furry Stockholme Syndrome but creepier.}}
{{BP row
|icons= {{BP short}}
|title= [[User:Jetfire/Silver Fox Tracks|Silver Fox Tracks]]
|author=[[User:Jetfire|Jetfire]]
|genre={{BP modmagic}}
|blurb= Part of the Paradise saga. While I don't pay much attention to the series I do enjoy this particular story for the ending.}}
{{BP row
|icons= {{LB star}}{{BP long}}
|title= [[User:Slyfordtrabbit/Drift Away|Drift Away]]
|author=[[User:Slyfordtrabbit| Slyford]]
|genre=
|blurb= One of Slyford's better stories on this site in my opinon. It also makes me think of To Kill a Mockingbird for some reason.}}
{{BP row
|title= [[The Day the Universe Changed]]
|author=[[User:Bryan| Bryan]]
|genre= {{BP SF}}
|blurb= The second story in the Winds of Change universe in which the fateful day is told from the perspective of three different people.}}
{{BP row
|icons={{BP short}}
|title= [[Gonna Rain Tomorra]]
|author=[[User:Viqsi| Viqsi]]
|genre={{BP SF}}
|blurb= Another WoC story. It's hard to suprise old people.}}
{{BP row
|icons={{BP short}}
|title= [[User:Eirik/Wolf in the House|Wolf in the House]]:
|author=[[User:Eirik| Eirik]]
|genre=
|blurb= A reporter confronts a senator about some unusual activities. Amusing and a bit tongue in cheek near the end.}}
{{BP row
|icons={{LB star}}{{BP short}}
|title= [[Where's the Beef?]]
|author=[[User:Xodiac| Xodiac]]
|genre={{BP comedy}}
|blurb= People who buy Spells 'R Us costumes usually end up locked into their disguise. Usually.}}
{{BP row
|icons={{BP short}}
|title= [[User:Eirik/'Tis a Full Moon, Of Course|'Tis a Full Moon, Of Course]]
|author=[[User:Eirik|Eirik]]
|genre={{BP comedy}}
|blurb= As a fellow wearer of glasses, I sympathize with this common predicament.}}
{{BP row
|icons={{LB star}}
|title=[[User:Weremoose/Insane|Insane]]
|author=[[User:Weremoose|Weremoose]]
|genre=
|blurb= A doctor's newest patient thinks he's a werewolf. Could it be true?}}

{{BP header2|Animal|top=true}}

{{BP row
|icons={{BP short}}
|title= [[User:Virmir/Slips of Paper|Slips of Paper]]
|author=[[User:Virmir|Virmir]]
|genre=
|blurb= A fox TF told through a series of inner dialogues; no real plot to speak of but I find it refreshing.}}
{{BP row
|icons={{BP short}}
|title= [[User:Eirik/Reality Bites|Reality Bites]]
|author=[[User:Eirik|Eirik]]
|genre={{BP SF}}
|blurb= A look at the complexities involved in human to animal transformation. This is either ironic or depressing depending on how hopeful you are that TF technology becomes practical in our lifetime}}
{{BP row
|icons={{LB star}}{{BP short}}
|title= [[User:Eirik/Passing Fad|Passing Fad]]
|author=[[User:Eirik|Eirik]]
|genre={{BP comedy}}
|blurb= Perhaps the most absurd plot I have ever encountered. Looks like Ford was right, albeit a little delayed.}}
{{BP row
|icons={{BP short}}
|title= [[User:Eirik/Best Friends|Best Friends]]
|author=[[User:Eirik|Eirik]]
|genre={{BP modmagic}}
|blurb= Part of the Visionary saga. Short, sweet, and a happy ending.}}
{{BP row
|title= [[User:Eirik/Little Boy Lost|Little Boy Lost]]
|author=[[User:Eirik|Eirik]]
|genre=
|blurb= A young boy lost in the woods encounters a family of foxes. This story has a nice slice of life feel to it.}}
{{BP row
|icons={{BP short}}
|title= [[User:Virmir/Abysses|Abysses]]
|author=[[User:Virmir|Virmir]]
|genre={{BP modmagic}}
|blurb= My favorite version of the creation mythos to date.}}
{{BP row
|icons={{BP short}}
|title= [[User:Eirik/The Pantry is Bear|The Pantry is Bear]]
|author=[[User:Eirik|Eirik]]
|genre={{BP comedy}}
|blurb= This is why you pay attention to what you're about to eat.}}
{{BP row
|icons=
|title= [[Legacy of Flight]]
|author=[[User:Bryan|Bryan]]
|genre=
|blurb= A man realizes his heritage and finds a different kind of enlightenment.}}
{{BP row
|icons={{BP short}}
|title= [[User:Eirik/Best Laid Plans|Best Laid Plans]]
|author=[[User:Eirik|Eirik]]
|genre= {{BP modmagic}}
|blurb= The best laid plans of mice and men are prone to go awry...}}
{{BP row
|icons={{LB star}}
|title= [[User:WolfyDrake95/Finding Himself|Finding Himself]]
|author=[[User:WolfyDrake95|WolfyDrake]]
|genre=
|blurb= Horribly, horribly depressing, but terribly, terribly good.}}

{{BP header2|Toon and Inanimate|top=true}}

{{BP row
|icons={{LB star}}{{BP short}}
|title= [[User:Michael Bard/Somebody's Watching|Somebody's Watching]]
|author=[[User:Michael Bard|Michael Bard]]
|genre={{Horror}}
|blurb= I have a feeling this refers to Slyford T. Rabbit but I'm not sure. In either case, this story isn't so much 'creepy' as 'darkly ominous' if that makes any sense.}}
{{BP row
|title= [[The Sly Fox Show - Tune In and Toon Out]]
|author=[[User:JT Fox|JT Fox]]
|genre={{BP modmagic}}
|blurb= Third story in the Sly Fox series from Xanadu. Shame no more are being written, as it's a very interesting concept to work with.}}
{{BP row
|title= [[User:Michael Bard/Losing Himself|Losing Himself]]
|author=[[User:Michael Bard|Michael Bard]]
|genre={{BP modmagic}}
|blurb= Part of the Xanadu universe and a weird type of TF in which a man in a fursuit turns into a man in a fursuit. Part tragic, part creepy, there's probably some form of moral here but I haven't got a clue what it is.}}

{{BP header2|Miscellaneous|top=true}}

{{BP row
|title= [[User:Phil Geusz/Anubis|Anubis]]
|author=[[User:Phil Geusz|Phil Geusz]]
|genre=
|blurb= For some reason this story keeps getting categorized under the Blind Pig setting. In either case it is a gripping tale of a young man's voyage at sea and the impossible events he witnesses.}}
{{BP row
|icons={{LB star}}{{BP short}}
|title= [[User:Slyfordtrabbit/Eternal Glory|Eternal Glory]]
|author=[[User:Slyfordtrabbit|Slyford]]
|genre={{Horror}}
|blurb= A horror story involving Care Bears, what else can I say?}}
{{BP row
|title= [[User: Phil Geusz/Body By Harmani| Body By Harmani]]
|author= [[User: Phil Geusz|Phil Geusz]]
|genre=
|icons= {{BP short}}
|blurb= Vanity in the extreme.}}
{{BP row
|icons= {{BP long}}
|title= [[Witchhunt]]
|author=[[User:Bryan|Bryan]]
|genre={{BP modmagic}}
|blurb= Immediate sequel to the Xanadu origin story. Involves witches and sniper rifles.}}
{{BP row
|title= [[The Perils of Voice Acting]]
|author=[[User:Joysweeper|Joysweeper]]
|genre={{BP modmagic}}
|blurb= A Xanadu story featuring the issues of unresolved plotlines.}}
{{BP row
|title= [[The Diary of the Dead Guy]]
|author=[[User:Guvnor Of Space|Guvnor Of Space]]
|genre={{BP modmagic}}
|blurb= Zombie story without brain eating. Shame, I know.}}
{{BP row
|title= [[The Last Interview]]
|author=[[User:Guvnor Of Space|Guvnor Of Space]]
|genre={{BP modmagic}}
|blurb= Must. Resist. Urge. To Pun.}}
{{BP row
|icons={{LB star}} {{BP short}}
|title= [[Deus Ex Machina]]
|author=[[User:Bryan|Bryan]]
|genre={{BP comedy}}
|blurb= One of the harder parts of writing a TF story is making the character go along with it.}}

{{BP header2|Web Comics and Off-Site Stories|top=true}}

{{BP row
|title= [[http://www.taur.net/~ottercomics/tcw/| The Changing Workplace]]
|author= Oren the Otter
|genre={{BP comedy}}
|icons={{LB star}}
|blurb= A comic based around the premise of what it'd be like if the TSA was an actual place of employment. Updated semi-regularily.}}
{{BP row
|title= [[http://tsa.transform.to/worlds/tbp/14wanderersways.html| Wanderer's Ways]]
|author= Wanderer
|genre={{BP comedy}}
|icons={{LB star}}
|blurb= A bit of insight into the methods of the Blind Pig's favorite werewolf.}}
{{BP row
|title= [[http://transform.to/~mwbard/tbp/wandererchristmasresolutions.html| Christmas Resolutions]]
|author= Wanderer
|genre=
|icons={{LB star}}
|blurb= A sweet little christmas tale from the Blind Pig. Also has a minor tie-in with [[User:Cubist/Christmas Rush|Christmas Rush]].}}
{{BP row
|title= [[http://www.transformationlist.com/story/ Phaedrus's Interactive Stories]]
|author= Various
|genre=
|icons=
|blurb= Three fairly fleshed out choose-your-own-adventure stories. Fairly addictive and the highest quality of any interactive storylines I've encountered. Also has no porn, which is always a plus.}}
[[Category:Story lists]]

[[Category:Story lists]]

The Tower in the Torch

2009-08-28T19:31:12Z

Lloyd Brunnel:

{{WIP}} {{Universe|Pig and Whistle}}{{byline|user=Lloyd Brunnel|author=Lloyd}}
==December 19th, 2027, 18:21==

I leaned forwards over my desk, examining the strange object in my hands. It was an early Christmas present from Dad: one of the new prototypes his company had come up with. He would sometimes bring one home from work and let me fiddle with it; I’d try and figure out what it was and, on rare occasion, try to improve it. Ostensibly it was market research—if someone could figure the product out without needing to be told it meant that it was more accessible to the consumer—but we both knew it was because I loved to tinker with things and that—as much as he would go on about ‘finding your own path’—Dad was more than happy encouraging me to follow in his footsteps as an inventor. Not that I needed much persuasion.

The prototype I had been given this time was one of the weirdest I had ever seen. It was a strap of leather with a series of Plexiglas bubbles on the end. Guessing from the drawstring, this was supposed to be wrapped around part of the body, but it was too long to be for an arm and too short to go around the waist.

I was feeling lightheaded so I rubbed my forehead to clear my thoughts. The cold must be messing with me—I’d been feeling off all day and the dizzy spells weren’t helping any. Grabbing a sweater from my dresser I returned to my desk and re-examined the leather strap. I could easily imagine it as some kind of belt, but that didn’t make much sense—Albion wasn’t about weird fashion accessories, it made teefer adapted technology.

A light bulb went off in my head as the obvious solution came into focus. The strap was a TAT, which meant that I would know what it was if I figured out which species morph it was meant to help. I flipped the strap over and examined the three slit openings beneath where the glass bubbles were on the other side. Gills came to mind, maybe this was meant to go around the user’s neck? I tried tying it around my own neck—it seemed to fit and the bubbles were where a teefer’s gills would be, though I had some trouble tightening it without choking myself. So I knew where it went—around the neck of a fish morph—but not what it did. The openings ruled out some type of ballast tank or swim-bladder substitute, but maybe the bubbles had to be filled with something…

I grinned as the answer came to me—water, obviously! I ran to the bathroom and opened one of the bubbles to fill it with water in order to test my theory. As I closed the bubbles and retied it around my neck and chill ran down my spine as the water began to seep through the openings onto my skin. It was a gradual, but small flow—there must be a pressure seal inside the leather itself to control the release rate. I untied the strap and headed back to my desk. Now that I knew what it was, it was time to start fiddling—my favorite part. I took out my tools and went to work.

Ten minutes later I leaned back in my chair, smiling at the finished product. I was a little disappointed that there wasn’t much I could change about the strap other than replacing the drawstring with a clasp, but it still felt good to be able to improve something Dad’s R&D department came up with.

A light from the window caught my eye and I looked out through the frosted glass over the yard. Christmas lights had just flickered on across the trees—probably Sam’s doing. I grinned at the thought; my sister may have been three years my senior but she was the youngest at heart and would make it her personal mission each year to decorate the house for the holidays. After admiring the coloured display my thoughts returned to the TAT lying on my desk. I grabbed the strap and ran downstairs to show off what I had done.

Dad was in his office—or rather, his workshop. Scraps of paper lined the room and the floor was covered with discarded blueprints, cables, and various bits of failed inventions. Mom always nagged him about the mess but he never listened. “Albion wasn’t founded on brooms and mops.” He’d say, and I was inclined to agree; clutter sparked the creative mind more than cleanliness.

For once, Dad wasn’t pouring over his workbench when I entered—he was at the desk doing paperwork.

“Ah, Johannes,” he beamed as I stepped over some loose cables, “out of your room so soon? Don’t tell me you’re stumped already.”

I grinned, showing him the strap. “Sorry, not this time. It’s a lubrication device, meant to prevent gills on fish morphs from drying out.”

He chuckled. “And here I was thinking you wouldn’t figure it out until New Year’s. Oh well, it’s the thought that counts.”

I nodded and placed the strap in front of him. Dad immediately picked it up and examined the ends where I replaced the drawstring.

“Clasps?” He inquired.

I nodded again. “The string was good but I almost choked myself trying to tighten it. Besides, knots can get loose over time or become almost impossible to undo. This way the user can tighten it easier and it won’t be hard to undo.”

“Wonderful!” He enthused. “I can’t wait to bring this in to the office. There was a pool going around on whether you’d be able to do anything with this one, and I daresay—Dr. Sauls is going to be out quite the penny.”

He patted me on the head, then frowned. “You’re feeling a bit warm, everything all right?”

I blinked. “Yea, I’m fine. The cold’s just getting to my head.”

“Fair enough.” Dad said, adding, “You may want to go help Samantha set up the rest of the lights by the way; trees are all well and good but your mother would kill us both if she fell off the roof again.”
“Ah, right.” I replied hastily. I ran to the hall closet and threw on my winter jacket, scarf and boots before darting out the door. Sure enough, when I reached the front yard my sister was already leaning the ladder up against the garage door.

“Hey, Sam!” I called out.

She turned, beaming when she saw me. “Oh, Johannes! Let me guess, Mom sent you out to help me?”

“Dad.” I corrected when I reached her.

Sam made a pouting look. “One time! One time I mess up—”

“You fell off the roof for the fifth time in three years.” I interrupted. “You’re not very co-ordinated.”

I held out a hand. “Let me do the lights, you can hold the ladder.”

She sighed. “Fine. But make sure to do it right!”

“Yea, yea.”

Sam gave me the lights and held the base of the ladder as I climbed on to the overhang above the garage. Stringing the lights wasn’t that hard—Sam had stuck holders on the rain ducts a few years back so all I had to do was feed the cable through the little hooks. I had finished setting up about half of them when I started to feel dizzy again. I was also starting to feel hot so I unbuttoned my coat.

“You ok up there?” Sam called from the ground.

“Yea… it’s nothing.” I called back. I was starting to feel weak so I hurried to finish the rest of the lights. As I leaned over to hook in the last one my head suddenly felt like it had caught fire. I dropped the lights and immediately pulled off my scarf but it didn’t help, the heat just continued to build and spread across my body as my vision blurred. Everything lost focus and I keeled over, blacking out as I fell from the roof. The last thing I heard was my sister’s panicked yells.

==December 19th, 2027, 20:57==

I woke up in a hospital bed. Mom, Dad, and Sam were sitting across from me against the wall. There was something heavy on top of me, I tried to move it but couldn’t muster the strength. Sam raised her head at the sound of my rustlings.

“He’s awake!” She exclaimed. Immediately my family jumped up and rushed to my bedside, all talking at once.
“Oh thank God you’re alright!”

“I’m so sorry; I shouldn’t have let you go up.”

“The snow broke your fall—you don’t even have a sprain.”

“Not so… loud.” I managed to say weakly as I rubbed my head. “Head… hurts.”

When they fell silent I turned to Sam. “I fell… off the roof?”

She nodded. “You just swayed, sort of, and then keeled over. You hit the snow and I let go of the ladder and ran over to you.” Blushing, she added, “It almost hit you when it fell over actually.”

“Samantha ran and got your father and me and we drove you to the emergency room.” Mom continued. “You didn’t seem to be hurt but you were burning up and wouldn’t respond to anything.”

I suddenly clued in to why I was in the hospital bed. “So I’m sick?”

“Blowtorch Fever.” Dad answered solemnly. “You were peaking 120 degrees when the doctors got to you. So far they’re keeping your temperature down with the ice blanket—” He gestured to the heavy quilt covering me, “—and you’re being kept under observation until it goes back to normal.”

“Lovely.”

Mom patted my head. “We’ll visit you every day until you get released, but for now the doctors say that you need to get some rest.”

I nodded absently, already feeling tired. I rested my head against the hospital pillow and my family filed out of the room. As the last one flicked off the light switch, I was already fast asleep.

==???==
I’m not sure how long I was asleep, or even if I woke up; I felt separated from my body, passing fevered dreams and drained consciousness and back again without registering anything around me. My whole body was burning and sore, it felt like my insides—heck, even my bones—were squirming. Voices floated vaguely through my ears but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Eventually the heat and pain faded, and the weight of the ice blanket was removed. I curled into a ball and rested my head on my pillow… it was so warm and fuzzy…

==December 22nd, 2027, 12:00==

Slowly, I opened my eyes. I was still in a hospital room, but it was different than the one I was in when I first woke up. It was… fresher, somehow. I couldn’t smell any of the antiseptic or medicine that usually filled hospitals, just clean air. It was nice.

I lay there on the bed, absently listening to the *whump* *whump* *whump* of the fan and the *whirr* *whirr* *whirr* of an air purifier as I enjoyed the moment. I wasn’t hot, and no part of my body was sore, which meant the Torch must have passed. It was actually kind of funny, I had just gotten over one of the most dangerous diseases in modern history and now I felt more rested and better than I ever did in my life—it was like I was a new person.

Despite my current feeling of serenity, I had a weird feeling. I could feel my head lying on part of my body, but my arms and legs were both beneath me. I raised my head from my pillow curiously and looked down—then froze at what I saw. What I had thought was a pillow was actually a long, bushy, furry… thing. After a few seconds my mind unfroze and a single word came to mind: ''Tail''.

I stared at it, unwilling to believe what it was. It couldn’t be mine, it just couldn’t! But I had felt it—felt ''with'' it. Immediately I sat up and grabbed my backside, my eyes pressed shut and praying not to find what intellectually I knew was there. It was no use—instantly my hands found the spot where the tail… ''my'' tail…. met my own, furry back.

I took deep breaths, trying to calm myself. Still keeping my eyes closed I ran my hands over my body, feeling the thick fur that now covered my skin. Just a tail and some fur, I thought, nothing I couldn’t deal with. But as my hands reach my head I felt my heart race as it felt peaked ears at the top of my head, and a long, narrow muzzle topped with a cold, wet, and whiskered nose. It was still all right though, I could handle—owch!

I had cut myself! Pulling my hand away from my muzzle I finally opened my eyes and saw what had done the deed. My nails were thick, black, and elongated into sharp claws; I tried making a fist and watched with a sort of morbid fascination as they partially retracted into my… my….

My throat tightened as I registered the rest of my hand—or what used to be my hand. Leathery pads covered my palm, surrounded by light brown fur—the same shade my hair used to be. It was unmistakably a paw and—as I realized with horror—completely thumbless. I quickly looked down and found that my feet had met with the same change; they were now the limbs of an animal—elongated, heelless, and covered with brown fur that gave way to bright orange halfway up my leg.

I looked around desperately for my family, a doctor, ''anyone'', but all I found was an empty room. Even worse, everything past the cabinet next to my bed was a complete blur, and when I tried to call out a high-pitched yelp left my throat—was there ''any'' human left in me? I had to find out, even though I was scared to know the answer.

There was a small hand mirror—or what I could make out as a hand mirror—lying on a table sitting against the wall at the far end of the room. Without thinking I pushed myself off the bed and onto my legs as I had always done—then promptly lost balance and fell over onto the floor. Swearing internally, I tried to pull myself onto my hands and knees. It took a moment to register that my legs weren’t long enough to bend that way anymore, and that when I stretched my legs my toes met the ground perfectly. Tenitavely, I tried something similar with my hands; I pressed my padded fingers against the ground and placed my weight on them. Since standing on all fours didn’t result in my falling over, it would have to do for now—I could learn how to walk properly later, the mirror took priority.

My first few steps were awkward and stumbling until my tail began to twitch and angle itself reflexively to counterweight my balance. Slowly, I made my way across the floor to the table, the linoleum feeling cold—but distant—beneath my paws. As I reached the table, a sinking feeling was beginning to grow in my stomach as I realized just how big everything in the room was—how small had I become? Rearing back onto my legs, I tried to grab the mirror but my thumbless hands couldn’t get a grip—I only succeeded in knocking it to the floor before losing my balance again. Pushing myself back onto all fours, I approached the mirror, took a deep breath, and looked.

Time froze when I saw my reflection, and whatever hope I still carried died. I searched vainly for some sign of humanity, but there was none to be found. Even my eyes had been altered—their pupils were vertical and their irises were a pale gold. All I could see, and all the doctors saw when they finally arrived, was a small, scared-looking fox, looking desperately at the mirror’s cold, uncaring glass.

==December 22nd, 2027, 13:08==

“God, I’m so sorry you had to wake up alone.” Sam said as she sat next to me on the bed. “We were getting lunch in the cafeteria and the doctors were rushing to deal with a code.”

I growled an acknowledgement and she rubbed my head. It felt nice—but I hated myself for enjoying it.

“I can’t imagine what it must have been like.” Mom said, “Having to wake up all alone in a new body. If it had been me I’d have—”

“Mom…” Sam said sternly, and she stopped talking. I wasn’t paying attention though, I was looking at Dad. He was just… standing there, a few feet from the bed, staring at the wall just above my head. He had a strange look on his face; I couldn’t tell what he was thinking—even his scent was ambiguous. But why wasn’t he looking at me?

A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts and we all turned to see a doctor enter.

“Hello. I’m here to do a physical on Johannes Belford. Is this a bad time?” He asked mechanically.

My family turned to me, I shook my head; may as well get this over with. Sam hopped off the bed and took a seat next to my parents as the doctor approached and began the physical. I mutely followed his commands as the doctor looked over every part of my body. He took my hands and spread out their fingers as much as possible before examining my claws then doing the same with my feet. He felt up my tail, testing my muscle control in the new limb. The doctor pushed my lips away and looked over my teeth—“All canines.” he joked—before taking out a pocket light and shining it down my throat.

After putting the light back in his pocket, the doctor turned to my family. “Well, there isn’t much I can say that you don’t already know. Johannes caught TFOR and has been thoroughly blended with ''vulpes vulpes''—the red fox.”

“A little more tact might be appreciated.” Sam said coolly.

The doctor gave her a condescending look. “Forgive me ma’am, but it is best to be frank with situations like this. Your brother is a class 3 animorph—fullmorph to use the common nomenclature—and there isn’t any point in dancing around that fact. Mentally speaking he seems to be all there since he recognizes you and can answer basic questions, but we can’t know for sure until he starts talking.”

“He can talk?” Mom asked hopefully.

“Yes, he should be able to.” The doctor replied. “There was nothing in his throat examination that would suggest he can’t—though it may take a few days for his body to get used to the new vocal chords. In any case, Johannes is perfectly healthy from a medical perspective so you’re free to take him home.”

“Do you hear that?” Sam asked me happily. “You can go home!”

I nodded, feeling a little better for the first time that day. This was short lived, however. I wasn’t co-ordinated enough on four legs yet to keep any reasonable speed, so Sam had to carry me out of the hospital and into the car, not to mention buckle my seatbelt for me. It was necessary, but made me feel like an infant not to be able to perform such a basic action. Sam kept up a stream of encouragement throughout the car ride home, but I wasn’t listening to her. My attention was focused on Dad as he drove the car, eyes fixed on the road.

“Don’t worry.” Sam whispered to me when she saw who I was looking at. “He’s just dealing with this in his own way—you know how he is. Just give it a day or two and he’ll be back to normal.”

I didn’t respond. Eventually we pulled into the driveway and Sam carried me through the snow to the front door. The second she walked inside the house I jumped out my sister’s arms and ran as best I could up to my room. Pushing the door closed, I tried to climb into my bed, but it was too high up for me to get into. Looking around, I found my toolbox and pushed it against the bed to use as a stepping stone. When I was finally on my bed, I keeled over, the day’s exhaustion taking its toll.

Lying there, I thought over the day’s events—waking up alone to find myself not even human, seeing myself in the mirror, the doctor examining me like a lab rat, and Dad… Dad refusing to even look at me. A tear rolled down my muzzle and I realized I was crying. I don’t know how long I lay there, quietly sobbing away my pain, but eventually I heard the door to Dad’s office close, and I wondered if he was doing the same thing.

==December 23rd, 2027, 9:09==

A delicious aroma wafted into my room from the hallway. As it floated past my nose, my whiskers twitched excitedly, rousing me from my sleep. I was entranced by the smell—I had never experienced anything like it before. Even though it was just pancakes—a common breakfast dish in my family—the scent was so much richer than I could ever remember! Everything about it—the eggs, the butter, even a bit of the flour seemed to dance before my nose; I could practically taste it...

A knock at the door brought me out of my stomach. “Johannes? Are you up?” Came my sister’s voice. I barked an affirmative and the door opened as the smell of pancakes intensified. I suddenly realized that I was panting and made myself stop just as Sam entered carrying a tray.

“I, uh, brought you some breakfast.” She said. “Hungry?”

A growl from my stomach answered the question. Sam sat the tray down on my bed and took a seat next to me. She watched silently as I fumbled trying to get a grip on the knife and fork, my thumbless hands eventually finding their place. I awkwardly cut a piece of the pancake and put it into my mouth—almost poking myself in the face as I forgot how long my muzzle was. The taste was... unbelievable. Just like with the scent, each ingredient seemed to dance across my tongue and combine together in a rich taste I never knew was possible. I was actually overwhelmed a bit.

“Mrrr.” I growled contentedly—it was almost a purr.

“You like it, huh?” Sam asked, smiling. “I read that you’d have a better sense of taste.”

My ears twitched and swivelled towards her, read?

“I, uh, did some research last night after we got back from the hospital.” She said a little sheepishly.

As much as I wanted to know what Sam had found out, my hunger took priority. My sister waited patiently as I finished the pancakes—I had to chew slowly since I wasn’t used to such a large mouth yet. When I eventually finished I started to pant again—my throat was completely parched. I scanned the tray for a glass of water but Sam must have forgotten to bring one up—aside from the now-empty plate of pancakes there was just a bowl of water.

Something clicked in my head and I stared at the bowl. Intellectually I had expected this—my muzzle wouldn’t be able to form a proper seal around a cup—but I still got a sinking feeling when I realized I would have to drink from a bowl from now on. I cupped my hands and tried to scoop up some of the water but it drained back into the bowl before I could drink it up. Sam opened her mouth to say something but she quickly closed it, seeming to think better of it. I considered going without drinking for now but my throat was so dry—I couldn’t ignore it.

With a dejected sigh I began to lower my head towards the bowl—then stopped a few centimetres away. I glanced towards Sam, who politely turned away; I was grateful for this—it was one thing to have to drink like an animal but I couldn’t take someone watching me. Feeling as if I were betraying myself, I started to lap at the water.

It was harder than I’d thought—my first few attempts just splashed water into my face—but eventually I managed to sort of curl my tongue to catch the water. It was humiliating to have to do this, but the refreshing cool of a drink against my throat made me feel slightly better. Slightly.

I drank no more than I needed to sate my thirst and pushed the bowl away as soon as I was done. As Sam turned back around to face me, I tried to thank her for the breakfast but all I could manage was a mangled “Eiin”. Strangely, she smiled at this.

“It’s all right, Johannes.” She said. “Just keep trying and you’ll be able to talk again.” I nodded, and she continued. “I know you’ve just gone through a lot and I can’t imagine what it must be like for you, but I’ve been doing some thinking and I think that doctor who did your physical yesterday might be right.”

“Wa?” I asked, staring at her.

Sam shrugged. “I know he didn’t exactly have the best bedside manner but he did sorta have a point.” She took a deep breath. “You’re a fox, Johannes, and you probably will be for the rest of your life. The sooner you adapt means the sooner things can get back to normal.”

I scoffed—which came out as a strange yipping snort—was she serious?

“I am serious, Johannes.” She said, accurately guessing what I was thinking. Like I was saying, I did some research last night and they say that the worst thing a new teefer can do is wallow in self-pity. You just have to power through this as best you can.”

I pondered this. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, my sister did have a point. Reluctantly, I nodded.
Sam beamed. “Great! Now, I already did a bit of research of red foxes and—hold on...” She took out a folded piece of paper from her pocket and spread it out in front of us. “Here we go. I printed this off from TeeferWiki so I’m not sure how accurate it is, but the sources seemed to check out.”

I looked over the page—it was a list of fox traits commonly inherited by teefers. Digestion was a top one—it recommended avoiding anything that’s been heavily processed or fried, but since foxes are omnivorous my diet shouldn’t have to change that much, though I’d have a smaller appetite due to having a smaller stomach and lower energy requirements. The word “smaller” jumped out at me, but I ignored it. Sam was right—I’d just have to power through.

“It says that your tail is really flexible but you should just let reflexes take care of most of its movement.” Sam chimed in. I nodded and continued to read. I skipped over a bit related to hormonal cycles for vixens and arrived at a section labelled “Senses”:

''Foxes have extremely acute hearing and are capable of picking out minute sounds with just a flick of their ears. Due to the way their ears are structure, a fox morph—and most candid morphs for that matter—are able to either block or magnify certain sounds depending on how their ears are angled. It is recommended to lower one’s ears when traversing areas such as a city block, as the sheer number and volume of sounds can easily overwhelm fresh teefers. Scent is also commonly magnified in approximately 98.7% of fox teefers, a result of the nasal extension present within the muzzle. The teefer will find that his or her sense of smell is greatly magnified, able to pick up the scents of each individual object around them rather than the overall effect that humans experience. A common example of this is a pizza—humans smell the general scent of a pizza while teefers are capable of picking out each ingredient individually as well as the combined aroma.''

''One area in which foxes, and other candid morphs are considered disadvantaged in is sight—though this is a matter of some debate. Fox teefers have excellent low-light vision and enjoy a great level of detail at close range, though their ability to see is limited to a few feet in front of them. Like most canine morphs, green colour-blindness is common.''

The sinking feeling returned as I read the last line. “''Green colour-blindness is common''”.
I quickly looked towards my desk at the scattered tools that lay across it. My eyes found my screwdriver with the green handle—except that it wasn’t green anymore, but a pale, brownish yellow. My ears sank as I realized another lost bit of humanity.

Sam, who had been reading along with me, sensed my despair. “I know it must come as a shock, but how often did you need to see green anyway? It’s not even your favourite colour. I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but you shouldn’t get caught up in something so minor.”

There was something refreshing about the raw sensibility in the way she said that; and oddly enough it made me feel better. “eioiry” I mumbled, trying to apologize.

She waved aside my apology. “It’s alright, just try not to get depressed over every little thing. It’s going to be tough getting through this, but we’re all here for you.” Sam picked up the tray and stood up. “Now come on, I’ve got an idea how to help you get through this.”
I followed her downstairs and waited as she put the tray and dishes away. When that was finished she led me into the living room where there were boxes of decorations scattered about.

“I know the lights didn’t go exactly as planned,” Sam said with a grin, “but I’m still going to need help decorating the rest of the house. Mom’s out running errands and Dad’s at the office so it’s you or no-one.”

I looked up at her with disbelief—there was no way she could be serious!

The Tower in the Torch

2009-08-28T16:02:13Z

Lloyd Brunnel: Next bit added, forgive my onomotopeias

{{WIP}} {{Universe|Pig and Whistle}}{{byline|user=Lloyd Brunnel|author=Lloyd}}
==December 19th, 2027, 18:21==

I leaned forwards over my desk, examining the strange object in my hands. It was an early Christmas present from Dad: one of the new prototypes his company had come up with. He would sometimes bring one home from work and let me fiddle with it; I’d try and figure out what it was and, on rare occasion, try to improve it. Ostensibly it was market research—if someone could figure the product out without needing to be told it meant that it was more accessible to the consumer—but we both knew it was because I loved to tinker with things and that—as much as he would go on about ‘finding your own path’—Dad was more than happy encouraging me to follow in his footsteps as an inventor. Not that I needed much persuasion.

The prototype I had been given this time was one of the weirdest I had ever seen. It was a strap of leather with a series of Plexiglas bubbles on the end. Guessing from the drawstring, this was supposed to be wrapped around part of the body, but it was too long to be for an arm and too short to go around the waist.

I was feeling lightheaded so I rubbed my forehead to clear my thoughts. The cold must be messing with me—I’d been feeling off all day and the dizzy spells weren’t helping any. Grabbing a sweater from my dresser I returned to my desk and re-examined the leather strap. I could easily imagine it as some kind of belt, but that didn’t make much sense—Albion wasn’t about weird fashion accessories, it made teefer adapted technology.

A light bulb went off in my head as the obvious solution came into focus. The strap was a TAT, which meant that I would know what it was if I figured out which species morph it was meant to help. I flipped the strap over and examined the three slit openings beneath where the glass bubbles were on the other side. Gills came to mind, maybe this was meant to go around the user’s neck? I tried tying it around my own neck—it seemed to fit and the bubbles were where a teefer’s gills would be, though I had some trouble tightening it without choking myself. So I knew where it went—around the neck of a fish morph—but not what it did. The openings ruled out some type of ballast tank or swim-bladder substitute, but maybe the bubbles had to be filled with something…

I grinned as the answer came to me—water, obviously! I ran to the bathroom and opened one of the bubbles to fill it with water in order to test my theory. As I closed the bubbles and retied it around my neck and chill ran down my spine as the water began to seep through the openings onto my skin. It was a gradual, but small flow—there must be a pressure seal inside the leather itself to control the release rate. I untied the strap and headed back to my desk. Now that I knew what it was, it was time to start fiddling—my favorite part. I took out my tools and went to work.

Ten minutes later I leaned back in my chair, smiling at the finished product. I was a little disappointed that there wasn’t much I could change about the strap other than replacing the drawstring with a clasp, but it still felt good to be able to improve something Dad’s R&D department came up with.

A light from the window caught my eye and I looked out through the frosted glass over the yard. Christmas lights had just flickered on across the trees—probably Sam’s doing. I grinned at the thought; my sister may have been three years my senior but she was the youngest at heart and would make it her personal mission each year to decorate the house for the holidays. After admiring the coloured display my thoughts returned to the TAT lying on my desk. I grabbed the strap and ran downstairs to show off what I had done.

Dad was in his office—or rather, his workshop. Scraps of paper lined the room and the floor was covered with discarded blueprints, cables, and various bits of failed inventions. Mom always nagged him about the mess but he never listened. “Albion wasn’t founded on brooms and mops.” He’d say, and I was inclined to agree; clutter sparked the creative mind more than cleanliness.

For once, Dad wasn’t pouring over his workbench when I entered—he was at the desk doing paperwork.

“Ah, Johannes,” he beamed as I stepped over some loose cables, “out of your room so soon? Don’t tell me you’re stumped already.”

I grinned, showing him the strap. “Sorry, not this time. It’s a lubrication device, meant to prevent gills on fish morphs from drying out.”

He chuckled. “And here I was thinking you wouldn’t figure it out until New Year’s. Oh well, it’s the thought that counts.”

I nodded and placed the strap in front of him. Dad immediately picked it up and examined the ends where I replaced the drawstring.

“Clasps?” He inquired.

I nodded again. “The string was good but I almost choked myself trying to tighten it. Besides, knots can get loose over time or become almost impossible to undo. This way the user can tighten it easier and it won’t be hard to undo.”

“Wonderful!” He enthused. “I can’t wait to bring this in to the office. There was a pool going around on whether you’d be able to do anything with this one, and I daresay—Dr. Sauls is going to be out quite the penny.”

He patted me on the head, then frowned. “You’re feeling a bit warm, everything all right?”

I blinked. “Yea, I’m fine. The cold’s just getting to my head.”

“Fair enough.” Dad said, adding, “You may want to go help Samantha set up the rest of the lights by the way; trees are all well and good but your mother would kill us both if she fell off the roof again.”
“Ah, right.” I replied hastily. I ran to the hall closet and threw on my winter jacket, scarf and boots before darting out the door. Sure enough, when I reached the front yard my sister was already leaning the ladder up against the garage door.

“Hey, Sam!” I called out.

She turned, beaming when she saw me. “Oh, Johannes! Let me guess, Mom sent you out to help me?”

“Dad.” I corrected when I reached her.

Sam made a pouting look. “One time! One time I mess up—”

“You fell off the roof for the fifth time in three years.” I interrupted. “You’re not very co-ordinated.”

I held out a hand. “Let me do the lights, you can hold the ladder.”

She sighed. “Fine. But make sure to do it right!”

“Yea, yea.”

Sam gave me the lights and held the base of the ladder as I climbed on to the overhang above the garage. Stringing the lights wasn’t that hard—Sam had stuck holders on the rain ducts a few years back so all I had to do was feed the cable through the little hooks. I had finished setting up about half of them when I started to feel dizzy again. I was also starting to feel hot so I unbuttoned my coat.

“You ok up there?” Sam called from the ground.

“Yea… it’s nothing.” I called back. I was starting to feel weak so I hurried to finish the rest of the lights. As I leaned over to hook in the last one my head suddenly felt like it had caught fire. I dropped the lights and immediately pulled off my scarf but it didn’t help, the heat just continued to build and spread across my body as my vision blurred. Everything lost focus and I keeled over, blacking out as I fell from the roof. The last thing I heard was my sister’s panicked yells.

==December 19th, 2027, 20:57==

I woke up in a hospital bed. Mom, Dad, and Sam were sitting across from me against the wall. There was something heavy on top of me, I tried to move it but couldn’t muster the strength. Sam raised her head at the sound of my rustlings.

“He’s awake!” She exclaimed. Immediately my family jumped up and rushed to my bedside, all talking at once.
“Oh thank God you’re alright!”

“I’m so sorry; I shouldn’t have let you go up.”

“The snow broke your fall—you don’t even have a sprain.”

“Not so… loud.” I managed to say weakly as I rubbed my head. “Head… hurts.”

When they fell silent I turned to Sam. “I fell… off the roof?”

She nodded. “You just swayed, sort of, and then keeled over. You hit the snow and I let go of the ladder and ran over to you.” Blushing, she added, “It almost hit you when it fell over actually.”

“Samantha ran and got your father and me and we drove you to the emergency room.” Mom continued. “You didn’t seem to be hurt but you were burning up and wouldn’t respond to anything.”

I suddenly clued in to why I was in the hospital bed. “So I’m sick?”

“Blowtorch Fever.” Dad answered solemnly. “You were peaking 120 degrees when the doctors got to you. So far they’re keeping your temperature down with the ice blanket—” He gestured to the heavy quilt covering me, “—and you’re being kept under observation until it goes back to normal.”

“Lovely.”

Mom patted my head. “We’ll visit you every day until you get released, but for now the doctors say that you need to get some rest.”

I nodded absently, already feeling tired. I rested my head against the hospital pillow and my family filed out of the room. As the last one flicked off the light switch, I was already fast asleep.

==???==
I’m not sure how long I was asleep, or even if I woke up; I felt separated from my body, passing fevered dreams and drained consciousness and back again without registering anything around me. My whole body was burning and sore, it felt like my insides—heck, even my bones—were squirming. Voices floated vaguely through my ears but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Eventually the heat and pain faded, and the weight of the ice blanket was removed. I curled into a ball and rested my head on my pillow… it was so warm and fuzzy…

==December 22nd, 2027, 12:00==

Slowly, I opened my eyes. I was still in a hospital room, but it was different than the one I was in when I first woke up. It was… fresher, somehow. I couldn’t smell any of the antiseptic or medicine that usually filled hospitals, just clean air. It was nice.

I lay there on the bed, absently listening to the *whump* *whump* *whump* of the fan and the *whirr* *whirr* *whirr* of an air purifier as I enjoyed the moment. I wasn’t hot, and no part of my body was sore, which meant the Torch must have passed. It was actually kind of funny, I had just gotten over one of the most dangerous diseases in modern history and now I felt more rested and better than I ever did in my life—it was like I was a new person.

Despite my current feeling of serenity, I had a weird feeling. I could feel my head lying on part of my body, but my arms and legs were both beneath me. I raised my head from my pillow curiously and looked down—then froze at what I saw. What I had thought was a pillow was actually a long, bushy, furry… thing. After a few seconds my mind unfroze and a single word came to mind: ''Tail''.

I stared at it, unwilling to believe what it was. It couldn’t be mine, it just couldn’t! But I had felt it—felt ''with'' it. Immediately I sat up and grabbed my backside, my eyes pressed shut and praying not to find what intellectually I knew was there. It was no use—instantly my hands found the spot where the tail… ''my'' tail…. met my own, furry back.

I took deep breaths, trying to calm myself. Still keeping my eyes closed I ran my hands over my body, feeling the thick fur that now covered my skin. Just a tail and some fur, I thought, nothing I couldn’t deal with. But as my hands reach my head I felt my heart race as it felt peaked ears at the top of my head, and a long, narrow muzzle topped with a cold, wet, and whiskered nose. It was still all right though, I could handle—owch!

I had cut myself! Pulling my hand away from my muzzle I finally opened my eyes and saw what had done the deed. My nails were thick, black, and elongated into sharp claws; I tried making a fist and watched with a sort of morbid fascination as they partially retracted into my… my….

My throat tightened as I registered the rest of my hand—or what used to be my hand. Leathery pads covered my palm, surrounded by light brown fur—the same shade my hair used to be. It was unmistakably a paw and—as I realized with horror—completely thumbless. I quickly looked down and found that my feet had met with the same change; they were now the limbs of an animal—elongated, heelless, and covered with brown fur that gave way to bright orange halfway up my leg.

I looked around desperately for my family, a doctor, ''anyone'', but all I found was an empty room. Even worse, everything past the cabinet next to my bed was a complete blur, and when I tried to call out a high-pitched yelp left my throat—was there ''any'' human left in me? I had to find out, even though I was scared to know the answer.

There was a small hand mirror—or what I could make out as a hand mirror—lying on a table sitting against the wall at the far end of the room. Without thinking I pushed myself off the bed and onto my legs as I had always done—then promptly lost balance and fell over onto the floor. Swearing internally, I tried to pull myself onto my hands and knees. It took a moment to register that my legs weren’t long enough to bend that way anymore, and that when I stretched my legs my toes met the ground perfectly. Tenitavely, I tried something similar with my hands; I pressed my padded fingers against the ground and placed my weight on them. Since standing on all fours didn’t result in my falling over, it would have to do for now—I could learn how to walk properly later, the mirror took priority.

My first few steps were awkward and stumbling until my tail began to twitch and angle itself reflexively to counterweight my balance. Slowly, I made my way across the floor to the table, the linoleum feeling cold—but distant—beneath my paws. As I reached the table, a sinking feeling was beginning to grow in my stomach as I realized just how big everything in the room was—how small had I become? Rearing back onto my legs, I tried to grab the mirror but my thumbless hands couldn’t get a grip—I only succeeded in knocking it to the floor before losing my balance again. Pushing myself back onto all fours, I approached the mirror, took a deep breath, and looked.

Time froze when I saw my reflection, and whatever hope I still carried died. I searched vainly for some sign of humanity, but there was none to be found. Even my eyes had been altered—their pupils were vertical and their irises were a pale gold. All I could see, and all the doctors saw when they finally arrived, was a small, scared-looking fox, looking desperately at the mirror’s cold, uncaring glass.

==December 22nd, 2027, 13:08==

“God, I’m so sorry you had to wake up alone.” Sam said as she sat next to me on the bed. “We were getting lunch in the cafeteria and the doctors were rushing to deal with a code.”

I growled an acknowledgement and she rubbed my head. It felt nice—but I hated myself for enjoying it.

“I can’t imagine what it must have been like.” Mom said, “Having to wake up all alone in a new body. If it had been me I’d have—”

“Mom…” Sam said sternly, and she stopped talking. I wasn’t paying attention though, I was looking at Dad. He was just… standing there, a few feet from the bed, staring at the wall just above my head. He had a strange look on his face; I couldn’t tell what he was thinking—even his scent was ambiguous. But why wasn’t he looking at me?

A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts and we all turned to see a doctor enter.

“Hello. I’m here to do a physical on Johannes Belford. Is this a bad time?” He asked mechanically.

My family turned to me, I shook my head; may as well get this over with. Sam hopped off the bed and took a seat next to my parents as the doctor approached and began the physical. I mutely followed his commands as the doctor looked over every part of my body. He took my hands and spread out their fingers as much as possible before examining my claws then doing the same with my feet. He felt up my tail, testing my muscle control in the new limb. The doctor pushed my lips away and looked over my teeth—“All canines.” he joked—before taking out a pocket light and shining it down my throat.

After putting the light back in his pocket, the doctor turned to my family. “Well, there isn’t much I can say that you don’t already know. Johannes caught TFOR and has been thoroughly blended with ''vulpes vulpes''—the red fox.”

“A little more tact might be appreciated.” Sam said coolly.

The doctor gave her a condescending look. “Forgive me ma’am, but it is best to be frank with situations like this. Your brother is a class 3 animorph—fullmorph to use the common nomenclature—and there isn’t any point in dancing around that fact. Mentally speaking he seems to be all there since he recognizes you and can answer basic questions, but we can’t know for sure until he starts talking.”

“He can talk?” Mom asked hopefully.

“Yes, he should be able to.” The doctor replied. “There was nothing in his throat examination that would suggest he can’t—though it may take a few days for his body to get used to the new vocal chords. In any case, Johannes is perfectly healthy from a medical perspective so you’re free to take him home.”

“Do you hear that?” Sam asked me happily. “You can go home!”

I nodded, feeling a little better for the first time that day. This was short lived, however. I wasn’t co-ordinated enough on four legs yet to keep any reasonable speed, so Sam had to carry me out of the hospital and into the car, not to mention buckle my seatbelt for me. It was necessary, but made me feel like an infant not to be able to perform such a basic action. Sam kept up a stream of encouragement throughout the car ride home, but I wasn’t listening to her. My attention was focused on Dad as he drove the car, eyes fixed on the road.

“Don’t worry.” Sam whispered to me when she saw who I was looking at. “He’s just dealing with this in his own way—you know how he is. Just give it a day or two and he’ll be back to normal.”

I didn’t respond. Eventually we pulled into the driveway and Sam carried me through the snow to the front door. The second she walked inside the house I jumped out my sister’s arms and ran as best I could up to my room. Pushing the door closed, I tried to climb into my bed, but it was too high up for me to get into. Looking around, I found my toolbox and pushed it against the bed to use as a stepping stone. When I was finally on my bed, I keeled over, the day’s exhaustion taking its toll.

Lying there, I thought over the day’s events—waking up alone to find myself not even human, seeing myself in the mirror, the doctor examining me like a lab rat, and Dad… Dad refusing to even look at me. A tear rolled down my muzzle and I realized I was crying. I don’t know how long I lay there, quietly sobbing away my pain, but eventually I heard the door to Dad’s office close, and I wondered if he was doing the same thing.

==December 23rd, 2027, 9:09==

A delicious aroma wafted into my room from the hallway. As it floated past my nose, my whiskers twitched excitedly, rousing me from my sleep. I was entranced by the smell—I had never experienced anything like it before. Even though it was just pancakes—a common breakfast dish in my family—the scent was so much richer than I could ever remember! Everything about it—the eggs, the butter, even a bit of the flour seemed to dance before my nose; I could practically taste it...

A knock at the door brought me out of my stomach. “Johannes? Are you up?” Came my sister’s voice. I barked an affirmative and the door opened as the smell of pancakes intensified. I suddenly realized that I was panting and made myself stop just as Sam entered carrying a tray.

“I, uh, brought you some breakfast.” She said. “Hungry?”

A growl from my stomach answered the question. Sam sat the tray down on my bed and took a seat next to me. She watched silently as I fumbled trying to get a grip on the knife and fork, my thumbless hands eventually finding their place. I awkwardly cut a piece of the pancake and put it into my mouth—almost poking myself in the face as I forgot how long my muzzle was. The taste was... unbelievable. Just like with the scent, each ingredient seemed to dance across my tongue and combine together in a rich taste I never knew was possible. I was actually overwhelmed a bit.

“Mrrr.” I growled contentedly—it was almost a purr.

“You like it, huh?” Sam asked, smiling. “I read that you’d have a better sense of taste.”

My ears twitched and swivelled towards her, read?

“I, uh, did some research last night after we got back from the hospital.” She said a little sheepishly.

As much as I wanted to know what Sam had found out, my hunger took priority. My sister waited patiently as I finished the pancakes—I had to chew slowly since I wasn’t used to such a large mouth yet. When I eventually finished I started to pant again—my throat was completely parched. I scanned the tray for a glass of water but Sam must have forgotten to bring one up—aside from the now-empty plate of pancakes there was just a bowl of water.

Something clicked in my head and I stared at the bowl. Intellectually I had expected this—my muzzle wouldn’t be able to form a proper seal around a cup—but I still got a sinking feeling when I realized I would have to drink from a bowl from now on. I cupped my hands and tried to scoop up some of the water but it drained back into the bowl before I could drink it up. Sam opened her mouth to say something but she quickly closed it, seeming to think better of it. I considered going without drinking for now but my throat was so dry—I couldn’t ignore it.

With a dejected sigh I began to lower my head towards the bowl—then stopped a few centimetres away. I glanced towards Sam, who politely turned away; I was grateful for this—it was one thing to have to drink like an animal but I couldn’t take someone watching me. Feeling as if I were betraying myself, I started to lap at the water.

It was harder than I’d thought—my first few attempts just splashed water into my face—but eventually I managed to sort of curl my tongue to catch the water. It was humiliating to have to do this, but the refreshing cool of a drink against my throat made me feel slightly better. Slightly.

I drank no more than I needed to sate my thirst and pushed the bowl away as soon as I was done. As Sam turned back around to face me, I tried to thank her for the breakfast but all I could manage was a mangled “Eiin”. Strangely, she smiled at this.

“It’s all right, Johannes.” She said. “Just keep trying and you’ll be able to talk again.” I nodded, and she continued. “I know you’ve just gone through a lot and I can’t imagine what it must be like for you, but I’ve been doing some thinking and I think that doctor who did your physical yesterday might be right.”

“Wa?” I asked, staring at her.

Sam shrugged. “I know he didn’t exactly have the best bedside manner but he did sorta have a point.” She took a deep breath. “You’re a fox, Johannes, and you probably will be for the rest of your life. The sooner you adapt means the sooner things can get back to normal.”

I scoffed—which came out as a strange yipping snort—was she serious?

“I am serious, Johannes.” She said, accurately guessing what I was thinking. Like I was saying, I did some research last night and they say that the worst thing a new teefer can do is wallow in self-pity. You just have to power through this as best you can.”

I pondered this. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, my sister did have a point. Reluctantly, I nodded.
Sam beamed. “Great! Now, I already did a bit of research of red foxes and—hold on...” She took out a folded piece of paper from her pocket and spread it out in front of us. “Here we go. I printed this off from TeeferWiki so I’m not sure how accurate it is, but the sources seemed to check out.”

I looked over the page—it was a list of fox traits commonly inherited by teefers. Digestion was a top one—it recommended avoiding anything that’s been heavily processed or fried, but since foxes are omnivorous my diet shouldn’t have to change that much, though I’d have a smaller appetite due to having a smaller stomach and lower energy requirements. The word “smaller” jumped out at me, but I ignored it. Sam was right—I’d just have to power through.

“It says that your tail is really flexible but you should just let reflexes take care of most of its movement.” Sam chimed in. I nodded and continued to read. I skipped over a bit related to hormonal cycles for vixens and arrived at a section labelled “Senses”:

Foxes have extremely acute hearing and are capable of picking out minute sounds with just a flick of their ears. Due to the way their ears are structure, a fox morph—and most candid morphs for that matter—are able to either block or magnify certain sounds depending on how their ears are angled. It is recommended to lower one’s ears when traversing areas such as a city block, as the sheer number and volume of sounds can easily overwhelm fresh teefers. Scent is also commonly magnified in approximately 98.7% of fox teefers, a result of the nasal extension present within the muzzle. The teefer will find that his or her sense of smell is greatly magnified, able to pick up the scents of each individual object around them rather than the overall effect that humans experience. A common example of this is a pizza—humans smell the general scent of a pizza while teefers are capable of picking out each ingredient individually as well as the combined aroma.

One area in which foxes, and other candid morphs are considered disadvantaged in is sight—though this is a matter of some debate. Fox teefers have excellent low-light vision and enjoy a great level of detail at close range, though their ability to see is limited to a few feet in front of them. Like most canine morphs, green colour-blindness is common.

The sinking feeling returned as I read the last line. “Green colour-blindness is common”.
I quickly looked towards my desk at the scattered tools that lay across it. My eyes found my screwdriver with the green handle—except that it wasn’t green anymore, but a pale, brownish yellow. My ears sank as I realized another lost bit of humanity.

Sam, who had been reading along with me, sensed my despair. “I know it must come as a shock, but how often did you need to see green anyway? It’s not even your favourite colour. I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but you shouldn’t get caught up in something so minor.”

There was something refreshing about the raw sensibility in the way she said that; and oddly enough it made me feel better. “eioiry” I mumbled, trying to apologize.

She waved aside my apology. “It’s alright, just try not to get depressed over every little thing. It’s going to be tough getting through this, but we’re all here for you.” Sam picked up the tray and stood up. “Now come on, I’ve got an idea how to help you get through this.”
I followed her downstairs and waited as she put the tray and dishes away. When that was finished she led me into the living room where there were boxes of decorations scattered about.

“I know the lights didn’t go exactly as planned,” Sam said with a grin, “but I’m still going to need help decorating the rest of the house. Mom’s out running errands and Dad’s at the office so it’s you or no-one.”

I looked up at her with disbelief—there was no way she could be serious!

Talk:The Tower in the Torch

2009-08-26T17:39:54Z

Lloyd Brunnel: /* How to vocalize */ new section

Category:Dire Warning

2009-08-26T11:41:35Z

Lloyd Brunnel: Created page with 'This section is for stories in the Dire Warning plotline, where a group known as the Union for Gratuitous Transformation Victims (UGTFV) is taking revenge on TF writers.'

This section is for stories in the Dire Warning plotline, where a group known as the Union for Gratuitous Transformation Victims (UGTFV) is taking revenge on TF writers.

Category talk:Xanadu

2009-08-25T23:27:36Z

Lloyd Brunnel:

Hmm, any idea why my three new stories I've personally written haven't appeared in the category section? -- Alex Warlorn August 25 2009

:You need to create a category: Xanadu tag. The universe template simply displays the puzzle piece picture in the upper corner. --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd Brunnel]] 23:27, 25 August 2009 (UTC)

The Tower in the Torch

2009-08-25T19:31:19Z

Lloyd Brunnel:

The Tower in the Torch

2009-08-25T19:30:55Z

Lloyd Brunnel:

The Tower in the Torch

2009-08-25T19:30:23Z

Lloyd Brunnel: Wow, didn't think I'd finish the next part so soon. Goes to show what you can do when you don't procrastinate doesn't it?

Talk:The Tower in the Torch

2009-08-25T16:25:26Z

Lloyd Brunnel:

PAW Timelines/Character Timeline

2009-08-25T16:19:18Z

Lloyd Brunnel: removed Jonas's bio as Tower will heavily contradict it

No reason you should have to do this on your own, CR. How about we collect the character profiles here and simply list the stories each has a role in like in the Paradise setting? -- [[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd]]
==Scott Jameson==
Scott Summers Jameson

===Stats===
*Age at onset of TFOR: 35 (November, 2009)
*Height: 2 meters (about 6'7")
*Weight: 102 kilos (about 225 pounds)

====Powers====
*Age Locked
*"Plasma Toss"
:At the minimum temperature of about 200 degrees fahrenheit he can throw close to 100.
:At the average temperature he uses - about 1200 degrees fahrenheit - he can throw about 20.
:At the maximum temperature of about 5000 degrees fahrenheit he can throw one.
:If he exceeds the above stated numbers he risks falling into a coma and even death.

===Description===
Tall. At two meters tall he towers over most people and his military bearing and toned physique are used to great advantages when he feels the need for it. Overall he looks like someone altered a wolf to stand on two legs and have hands with opposed thumbs. His most distinguishing characteristic is his fur, which is a true black that does not look 'navy' or 'purple' when the light catches it a certain way.

===Personality===
At one time a committed pacifist, Scott's outlook changed when the collapse happened and the world descended into chaos. Not long afterwards he came down with TFOR and his life was saved because he collapsed into a snow-bank in the middle of winter when his temperature spiked.

Because of his pacifist leanings, Scott does not like to resort to violence except when it is absolutely necessary. This has led to numerous tragedies in his life that he keeps trying to atone for. But the NAR's government view him as a natural resource, national treasure and a valuable military resource. That view does not sit well with Scott, so he spends his time in a small city, blending into the scenery and holding down a blue-collar job helping to repair and upgrade the infrastructure damaged and/or destroyed during the collapse.

Scott believes strongly in "The Golden Rule" and strives to treat everyone equally well, because that is how he wishes to be treated. But he was also raised to treat women as though they are the most precious of treasures and he is a perfect gentleman in that regard - almost anachronistically so. He is also a "geek", though he hides it well, and dropped out of college because he got bored with the pace of the professors.

===Bio===
Joined the Pennsylvania Militia in September 2009, not long after the US Federal Government collapsed

Made Sergeant 1/10/2010 and given command of a black-ops group mostly comprised of Teefers called "Havok's Hounds". By the August, 25, 2010 date of the "Greater Pennsylvania Commonwealth" joining the nascent NAR he had gained nearly $2bn CND in bounties (somewhere around 200 of them, none with his actual name) placed by the Canadian Government for his actions in combat. After word of a single bounty of $1bn CDN reached the government of Pennsylvania, he was given a field commission and the rank of first lieutenant. (Note that it was a minor bit of mis-information - no single bounty was ever that large) When the bounties were rescinded and he joined the NAR military he was promoted to Captain and left in charge of his unit.

After becoming a member of the NAR Military he was part of the first major battle on the "New Confederacy", during which three members of his squad were injured and one was killed, when he demanded members of an armored unit of the N.C. Army surrender. The heat-bloom from his response - two balls of plasma at about 2800 degrees C - was recorded by several satellites. Those two balls of plasma completely incinerated the M1 Abrams tank that the N.C. unit was using and destroyed the bodies of the N.C. soldiers. But as a result of that act he spent the next three months in a deep coma.

Currently forced to remain in the NARA Reserves because of the fear the government has of his military skills and TFOR's granted powers. He is "hiding" in Polyton county because he was used and turned into one of the hero's of the nascent NAR. He lives in the hotel next to the bar and spends his days working with Alex Henninger maintaining and repairing the numerous utility lines that run through that part of the NAR.

===Appears In===
* [[PAW Collab|The Great Pig and Whistle Collaboration Project]]
* [[User:ShadowWolf/Death and Rebirth|Death and Rebirth]]
* [[Enter a Wolf]]

==Allan Willson==
Allan Michael Wilson

===Stats===
*Human
*Age at onset of TFOR: 18 (June, 2020)
*Height: 6' 1”
*Weight: 135 lbs
*Birthday: November 10, 2002

====Powers====
*High heart rate. About 110-130 at rest. 130-230 when active.
*"Phase Shifting"
:At densities under 10 g/cm³, he can go through about 10 feet of the material before passing out.
:At densities from 10-20 g/cm³, he can go through about 3-5 feet before passing out, with extreme discomfort.
:He cannot pass through densities greater than 21. That element being Platinum.
:As he passes through a material, his heart rate will go up considerably. If it hits 250, serious bodily harm can occur, such as a heart attack, or a ruptured blood vessel.
:when his heart rate is between 130-200, his chances of accidentally phasing through something are greatly increased.
::[[Wikipedia:List of elements by density]]

===Description===
An average, just out of high school, first years of college, student. The only thing odd about him is his weight. At 135 lbs, he is much lighter than he looks to be. Mostly because of a high metabolism that he had before the onset of TFORs. He isn't necessarily weak, but many years on ADHD medicine has lowered his weight to almost unsafe levels. He is now working out to try and regain weight. A kind of spindly fellow, his legs and arms are long. Sun bleached blond hair, that is just starting to darken underneath, and blue eyes. His pupils are usually abnormally dilated due to his constantly raised heart rate. He lost his lower right leg during the bombing of his town, and thus has a transtibial, or below the knee, prosthetic leg. The foot looks like [http://www.endolite.com/foot_echelon.php this].

His watch works as a heart rate monitor. It starts blinking and beeping at 130bpm, vibrates at 150bpm, and if it ever hits 180bpm, the alarm can be heard over almost anything.

===Personality===
Allan is an atypical nonconformist. He doesn't fit in with any crowd. Raised a Christian in Texas for his young childhood, religion has stuck with him, in varying amounts of focus, for most of his life. His four years of high school in California were the worst of his life. A few years of bad friendship has hardened him against personal relationships. He uses his generally upbeat personality to mask how he feels underneath. Ever since his Father died during a bombing of their small town, he hasn't cried. When around others, he finds it very hard to show any emotions, not just fear or sadness, but happiness too. He hardly ever uses curse words, and never says f*ck, more out of habit than from religious ideals, and is generally very kind to others.

===Bio===
His family moved to California in 2016, his freshman year of high school, so that his dad could go to seminary there. Even before he caught the torch, and later TFOR, he was an outsider. Picked on by everyone, his friends turned into fiends in his junior year. That year was also when he caught BlowTorch Fever. Quick medical attention, and well trained staff were all that saved his life. Well, that and God, if his dad is to be believed. His senior year was better, at least until graduation. In June of 2020, his first phase shift happened as he was walking on stage to receive his diploma. Sinking through the floor in front of your entire senior class and their parents is a sure way to become ostracized. In order to avoid unwanted questions and reputations, his family moved back to Texas, settling in a small town just above Amarillo.

His dad got a job as a guard at the Pantex facility, and his mom started working as a temp secretary.
Everything was going great until 10:22 on the 12 of November, 2020. That was when the first bomb hit. There were many wounded, and almost no deaths, but one of the victims was Allan's father. It's unknown what the bombs were targeting, or who exactly was responsible, though the Rangers believe that it may have been meant for the Pantex facility. They hope that no one is that stupid, as nuclear weapons are serious business and any attack on or with them could start a new war.

After spending two years helping to rebuild the town, as well as finishing most of his college education, Allan joins the Rangers in October of 2022 in hopes of finding the party responsible. Rather than join the main armed forces, he works with the intelligence department. Finally finding a use for his computer skills. It also helps that he can walk through most walls. He spends a long time chasing ghosts. It's not until 2032 that he actually finds any concrete leads to the bombing incident, which lead him right into the NAR, to a place called Polyton county.

===Appears In===
* [[Rebuilding]]
* [[The Fool in the Fox]]

==Jonas Balfour==
Johannes Reynard Belford

===Stats===
*Age at onset of TFOR: 16. Jonas refuses to talk about his life before TFOR and if asked about his current age he will only respond with the length of time he’s been a teefer.
*Date at onset of TFOR: December of 2029
*Length: 1 meter (3ft. Tail makes up half of this.)
*Weight: 5.7kg (~12.6 pounds)

====Powers====
*Ages extremely slowly. Jonas ages one year for every 16 that pass, a result of his body "synchronyzing" with a normal human lifespan.
*Pending
===Description===
As a fullmorph red fox, his appearance is typical of the species. Fur colouration is a light orange except on his belly, under the chin, and the tip of his tail where it is white. Unlike a normal fox, the fur around his lower legs/paws and the tips of his ears is a light brown rather than black, a remnant of his former hair colour. Eyes are green and he wears specially made glasses to compensate for the natural short-sightedness of his species. His clothing preferences lean towards the ironic, with his favoured design being a paw print motif. Wears a dog collar with a bone-shaped nametag, the front of which only has his name, but his address and emergency contact information are on the back. Chest is not as deep as on a normal fox, and his joints are slightly more flexible. The only parts of his body that are not fully vulpine are his forepaws, which are just flexible enough to be used as hands (though he lacks thumbs) and his throat, allowing him to speak, but he loses this ability whenever he is in a heightened emotional state, including raised/lowered heartbeat or an adrenaline rush. Technically speaking, Jonas ''is'' capable of walking bipedal - he just doesn't unless it seems necessary and as a result most people are unaware he can.
===Personality===
His mind is heavily influenced by animal traits that, coupled with his sensitivity about his size, makes him very timid, but Jonas tries to overcome this by projecting a laid-back and casual personality. Jonas is socially passive but warm and amiable if approached. His preferred self-image is of an untroubled friend to all, and he attempts to further this as much as possible. Inwardly, he retains part of his ego from when he was human and suffers a suppressed sense of inferiority over the limitations of being a fullmorph - though he absolutely refuses to aknowledge these feelings.
===Bio===
===Appears In===
* [[The Fool in the Fox]]
* [[The Strength in the Shark]]
* [[The Tower in the Torch]]

==Taylor Miles==
Taylor Church Miles

''Side note: Taylor was named after the Halo 3: ODST video game [http://www.halo.wikia.com/Taylor_Miles character of the same name]. By sheer coincidence, Miles is the same last name of [http://www.assassinscreed.wikia.com/Desmond_Miles Desmond Miles], protagonist of the Assassin's Creed video game and descendent of Altair Ibn-La'Ahad, the famed Assassin in the game. This means that Taylor is another descendent of Altair. What a strange coincidence.''

===Statistics===
*Age at onset of TFOR: 17 (November 2021)
*TFOR Type: Gray Wolf
*Height: 175 cm
*Weight: 63 kg
*Born: 7 July, 2004 in Kirkland, Washington
*HRM Enlistment Date: 25 July, 2018
:*Service Number: [classified]
*HRM Resignation Date: 24 November 2021
====Powers====
*Manipulation of small objects. Taylor is able to accelerate or manipulate the flight path of projectiles such as rounds or the throwing knives he prefers. The projectile affected also heats up a great deal, effectively increasing its damage capabilities.
:*However, this only works under conditions of extreme concentration, and takes a lot out of him, even if he doesn't notice it then.

===Description===
Taylor Miles maintains an appearance similar to that of the average teenager. However, he has a gaze that most find disconcerting or even unnerving, as thoughhe constantly wears a very guarded expression, his eyes are by far the most expressive part of him. What makes them unnerving is the way he looks at people: usually wary, dark, and cold, and they stand out from his otherwise average appearance. He wears a hooded sweatshirt, or hoodie, and jeans, both in dark colors. The hood is usually pulled low over his eyes, so as to mask his identity and prevent people from recognizing him should he be exposed. When confronted, Taylor acts like any teenager would: his youth is his ultimate disguise, the trick up his sleeve that reduces suspicion. Thus, Taylor usually escapes suspicion directly following an assassination. Even after his resignation from the Human Resistance Movement, Taylor continues to dress in this attire, which has become a habit.
Taylor is quiet most of the time, preferring to keep his opinions to himself, and would rather watch from the sidelines and gather information from conversations he is privvy to. His presence is unobtrusive, leading people to fail to notice him actually being there, which is a useful skill to the nature of his objectives.
====Equipment====
Having been an assassin for the HRM, Taylor has carried out various hits mainly on pro-teefer activists within North America. When he was part of the HRM, he had access to all the equipment they had, though he prefers old-school blades and knives as compared to conventional firearms. This doesn't mean that he refuses to hold a gun; he does know the advantages of having a semi-automatic firearm. Though young, Taylor is heavily armed for each mission. Concealed within his hoodie is his field equipment, consisting of a combat knife, a silenced handgun and an ancient[http://www.assassinscreed.wikia.com/Hidden_Blade hidden blade] which he repaired and utilised. The combat knife was the only thing Taylor has left of his parents after their deaths, and he treasures it greatly. This is the main reason why he prefers knives, though the reason he maintains is that knives are far more elegant than firearms, being both silent and lethal.

===Personality===
Taylor isn't one to tell others his problems. A hard life since childhood has left him dark and cynical and tempered his otherwise rash personality, leaving him far more mature than most his age. Even in times of crisis and stress, he has learnt the art of keeping perfectly, impeccably cool, and he is calm in nearly any situation. As a result of years of hardship, he rarely expresses emotion, having much experience in controlling them, and the only ones escaping him are the strongest. And as a result of relentless training in the HRM and secondary training (both physical and psychological) to be an assassin, Taylor is analytical, calm, logical, and yet a little ruthless. Deceptive and manipulative at times, he is capable of tricking information out of other people, often without their conscious knowledge.

When preparing for a mission Taylor very emotionally detached, willing to do whatever it takes to further his cause. He believes strongly that one life is not a high price to pay for a worth cause. Careful to wrap up loose ends, he makes sure to silence anyone that might jeopardize the mission before executing it. Before missions Taylor ensures that he receives all the intel he requires on the hit, making it a point to recon the place at least twice before the actual attack. Despite his occupation as a career assassin, Taylor has constantly upheld his morals, feeling that what he does is "for the cause" and justifiable, believing that teefers are not people. He has, quite ruthlessly, killed teefers before (though no mass killings, only those who would jeopardize his aims, like those who might expose him), and feels little for it until he actually becomes a teefer and begins to understand that they are people as well. After he quits the HRM, Taylor sees the way he has taken the lives of teefers as his greatest mistake and regret. Having learnt that he had been betraying his own morals all along, Taylor harbours a deep-seated resentment for the organization that deceived him into doing so.

All his life Taylor had been brought up as part of the HRM to distrust teefers, though he never expresses this directly as a human. Displaying anti-teefer sentiments would blow his cover and draw suspicion to him, something that he was trained to prevent. When he TFORed, and learnt the truth about his parents' death, he felt deeply betrayed, and this emotional betrayal has taught him not to trust others again, making Taylor a difficult person to befriend even after he quit the HRM. Secretly Taylor needs somebody to depend on emotionally, but he refuses to acknowledge this, having learnt the hard way not to trust anybody.

===Bio===
'''WARNING! SPOILERS FOR''' ''PRICE IN BLOOD'' '''BELOW!'''

When Taylor was aged ten, he and his parents got caught in the crossfire between teefers and human activists. While Taylor survived unscathed, his parents were killed, orphaning him in the process. He was taken in by a Human Resistance Movement splinter cell (calling themselves the HRM Texas Cell) and was convinced that the teefers had killed his parents. Seeking revenge, he was applied to be trained for combat, and when he entered into training, he was the best and most promising cadet. Despite his young age, he entered into the HRM's academic learning systems, eventually mastering college-level studies, which marked the end of his academic life.

After graduating from three years of HRM military training, Taylor was handpicked to be a assassin, in order to take out key members of the pro-teefer community. As a result of repeated successes, he grew to be a respected and feared member of the HRM, despite his age. On a mission, specifically the Ambrose assassination, he catches the Torch midway and fails spectacularly, eventually ending up taken in by a sympathetic Allan. Initially hostile towards Allan, Taylor is slowly convinced that what he believed was wrong, he ends up turning against the HRM and working against it, resenting the way he was deceived.

'''SPOILERS END HERE.'''
===Appears In===
[[User:WolfyDrake95/Price in Blood|Price in Blood]] (WIP)

The Tower in the Torch

2009-08-25T15:30:46Z

Lloyd Brunnel: First chunk, no ETA on the next part

==''December 19th, 2027, 18:21''=={{WIP}} {{Universe|Pig and Whistle}}{{byline|user=Lloyd Brunnel|author=Lloyd}}

I leaned forwards over my desk, examining the strange object in my hands. It was an early Christmas present from Dad: one of the new prototypes his company had come up with. He would sometimes bring one home from work and let me fiddle with it; I’d try and figure out what it was and, on rare occasion, try to improve it. Ostensibly it was market research—if someone could figure the product out without needing to be told it meant that it was more accessible to the consumer—but we both knew it was because I loved to tinker with things and that—as much as he would go on about ‘finding your own path’—Dad was more than happy encouraging me to follow in his footsteps as an inventor. Not that I needed much persuasion.

The prototype I had been given this time was one of the weirdest I had ever seen. It was a strap of leather with a series of Plexiglas bubbles on the end. Guessing from the drawstring, this was supposed to be wrapped around part of the body, but it was too long to be for an arm and too short to go around the waist.

I was feeling lightheaded so I rubbed my forehead to clear my thoughts. The cold must be messing with me—I’d been feeling off all day and the dizzy spells weren’t helping any. Grabbing a sweater from my dresser I returned to my desk and re-examined the leather strap. I could easily imagine it as some kind of belt, but that didn’t make much sense—Albion wasn’t about weird fashion accessories, it made teefer adapted technology.

A light bulb went off in my head as the obvious solution came into focus. The strap was a TAT, which meant that I would know what it was if I figured out which species morph it was meant to help. I flipped the strap over and examined the three slit openings beneath where the glass bubbles were on the other side. Gills came to mind, maybe this was meant to go around the user’s neck? I tried tying it around my own neck—it seemed to fit and the bubbles were where a teefer’s gills would be, though I had some trouble tightening it without choking myself. So I knew where it went—around the neck of a fish morph—but not what it did. The openings ruled out some type of ballast tank or swim-bladder substitute, but maybe the bubbles had to be filled with something…

I grinned as the answer came to me—water, obviously! I ran to the bathroom and opened one of the bubbles to fill it with water in order to test my theory. As I closed the bubbles and retied it around my neck and chill ran down my spine as the water began to seep through the openings onto my skin. It was a gradual, but small flow—there must be a pressure seal inside the leather itself to control the release rate. I untied the strap and headed back to my desk. Now that I knew what it was, it was time to start fiddling—my favorite part. I took out my tools and went to work.

Ten minutes later I leaned back in my chair, smiling at the finished product. I was a little disappointed that there wasn’t much I could change about the strap other than replacing the drawstring with a clasp, but it still felt good to be able to improve something Dad’s R&D department came up with.

A light from the window caught my eye and I looked out through the frosted glass over the yard. Christmas lights had just flickered on across the trees—probably Sam’s doing. I grinned at the thought; my sister may have been three years my senior but she was the youngest at heart and would make it her personal mission each year to decorate the house for the holidays. After admiring the coloured display my thoughts returned to the TAT lying on my desk. I grabbed the strap and ran downstairs to show off what I had done.

Dad was in his office—or rather, his workshop. Scraps of paper lined the room and the floor was covered with discarded blueprints, cables, and various bits of failed inventions. Mom always nagged him about the mess but he never listened. “Albion wasn’t founded on brooms and mops.” He’d say, and I was inclined to agree; clutter sparked the creative mind more than cleanliness.

For once, Dad wasn’t pouring over his workbench when I entered—he was at the desk doing paperwork.

“Ah, Johannes,” he beamed as I stepped over some loose cables, “out of your room so soon? Don’t tell me you’re stumped already.”

I grinned, showing him the strap. “Sorry, not this time. It’s a lubrication device, meant to prevent gills on fish morphs from drying out.”

He chuckled. “And here I was thinking you wouldn’t figure it out until New Year’s. Oh well, it’s the thought that counts.”

I nodded and placed the strap in front of him. Dad immediately picked it up and examined the ends where I replaced the drawstring.

“Clasps?” He inquired.

I nodded again. “The string was good but I almost choked myself trying to tighten it. Besides, knots can get loose over time or become almost impossible to undo. This way the user can tighten it easier and it won’t be hard to undo.”

“Wonderful!” He enthused. “I can’t wait to bring this in to the office. There was a pool going around on whether you’d be able to do anything with this one, and I daresay—Dr. Sauls is going to be out quite the penny.”

He patted me on the head, then frowned. “You’re feeling a bit warm, everything all right?”

I blinked. “Yea, I’m fine. The cold’s just getting to my head.”

“Fair enough.” Dad said, adding, “You may want to go help Samantha set up the rest of the lights by the way; trees are all well and good but your mother would kill us both if she fell off the roof again.”
“Ah, right.” I replied hastily. I ran to the hall closet and threw on my winter jacket, scarf and boots before darting out the door. Sure enough, when I reached the front yard my sister was already leaning the ladder up against the garage door.

“Hey, Sam!” I called out.

She turned, beaming when she saw me. “Oh, Johannes! Let me guess, Mom sent you out to help me?”

“Dad.” I corrected when I reached her.

Sam made a pouting look. “One time! One time I mess up—”

“You fell off the roof for the fifth time in three years.” I interrupted. “You’re not very co-ordinated.”

I held out a hand. “Let me do the lights, you can hold the ladder.”

She sighed. “Fine. But make sure to do it right!”

“Yea, yea.”

Sam gave me the lights and held the base of the ladder as I climbed on to the overhang above the garage. Stringing the lights wasn’t that hard—Sam had stuck holders on the rain ducts a few years back so all I had to do was feed the cable through the little hooks. I had finished setting up about half of them when I started to feel dizzy again. I was also starting to feel hot so I unbuttoned my coat.

“You ok up there?” Sam called from the ground.

“Yea… it’s nothing.” I called back. I was starting to feel weak so I hurried to finish the rest of the lights. As I leaned over to hook in the last one my head suddenly felt like it had caught fire. I dropped the lights and immediately pulled off my scarf but it didn’t help, the heat just continued to build and spread across my body as my vision blurred. Everything lost focus and I keeled over, blacking out as I fell from the roof. The last thing I heard was my sister’s panicked yells.

User:Lloyd Brunnel

2009-08-24T02:42:47Z

Lloyd Brunnel: The Tower in the Torch

Hi, I'm Lloyd, writer and fox, welcoming you to my new and improved user page!

{{DEFAULTSORT: Lloyd Brunnel}} {{author page}}

==About Me==
My [http://winterwolf.co.uk/furcode| FurCode] is FCF4arw A- C- D+ H+ M P+ R- T+++ W++ Z Sm- RLET* a cn+ d e f- h+ i++ j+ p-- sm-

I've always had an interest in anthros and animal TF but I never really paid much attention to it. It was something that sort of "bubled" and would resurge every so often, like my interest in Megaman games. Around 2005 or so I stumbled across the TSA--how I can't remember but I do know that after I had read through it I began looking for more, and Shifti soon appeared on my Google search.

I've been writing for about five years now, though most of that was analytical and essay type-stuff, but I'm trying my paw at short stories and I think I'm making a good start. My TF tastes lean towards the canine/vulpine/feline, and I also like "miscellaneous" transformations. These are mostly obscure inanimate or Xanadu stuff, and I also enjoy mental changes in which the person is unaware of the change itself as it adds a sinister air to the story in my opinion. In my spare time I play ''World of Warcraft'' (Alliance mage, level 80, Thorium Brotherhood server, look up Fenimore if you're in the neighbourhood!), Guild Wars, and various other RPGs with my favorites being the ''Tales'' series. One the non-electronic side of things I collect Yugioh cards (got an awesome spellcaster deck) and I like to read.

Here's a link to [[Lloyd's Favorites|some of my favorite stories on Shifti.]]

==Notes On My Writing==

I recycle names in most of my stories, so don't be suprised to find the same ones poping up as I add more stuff to Shifti. I also procrastinate ''alot'' when writing and have trouble committing to a single story idea, which dramatically inflates the time it takes me to write. Oh, and I tend to mention food more often than would be normal since I usually write while hungry for some reason.

==Shameless Self-Promotion==

[[Lost World]]: Set in the Blind Pig universe for pure laziness reasons (I don't like explaining things) this is a furry => human TF. My thanks to Cubist both for editing, and for publishing it on his anthrozine site.

[[Bureaucracy in Action]]: When a fun-loving force meets a literal-minded object.

[[Convoluted Quality]]: There is something known as the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, a competition to write the worst opening sentence to the worst possible novel. Out of boredom, I made an attempt to write the worst opening sentence to the worst possible TF story. If you think you can do worse, please add to the page.

[[The Fool in the Fox]]: My first foray into the [[Pig and Whistle]] setting introduces [[PAW Timelines/Character Timeline|Jonas]], a fox about to make a very entertaining delivery.

[[The Strength in the Shark]]: This is a follow-up to Zach's Within and Without story (see below). I mainly use this to create a friendship between our two characters and to explore a bit on some of the beliefs people might have regarding fullmorphs.

[[The Tower in the Torch]]: As much as I'd hate to admit it, I don't know as much about Jonas as I'd like to admit since most of my ideas about his personality and behaviour come from what I think he went through upon contracting TFOR. Since I need to finalize him, I've begun writing Jonas's "origin" story. This is going to be the longest story I've written to date, so don't expect a finished product anytime soon.

[[Case Briefing: Leon v. Stewart]]: The main problem with handling teefers came from how to define them in a legal system designed for humans. This case and the subsequent ruling provided the landmark precedent that shaped the NAR's courts.

[[Interview in the Fields]]: Since I lack the stamina to write a full story about the Leon/Stewart lawsuit, I'm going to cheat and instead write about Leon being interviewed about the case twenty years later.

[[PAW Musings]]: Not so much a story as a general list/rant of my various thoughts or questions about the Pig and Whistle setting. Respond to them if you want but this mainly exists so I can get the questions off my chest.
==Stuff by Others==
I did not write anything in this section. In here are stories written by others that I have recieved permission to repost here. Enjoy!

[[Mind Over Matter]]: Arto "FoxOfWar" Mässeli wrote this as part of the Xmas Xchange a while back. He thinks it's good, but his brain seems to disagree. The title is not the one used in the original story, because I can't find out what the original title was.

[[Within and Without]]: My friend Zach Fox has written this PAW story featuring the setting's first shark morph. I think it's good, but I helped edit it so I'm obviously biased. Read it!
==Random Thought==

Fun with ''Corner Gas'': "Enough with the innuendos. Now hand me that big tool so I can mount this thing."

User talk:Lloyd Brunnel

2009-08-23T20:05:54Z

Lloyd Brunnel: I go away for a weekend and look what happens. Thanks for the advice!

== Happy birthday ==

…from an old fogey who is, oh my god, double your age… —[[User:Robotech Master|Robotech Master]] 20:13, 12 June 2009 (UTC)
:…and from an old fogey who is close to double your age… -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 21:29, 12 June 2009 (UTC)
::Thanks! --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd]]

...And a late one from me, who is just about your age.--[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 14:26, 14 June 2009 (UTC)

== Case Brief ==

<span style="color: #006400;">The Google on the Internets has spoken. Here are some case brief how to's that I could find:

[http://www.cjed.com/brief.htm http://www.cjed.com/brief.htm]

[http://www.howtodothings.com/careers/a2850-how-to-write-a-brief-for-law-school.html http://www.howtodothings.com/careers/a2850-how-to-write-a-brief-for-law-school.html]

[http://lawschool.about.com/od/casebriefs/ht/howtocasebriefs.htm http://lawschool.about.com/od/casebriefs/ht/howtocasebriefs.htm]

It seemed to be an interesting idea, I'd hate to see it die before even being born. </span> --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 16:51, 3 July 2009 (UTC)

:Thank you very much. I'll get started right away. --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd]]

==Writing Non-Short Stories==
Hey there, Lloyd, Wolfy here. With regards to your message on TSA-talk about writing short stories...I think I'll try to provide some advice. Instead of thinking of a specific scene, like those in short stories, try working out the befores and the afters. Describe more. Have more conversation. Add a few useful scenes here and there to display the personalities of your characters. Like what [[User:Rabbit|Rabbit]] said, just let the story move with its flow. That always happens to me, and I end up with one huge story. The great thing about writing a long story is that it gives you time to slowly but surely develop each character, flesh out the storyline, and give the story the emotional depth that most short stories cannot get.

The sucky thing is that because they're long, it's going to take a long time. If you have a lot of ideas, you can try working them through one by one. If it's a long story it'll take a long time to write, so be patient. Also like what Rabbit said, don't stop, because if you stop for a day, and then another, and then another...well, you end up not writing anything, and you lose interest. But if you lose interest in the one you're halfway through, don't force yourself to finish it. For me, I just start another one. The interest will return at some point.

Like mentioned earlier, long stories give the writer an opportunity to fully and completely display the personality of his characters. Plan out cool scenes for the story. Write down the storyline somewhere so you don't forget, but don't follow your sketch completely. I spent weeks thinking about the storyline of [[User:WolfyDrake95/Price in Blood|Price in Blood]], and it slowly evolved into the storyline that I'm writing now. Be ready to change the storyline. It's not cast in iron; after all, you are the writer. Forcing yourself to write something you don't like only screws up the story more.

If you're not sure about writing a full story by yourself, get a friend to collab with you. That way, mutual encouragement will make sure you don't lose interest and give up halfway like I did to [[User:WolfyDrake95/Last Man Standing|Last Man Standing]].

But in the end, the most important thing is to have fun. Don't push yourself. ''Relax'', and make sure you ''enjoy'' writing. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 14:19, 22 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|This is some of the best advice I've seen in a while, and it is entirely true of [[Rebuilding]]. I worked out a very rough outline, then just forced myself to start writing it. From there, the words just fell onto the page. Every night I'd spout out more content, and suddenly I had a fairly long story. So long that I had to break it into 2-3 parts. I've kinda fallen off of writing it at the moment, as I head out to college, but I should start back up again soon enough, after my Collab with wolfy is under wraps.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 14:44, 22 August 2009 (UTC)

I've never managed to finish a long piece—writers block always attacks—but the way I wrote what exists of "The Hero Factor" was to just let the ideas flow. But once I reached the part where it was time to start heading for the end of things writers block attacked. So I'd suggest keeping notes and/or a clear plan so that even if writers block does hit you you can continue writing, even if those parts are utter crap. The only other hint I have is to not worry about word-count or length while writing—just keep writing and let the story end where it wants to end. Oddly enough my "only other hint" there is the most important one. If you artificially extend a story it will be visible to a chunk of your audience and if you cut off a story too early that will likely be noticed by the entirety of the audience. -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 16:01, 22 August 2009 (UTC)

:Thanks a bunch for all the advice. Sadly my timing is actually kinda crummy since I have to go away to university soon, but I'm definitely going to get started as soon as I can! --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd Brunnel]] 20:05, 23 August 2009 (UTC)

The Strength in the Shark

2009-08-21T14:20:35Z

Lloyd Brunnel: minor edits. Also removed WIP tag since it just needs fine-tuning at this point.

{{Universe|Pig and Whistle}}{{byline|user=Lloyd Brunnel|author=Lloyd}} {{Critique requested}}
{{author note|This story follows one of the events of [[Within and Without]]. I advise you read it before this piece in order to understand the context.}}
It was an idyllic summer day; the sun was shining, the breeze was light, and the sky was cloudless. I should have been out enjoying the wonderful afternoon, but instead I was inside the Pig and Whistle sitting on a cushion and nursing a grape soda while trying to salvage some shred of self-esteem.

Last night I had run into a giant shark morph, gotten scared, and ran away. The reaction was understandable—I was a fox slightly larger than a housecat, and he was, quite simply, HUGE—almost a foot taller than Scott—but I still felt ashamed when I thought about it. I don’t usually lose control over my instincts like that, but I guess last night I just… slipped up.

“Hey there little guy.” Came a voice, interrupting my self-deprecation. I turned my head and was startled to see the shark morph I had been pounding myself over crouching nearby. Once again I felt the urge to flee but this time I managed to keep myself still.

“It’s alright—I won’t hurt you.” The shark continued, in what I imagined to be the closest thing his resonating voice could get to a soothing tone. I continued to stare and he held out a webbed hand—a gesture I recognized as a way to show animals you don’t mean them harm. Great; first he scares me into my instincts and now he thinks I’m a wild animal. This guy was not good for my self-esteem.

I wanted very much to ignore him, but I had no idea how he would react; and it would be unwise to make conflict with someone eight times my size. Playing along, I approached and gave his hand a curious sniff. No surprise—it smelled like salty fish.

“There we go!” The shark said happily when it became apparent I wasn’t about to run away. “I’m Jimbari by the way, and you’re—” his eyes flicked to my collar, “Jonas, right?”

I nodded absently and he scratched me behind the ear, smiling as I gave a pleased (involuntary) growl. All I had to do was go along with it and he’d probably go away…

“See? I’m not such a bad guy after all—nothing to be scared of.” Jimbari continued. “And I’m sorry if I frightened you the other day.”

I gave another growl of acknowledgement and he grinned even wider—I averted my eyes away from his razor-sharp teeth.

“Thanks man.” He said with a chuckle, “And here—” he added, taking something out of his pocket. “Consider it a peace offering.”

I stared at his outstretched hand. Smack dab in the middle of his palm was a small, bone-shaped, pet treat.

“I. Am. Not. A. Dog!” I barked, my indignation turning into anger.

Jimbari pulled back in surprise. “Ack!—you can talk?”

“Yes!” I snapped.

“I didn’t think—that is I didn’t… know and—I mean,” He spluttered, blushing a dark grey, “why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“Because I thought playing along would make you go away.”

“I just—” Jimbari began, but I cut him off.

“You just what? Thought that since I looked like an animal I didn’t have a mind?” I shouted, my anger rising. “It’s bad enough that I lost control over my instincts but I do '''NOT''' need someone like you making it worse by patronizing me like a common house pet!”

I fell silent; continuing to berate him would just increase the risk of losing my voice. Besides, we were starting to attract stares.

Jimbari hung his head, thoroughly embarrassed. An awkward silence passed.

“I’m sorry.” He said at last. “I’ve never really met a fullmorph before and people say they got all the instincts and I dunno… I just sort of didn’t think it through.”

“No, you certainly didn’t.” I replied coolly.

“I guess I was just so focused on what you thought of me that I didn’t think about what I thought of you.”

I looked at him quizzically. “What I… thought of you?”

He nodded {{add|dejectedly}}. “Strangers get scared when they see me—can’t blame them I guess, looking how I do, but it sucks. You’re the tenth person I’ve freaked out this week and I just couldn’t handle someone else thinking I’m a monster.”

I sighed, it was getting harder and harder to stay mad at this guy. “It’s alright; I guess we both messed up.”

Jimbari looked up at me. “Really?”

“Really. I get a little… sensitive about my instincts sometimes. I shouldn’t have blamed you for my loss of self-control.”

He gave another smile—this time one of relief. “Thanks man. And I am sorry for treating you like an animal.”

I nodded. “And I’m sorry for venting at you. Just… be more careful in the future, ok?”

The shark got to his feet. “Definitely. I’ll see you around I guess?”

“Sure.”

Jimbari gave a small wave goodbye and headed for the door. I went back to my pillow and soda. He seemed nice enough, I guess, and I felt a bit embarrassed for yelling at him.

[[Category:Pig and Whistle|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Lloyd Brunnel|Strength in the Shark, The]] {{fiction}} [[Category:Story|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Fox|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Animal|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Aquatic|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Anthropomorphic|Strength in the Shark, The]]

Talk:The Strength in the Shark

2009-08-21T14:18:44Z

Lloyd Brunnel:

Although it's finished, this story feels a bit "rushed" to me. Does anyone have a suggestion on how I could pace it better? [[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd Brunnel]] 12:52, 18 August 2009 (UTC)

: Hmm... it might be a bit more fundamental. Stories I write usually have a conflict or problem set up at the beginning which is resolved at the end. If the problem is not resolved, the story doesn't feel "complete". In this case, you have the fox sitting at the bar, a shark comes up, apologizes, and leaves. The only initial problem is MAYBE a bit of fear of the shark, and that doesn't even occur until about a third of the way through due to the brevity. Maybe have a new beginning with the POV character grumbling in his mind about the shark that mistook him, about how he hates that, he's angry, but what are you going to say to a shark? Then said shark comes in, apologies, tension/conflict set up at the beginning is resolved. [[User:Michael Bard|Michael Bard]] 21:15, 18 August 2009 (EDT)

:I think you misread the part of Within and Without that this story refers to. Jonas literally ran into Jimbari and ran away, there was no mistaking things until the start of this story. --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd]] 12:19, 19 August 2009 (UTC)

== Critic Notices ==

For those critiquing this piece, please pay attention to the first section before Jimbari appears, as I am unsure of how well I establish Jonas's frame of mind. I'd also appreciate any help with an ending, since I can't come up with one =( --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd Brunnel]] 19:12, 19 August 2009 (UTC)

:Well...the second paragraph seems kind of abrupt, and it feels stilted, unconnected to the rest of the story. Maybe a short sentence between, like, "Yeah, I'm not exactly brimming with it." That might link the two paragraphs better.
:As for Jonas' state of mind...I think you've established it pretty well. He seems resentful at losing control to his instincts, ashamed, perhaps. This seems to demonstrate how Jonas was touchy about being a fullmorph. However, he seems to get really pissed at Jimbari, even though it was written in the PaW Character List that Jonas was a shy but friendly guy. "Shy" doesn't fit into his reaction; neither does "friendly". Frankly speaking, I imagined Jonas to be a friendly, cheerful guy, pretty much from how he took the Asplosion of the cake so lightly. His reaction to Jimbari seems to conflict with that idea.
:Maybe you're trying to show how Jonas was touchy about being a fullmorph. If so, that's okay. But the events before Jonas' outburst seem strange: first he has "a very strong desire to yell at him for his ignorance", later he gave "a pleased growl", after that he finally gets pissed. I'm not sure if the pleased growl part was supposed to be Jonas' instincts, but if so, you should mention that. Else, you should change it. I think it'd be better if you described how Jonas was at first a little intimidated, then annoyed, then angry (or some other slow increase in anger or something). That way the reader can follow.
:For an ending, how about you have someone, like Allan, for example, walk over, scritch Jonas behind the ears and say, "Seriously, though, you really are like a cuddly/fluffy/cute/some-other-amusing-term litle animal. Though you scare me when you yell like that." That way it'd be funny. :)
:On the overall, this is a pretty good story. Great work! —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 11:35, 20 August 2009 (UTC)

Your story opens abruptly and dumps the characters on the reader. This is not a bad thing, but in this case you have made an assumption that the readers know Jonas. A solution to this might be to use a series-bar or a story-info box to link the various Jonas stories together. That is, however, a very heavyweight solution and a simpler one would be an authors-note that this story follows on from the events in "Within and Without".

At the start of your third paragraph you mention "self-depreciation"—did you mean "self-deprecation" (in which case it would work, but I have never heard the term in that tense)? I ask because "depreciation" is something that happens to value but I have never heard it applied to self-worth, just monetary values.

After several reads through it finally comes to me that paragraphs 3 and 4 are actually a single paragraph that was, apparently, split badly. They are split by a line of dialog and it would be better to move the dialog to the start of paragraph 4. This keeps the interruption and the action it causes together and maintains the flow of the narrative better.

The fifth paragraph (starting "I had a very strong desire to yell") marks a change to a passive voice. Since you are using an active voice both before that paragraph and afterwards it breaks the narrative flow. This is caused because the passive voice is a lot slower—it makes the narrative seem to slow down which is not good for a short-story.

However the shouting and ensuing dialog are very well executed. While Jonas' outburst feels really out-of-character for him, it does highlight just how badly the events of "Within and Without" bothered him, as well as how badly the assumptions of Jimbari bothered him. That works in the stories favor as it makes the character "pop off the page". The same for Jimbari—in "Within and Without" he feels really boisterous and outgoing but here he's kinda quiet and conciliatory after Jonas' outburst. That really meek feeling apology and his whole response to the situation gives the character depth he doesn't otherwise have.

All in all, nice work!
:-- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 16:27, 20 August 2009 (UTC)

:Thank you very much, Shadow and Wolfy for your critiques. One last question before I do the actual editing though: Is there any better way I can explain Jonas's outburst? One of the main purposes of this story is to show parts of his personality (in this case, sensitivity over being a fullmorph) that he'd prefer to keep hidden, and I'm not sure that came across very well. --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd Brunnel]] 17:43, 20 August 2009 (UTC)

::The most minor of changes have made major differences. However, you still have a point where you fall back to a passive voice. It took me two read-throughs to catch it this time, so it isn't something that must, absolutely, be fixed. All in all I think you've got things working better and this story captures the scene being presented perfectly.

::Otherwise... I think the dialog is well done and very much fits with the characters and their emotions. Though it might be good if you could work on making Jimbari have a bit more of the "depressed/angry" edge. I have a very good relationship with depression and can usually spot it in others easily because of that but Jimbari doesn't seem to be all that depressed over how many people he's freaked out. Dialog is not something I am good at ([[User:Cubist|Cubist]] rewrote much of the dialog in the stories he's edited for me and brought the right kind of feel to it because of that. I'd suggest contacting him or [[User:Michael Bard|Bard]] for good help with dialog.

:::--[[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]]

:::I'll probably have to consult with Zach on Jimbari's dialogue, since he's his character after all, but I wrote this thinking Jimbari was the type to get demoralized rather than upset or depressed. Does that make any sense? --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd Brunnel]] 14:18, 21 August 2009 (UTC)

The Strength in the Shark

2009-08-20T20:05:03Z

Lloyd Brunnel: Some more edits. Still trying to work on the pacing. Also added author's note.

{{Universe|Pig and Whistle}}{{byline|user=Lloyd Brunnel|author=Lloyd}} {{WIP}} {{Critique requested}}
{{author note|This story follows one of the events of [[Within and Without]]. I advise you read it before this piece in order to understand the context.}}
It was an idyllic summer day; the sun was shining, the breeze was light, and the sky was cloudless. I should have been out enjoying the wonderful afternoon, but instead I was inside the Pig and Whistle sitting on a cushion and nursing a grape soda while trying to salvage some shred of self-esteem.

Last night I had run into a giant shark morph, gotten scared, and ran away. The reaction was understandable—I was a fox slightly larger than a housecat, and he was, quite simply, HUGE—almost a foot taller than Scott—but I still felt ashamed when I thought about it. I don’t usually lose control over my instincts like that, but I guess last night I just… slipped up.

{{add|“Hey there little guy.” Came a voice, interrupting my self-deprecation.}} I turned my head and was startled to see the shark morph I had been pounding myself over crouching nearby. {{add|Once again I felt the urge to flee but this time I managed to keep myself still.}}

“It’s alright—I won’t hurt you.” The shark continued, in what I imagined to be the closest thing his resonating voice could get to a soothing tone. I continued to stare and he held out a webbed hand—a gesture I recognized as a way to show animals you don’t mean them harm. Great; first he scares me into my instincts and now he thinks I’m a wild animal. This guy was not good for my self-esteem.

{{add|I wanted very much to ignore him, but I had no idea how he would react; and it would be unwise to make conflict with someone eight times my size.}} Playing along, I approached and gave his hand a curious sniff. No surprise—it smelled like salty fish.

“There we go!” The shark said happily when it became apparent I wasn’t about to run away. “I’m Jimbari by the way, and you’re—” his eyes flicked to my collar, “Jonas, right?”

I nodded absently and he scratched me behind the ear, smiling as I gave a pleased {{add|(involuntary)}} growl. All I had to do was go along with it and he’d probably go away…

“See? I’m not such a bad guy after all—nothing to be scared of.” Jimbari continued. “And I’m sorry if I frightened you the other day.”

I gave another growl of acknowledgement and he grinned even wider—I averted my eyes away from his razor-sharp teeth.

“Thanks man.” He said with a chuckle, “And here—” he added, taking something out of his pocket. “Consider it a peace offering.”

I stared at his outstretched hand. Smack dab in the middle of his palm was a small, bone-shaped, pet treat.

“I. Am. Not. A. Dog!” I barked, {{add|my indignation turning into anger.}}

Jimbari pulled back in surprise. “Ack!—you can talk?”

“Yes!” I snapped.

“I didn’t think—that is I didn’t… know and—I mean,” He spluttered, blushing a dark grey, “why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“Because I thought playing along would make you go away.”

“I just—” Jimbari began, but I cut him off.

“You just what? Thought that since I looked like an animal I didn’t have a mind?” I shouted, my anger rising. “It’s bad enough that I lost control over my instincts but I do '''NOT''' need someone like you making it worse by patronizing me like a common house pet!”

I fell silent; continuing to berate him would just increase the risk of losing my voice. Besides, we were starting to attract stares.

Jimbari hung his head, thoroughly embarrassed. An awkward silence passed.

“I’m sorry.” He said at last. “I’ve never really met a fullmorph before and people say they got all the instincts and I dunno… I just sort of didn’t think it through.”

“No, you certainly didn’t.” I replied coolly.

“I guess I was just so focused on what you thought of me that I didn’t think about what I thought of you.”

I looked at him quizzically. “What I… thought of you?”

He nodded. “Strangers get scared when they see me—can’t blame them I guess, looking how I do, but it sucks. You’re the tenth person I’ve freaked out this week and I just couldn’t handle someone else thinking I’m a monster.”

I sighed, it was getting harder and harder to stay mad at this guy. “It’s alright; I guess we both messed up.”

Jimbari looked up at me. “Really?”

“Really. I get a little… sensitive about my instincts sometimes. I shouldn’t have blamed you for my loss of self-control.”

He gave another smile—this time one of relief. “Thanks man. And I am sorry for treating you like an animal.”

I nodded. “And I’m sorry for venting at you. Just… be more careful in the future, ok?”

The shark got to his feet. “Definitely. I’ll see you around I guess?”

“Sure.”

Jimbari gave a small wave goodbye and headed for the door. I went back to my pillow and soda. He seemed nice enough, I guess, and I felt a bit embarrassed for yelling at him.

[[Category:Pig and Whistle|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Lloyd Brunnel|Strength in the Shark, The]] {{fiction}} [[Category:Story|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Fox|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Animal|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Aquatic|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Anthropomorphic|Strength in the Shark, The]]

Talk:The Strength in the Shark

2009-08-20T17:43:11Z

Lloyd Brunnel: Ty, but one last question...

The Strength in the Shark

2009-08-19T23:26:31Z

Lloyd Brunnel: edits

{{Universe|Pig and Whistle}}{{byline|user=Lloyd Brunnel|author=Lloyd}} {{WIP}} {{Critique requested}}
It was an idyllic summer day; the sun was shining, the breeze was light, and the sky was cloudless. I should have been out enjoying the wonderful afternoon, but instead I was inside the Pig and Whistle sitting on a cushion and nursing a grape soda while trying to salvage some shred of self-esteem.

Last night I had run into a giant shark morph, gotten scared, and ran away. The reaction was understandable—I was a fox slightly larger than a housecat, and he was, quite simply, HUGE—almost a foot taller than Scott—but I still felt ashamed when I thought about it. I don’t usually lose control over my instincts like that, but I guess last night I just… slipped up.

My self-depreciation was interrupted when a voice called out, “Hey there little guy.”

I turned my head and was surprised to see the shark morph I had been pounding myself over crouching nearby. Was he talking to me?

“It’s alright—I won’t hurt you.” The shark continued, in what I imagined to be the closest thing his resonating voice could get to a soothing tone. I continued to stare and he held out a webbed hand—a gesture I recognized as a way to show animals you don’t mean them harm. Great; first he scares me into my instincts and now he thinks I’m a wild animal. This guy was not good for my self-esteem.

I had a very strong desire to yell at him for his ignorance, but I suppressed the urge and instead I got up and slowly walked over to his outstretched hand—my anger tempered by the fact that it would be unwise to make conflict with someone eight times my size. Playing along, I gave his hand a curious sniff. No surprise—it smelled like salty fish.

“There we go!” The shark said happily when it became apparent I wasn’t about to run away. “I’m Jimbari by the way, and you’re—” his eyes flicked to my collar, “Jonas, right?”

I nodded absently and he scratched me behind the ear, smiling as I gave a pleased growl. All I had to do was go along with it and he’d probably go away… or try to make me his pet.

“See? I’m not such a bad guy after all—nothing to be scared of.” Jimbari continued. “And I’m sorry if I frightened you the other day.”

I gave another growl of acknowledgement and he grinned even wider—I averted my eyes away from his razor-sharp teeth.

“Thanks man.” He said with a chuckle, {{add|“And here—” he added, taking something out of his pocket. “Consider it a peace offering.”}}

{{add|I stared at his outstretched hand. Smack dab in the middle of his palm was a small, bone-shaped, pet treat.}}

Alright, that does it!

“I. Am. Not. A. Dog!” I barked.

Jimbari pulled back in surprise. “Ack!—you can talk?”

“Yes!” I snapped.

“I didn’t think—that is I didn’t… know and—I mean,” He spluttered, blushing a dark grey, “why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“Because I thought playing along would make you go away.”

“I just—” Jimbari began, but I cut him off.

“You just what? Thought that since I looked like an animal I didn’t have a mind?” I shouted, my anger rising. “It’s bad enough that I lost control over my instincts but I do '''NOT''' need someone like you making it worse by patronizing me like a common house pet!”

I fell silent; continuing to berate him would just increase the risk of losing my voice. Besides, we were starting to attract stares.

Jimbari hung his head, thoroughly embarrassed. An awkward silence passed.

“I’m sorry.” He said at last. “I’ve never really met a fullmorph before and people say they got all the instincts and I dunno… I just sort of didn’t think it through.”

“No, you certainly didn’t.” I replied coolly.

“I guess I was just so focused on what you thought of me that I didn’t think about what I thought of you.”

I looked at him quizzically. “What I… thought of you?”

He nodded. “Strangers get scared when they see me—can’t blame them I guess, looking how I do, but it sucks. You’re the tenth person I’ve freaked out this week and I just couldn’t handle someone else thinking I’m a monster.”

I sighed, it was getting harder and harder to stay mad at this guy. “It’s alright; I guess we both messed up.”

Jimbari looked up at me. “Really?”

“Really. {{add|I get a little… sensitive about my instincts sometimes. I shouldn’t have blamed you for my loss of self-control.”}}

He gave another smile—this time one of relief. “Thanks man. And I am sorry for treating you like an animal.”

I nodded. “And I’m sorry for venting at you. Just… be more careful in the future, ok?”

The shark got to his feet. “Definitely. I’ll see you around I guess?”

“Sure.”

Jimbari gave a small wave goodbye and headed for the door. I went back to my pillow and soda. He seemed nice enough, I guess, and I felt a bit embarrassed for yelling at him.

[[Category:Pig and Whistle|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Lloyd Brunnel|Strength in the Shark, The]] {{fiction}} [[Category:Story|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Fox|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Animal|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Aquatic|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Anthropomorphic|Strength in the Shark, The]]

The Fool in the Fox

2009-08-19T19:24:46Z

Lloyd Brunnel: Retcon!

{{Universe|Pig and Whistle}}{{byline|user=Lloyd Brunnel|author=Lloyd}}
A cool breeze wafted through the entrance of my den. The crisp morning air tickled my muzzle and my nose twitched at the scents of fresh fruit and flowers being brought in from the nearby garden, waking me from my sleep. I yawned, got to my feet, and stretched to get some kinks out of my legs and tail. Yes, that's right. ''Tail''.

Perhaps an explanation is in order… My name is Jonas Balfour and I’m a teefer, one of the thirty-percent or so of people who experienced the side effect known as Transformative Failure of… drat. I can never remember the full name of the acronym but I think the word “octoplasmic” fits in somewhere. Anyway, my case of TFOR was a bit high degree compared to most; I’m what’s known as a fullmorph, someone who has been changed almost completely into an animal. In my case I’m now a member of vulpes vulpes, or red fox for the layman. Sure I’ve got some lingering pieces of human in me—mostly in my throat, letting me talk (albeit with a much higher voice) — but for the most part I’m a fox, complete with fur, tail, muzzle… you get the idea.

Once I finished stretching I opened the trunk I kept in a sort of “side pocket” and picked out what I was going to wear for the day. While my fur covered me enough to make modesty a moot issue, I still didn’t like the idea of going uncovered in public. While most fullmorphs who could wore a pair of pants or shorts in public, I preferred to go for a complete outfit. I decided on a pair of light shorts and a vest with a paw print design on it, my favored clothing motif. I also put on my collar— but not for appearances, it was a legitimate necessity. While the front of the bone-shaped tag attached to the nylon collar just had my name, on the back was my emergency contact information in case something ever happened. This was the only way to ensure I had the info on me at all times since I didn’t always have access to pockets and, when I did, wallets and ID cards tended to fall out. It took me a minute to put the thing on though, while TFOR had left me with forepaws just dexterous enough to be used as hands, it didn’t leave me any thumbs. Fortunately, I didn’t have any problems with my glasses; I just slipped the custom frames over my peaked ears and climbed out of the den.

The yard was empty when I exited my home—this was admittedly expected since Flynn, the person who owned the actual house, only tended to it in the afternoon. My arrangement with Flynn was a sensible—if unusual—one: he lets me live in the backyard and in exchange I help out from time to time with bills and whatnot, plus my presence keeps rabbits and other such creatures away from his garden. I shook some dirt off my paws before I entered the house through the back door.

Flynn wasn’t in the kitchen when I entered, but there was a plate on the table at my normal spot. I hopped up and took a look; there was a sandwich on the plate and next to it a note which read:

''Took you long enough to wake up, I could swear TFOR left some cat in you.''

I rolled my eyes at the familiar joke before continuing to read.

''I’ve left you a turkey sandwich since I doubt you’ll have time to get your own breakfast. You’re late for work by the way.
''~Flynn''

Late for work? I glanced over at the clock and gave an alarmed yelp when I saw the time; it was almost 9:30! I scooped up the sandwich in my muzzle before hopping off the table and dashing out the front door.

My race to work reminded me once again of a benefit to being a fox—a 30mp/h land speed that made traffic a moot issue. I grinned inwardly to myself as I dashed past a gridlocked traffic light; suckers! A hacking cough put a stop to my gloating—the commuters’ revenge for my smugness. Even with the hybrids that everyone was driving, exhaust still stank as much as it ever did, and with my senses letting me smell every individual bit of refuse that meant a choking miasma so strong I could literally taste it.

I managed to arrive at work only thirty minutes late, bursting through the pet door at the front of the Twin Bells Bakery and practically skidding to a halt in front of Melanie Dia, my boss. Still panting from the run, I tried to apologize for being late but all that came out was a series of low barks and growls.

Ms. Dia looked down at me and raised an eyebrow. “I take it that means ‘I’m sorry and it won’t happen again’?”

I nodded eagerly, trying to calm myself down. It was one of the more unusual quirks of my change, but because of the way my vocal chords are set up it becomes impossible for me to talk whenever I’m in a heightened emotional state, including raised/lowered heartbeats or an adrenaline rush.

It was at this point a customer entered the store and so Ms. Dia went behind the counter to tend to him as I moved to the side and finished regaining my voice. Once that had been accomplished, I quickly fell into my normal work routine.

Most of the time I simply sat in a corner by the counter with my hind foot positioned over a silent alarm trigger in case someone attempted to rob the store—something Ms. Dia was quite strict about even though in the three years I’d worked at the Twin Bells I hadn’t even come close to having to press it. If children came in, I would play the part of a friendly pet while their parents made their purchases free of distraction, and in the event that someone had to wait while their order was made I would strike up a conversation to keep their minds off the time. Occasionally a customer would leave behind their wallet or a credit card, and it would be my job to run after them, and at lunch I dropped by the deli down the street and brought back sandwiches for Ms. Dia and the bakers. In other words, the work was repetitive enough to be routine, but varied enough so that I didn’t go stir crazy.

When 5PM rolled around I was about to head home when Ms. Dia stepped between me and the door.

“Hold on a sec, Jonas. Can I get you to do something for me?”

“Of course.” I replied, looking up at her.

Ms. Dia smiled and tapped the box she was holding. “Fortunately it is. I need you to deliver this to the Pig and Whistle on your way home?”

“That name sounds familiar.”

“It should. It’s a teefer bar attached to that old hotel near the downtown area. Someone ordered this cake for a” – she checked the label on the box – “Mr. Allan Wilson. The bar should be near your apartment building, do you mind?”

"Yes, though that’s never stopped me before now has it?" I joked amicably.

Ms. Dia leaned down so that I could take the box’s handle in my muzzle. After doing so I gave a quick “b’ai” before leaving.

The sidewalks were more crowded in the afternoon than they had been in the morning, so I had to navigate a forest of legs on my way to the bar. I also had to keep my tail ducked as much as possible to prevent anyone from trodding on it carelessly—a consequence of my size that had led to unpleasant incidents in the past involving stiletto heels. While I did know about the Pig and Whistle—it’s impossible to be a teefer living in Polyton without hearing about it—I had never been there. Bars were an effective hazard for me—smoke-filled air that coated my fur, loudmouth patrons that strained my ears, smartass bartenders who’d spike my drink when I tried to order something benign, and drunken louts who though it hi-larious to have fun with the fox that got hammered on half a beer since he has zero tolerance for alcohol. I shuddered at the memory and almost hightailed it back home—until the thought of Melanie’s, “displeasure” as she put it, made me change my mind.

The good thing about looking for a building that’s attached to a hotel is that hotels tend to be highly visible, so finding the Pig and Whistle wasn’t a problem. Neither was finding an entrance either, there was a pet door like the one at the Twin Bells out front—which shouldn’t have come as a surprise; hard to be a successful teefer bar if you can’t even have the appropriate entrances.

There wasn’t any smoke when I entered the Whistle—just a haze of fur, feathers, and alcohol that filled my senses and replaced the odors of the street. It was also quiet, the only sounds being the clinking of a glass and the crunch of sawdust beneath my paws. I stood in front of the door taking in my surroundings. It was unmistakably a bar, but had a sort of cowboy-medieval style to it. I had to hand it to the designer actually, the place was littered with furniture designed to accommodate every imaginable body type but none of it interfered with the Old West-theme that was going on.

Counting the bartender and myself, there were only seven people in the Whistle, which I suppose made sense since at this time most people, like myself, were only just getting off work. No way to tell which one was Allan Wilson though. I growled indignantly to no one in particular; I mean, what kind of person uses a bar as their address?

The answer came to me almost immediately after I had asked, and I would have smacked myself had I been able: a regular, obviously! Which meant that the bartender should know who I was looking for. I made a beeline for the bar and hopped on to a stool, ignoring the tiny steps meant for smaller teefers, and set the cake box down on the counter.

"Heya!" I said warmly as the bull-headed bartender came over to me, “I’m looking for an ‘Allan Wilson’; do you know if he’s here or will be sometime this afternoon?”

The minotaur nodded towards someone over my shoulder. I turned around as followed his gaze and saw a rather spindly-looking human sitting at a booth finishing a drink.

“Ah, thanks.” I said before scooping the box handle back up and dropping down from the stool. I proceeded over to the booth and climbed onto the seat opposite the human, who looked up at me as I once again set the cake box down.

”Allan Wilson?” I asked. The human nodded. “I have a delivery for you from the Twin Bells bakery.”

“Oh?” He said as he pulled the box towards him. Allan looked it over curiously and began trying to pick off the tape holding it together, but wasn’t having much success.

“Here,” I offered, “let me.”

He slid the box back towards me and I extended my claws before ripping through the tape.

'''BOOM'''

The box exploded, and I had barely time to shut my eyes before getting splattered with cake. Raising a forepaw to wipe off my face, I opened my eyes to see the flattened remains of the box as well as the remnants of whatever cake had been inside it—judging from the smell I wagered it involved strawberries. Looking myself over I found that most of my fur was now matted with icing, whipped cream, and cake filling, and that my clothes were almost completely covered.

My ears twitched at a light beeping sound and I looked up at Allan. The human was a different story entirely; he had somehow managed to avoid getting hit at all, even though there was frosting to both sides of him now dripping down the back of the seat. He also appeared to have lost a few inches of height. Upon closer inspection, I realized that he had somehow passed ''through'' the seat itself, and was now partially sunk inside. Unfortunately, when I attempted to ask how he did it I realized that the explosion had shocked my voice away, as what I ended up saying came out as a blunt “Gerf?”

Allan raised an eyebrow as he extricated himself from the seat and I looked away sheepishly—suddenly very grateful that I could no longer blush. After taking a few deep breathes to calm myself I asked, “How did you do that?”

”Oh, just one of TFOR’s little quirks.” Allan replied as he picked one of the cake fragments off the table and tasted it. “Good cake by the way, though next time I’d prefer it in one piece.”

My ears sank. “I had no idea it would do that. If I had known I would never-“

Allan held up a hand to stop me. “It’s all right; no harm, no foul you know? Of course, Gordy might have a different opinion about it.”

He nodded towards the bartender, who was approaching us with a very unhappy look on his face.

“Oh bollocks…”

“Don’t worry.” Allan said, smiling, “I’ll explain it to him. You go wash up.” He pointed towards a door at the far end of the bar.

I didn’t need telling twice; I left the booth and headed for the washroom, trying my best not to drip icing on the floor as I passed the other patrons, each of whom was trying to hold in their laughter with varying degrees of success.

The washroom was varied, to say the least. Roughly a third the size of the bar itself, it had at least a dozen different types of facilities to accommodate various sitting methods—among other things (and without getting unpleasantly specific). I navigated my way towards a series of sinks in the back and climbed inside a large one situated at ground level that doubled as a bathtub—if the shower head and plug were any indicators. After taking off my clothes and putting them aside, I tapped a button with my cream-covered paw and was soon being rinsed by a shower of warm water.

As the icing hadn’t had time to dry, it didn’t take longer than two minutes to wash it all out of my fur. I stepped out of the sink/tub and moved under an adjacent dryer, again button operated. This was the part I always hated; as the hot air dried my fur it also puffed it up, which made me look like a mutant stuffed animal. Putting my vest, shorts, and glasses back on, I made a futile attempt to press my fur down before heading back to the bar.

I arrived back at the booth in time to catch the back end of a conversation between Allan and Gordy, who were both standing next to, and facing, the seats.

“…I think I’ve gotten all of it out, will probably have to run it through the wash after hours to be on the safe side. Just what kind of bakery sends someone an exploding cake anyway?”

“The kind that likes money.” I said. The two of them turned around and looked down at me, so I expanded.

“Melanie, the Twin Bells’ owner, she’s willing to fill almost any order if it means the person is likely to return. Plus she can tack on extra fees.” I jerked my head towards the table. “Whoever ordered that one was likely charged for whatever made it blow up, whatever stopped it from going off until it was opened, a ‘modified labour fee’ and anything else Melanie could think of.” I looked up at Allan. “You have some very interesting friends by the way. Not many people would buy such a nice cake just to use it in a prank like this.”

The human looked surprised. “That’s a rather odd compliment coming from someone who just had said cake blow up in their face.”

I shrugged. “I wasn’t the intended target, not the sender’s fault I tried to help you. Besides, don’t sweat the small stuff, right?”

I looked up at Gordy. “I’m real sorry about the mess. If there’s anything I can do-“

Once again I was cut off as the minotaur interrupted me. “Don’t concern yourself, this is mild compared to what happens during peak hours.”

“I’ll say,” said Allan chuckling, “the first time I came here I was so nervous the drinks went right through me; now that was a mess! Besides,” he added, grinning at my fur, “I think your appearance is repayment enough as it is.”

Someone called for Gordy from the bar, and so he left, while Allan sat back down to finish what remained of his drink. I decided it was time to go home, I was tired and my clothes had to be washed; but I knew I’d probably be back soon. Maybe bars weren’t so bad after all.
[[Category:Pig and Whistle|Fool in the Fox, The]] [[Category:Lloyd Brunnel|Fool in the Fox, The]] {{fiction}} [[Category:Story|Fool in the Fox, The]] [[Category:Fox|Fool in the Fox, The]] [[Category:Animal|Fool in the Fox, The]]

{{author tag|Lloyd Brunnel}}
{{TF tag
| type=Animal
| degree=full form
| species=Fox
}}
{{fiction}}

PAW Timelines/Character Timeline

2009-08-19T19:24:01Z

Lloyd Brunnel: Retcon!

No reason you should have to do this on your own, CR. How about we collect the character profiles here and simply list the stories each has a role in like in the Paradise setting? -- [[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd]]
==Scott Jameson==
Scott Summers Jameson

===Stats===
*Age at onset of TFOR: 35 (November, 2009)
*Height: 2 meters (about 6'7")
*Weight: 102 kilos (about 225 pounds)

====Powers====
*Age Locked
*"Plasma Toss"
:At the minimum temperature of about 200 degrees fahrenheit he can throw close to 100.
:At the average temperature he uses - about 1200 degrees fahrenheit - he can throw about 20.
:At the maximum temperature of about 5000 degrees fahrenheit he can throw one.
:If he exceeds the above stated numbers he risks falling into a coma and even death.

===Description===
Tall. At two meters tall he towers over most people and his military bearing and toned physique are used to great advantages when he feels the need for it. Overall he looks like someone altered a wolf to stand on two legs and have hands with opposed thumbs. His most distinguishing characteristic is his fur, which is a true black that does not look 'navy' or 'purple' when the light catches it a certain way.

===Personality===
At one time a committed pacifist, Scott's outlook changed when the collapse happened and the world descended into chaos. Not long afterwards he came down with TFOR and his life was saved because he collapsed into a snow-bank in the middle of winter when his temperature spiked.

Because of his pacifist leanings, Scott does not like to resort to violence except when it is absolutely necessary. This has led to numerous tragedies in his life that he keeps trying to atone for. But the NAR's government view him as a natural resource, national treasure and a valuable military resource. That view does not sit well with Scott, so he spends his time in a small city, blending into the scenery and holding down a blue-collar job helping to repair and upgrade the infrastructure damaged and/or destroyed during the collapse.

Scott believes strongly in "The Golden Rule" and strives to treat everyone equally well, because that is how he wishes to be treated. But he was also raised to treat women as though they are the most precious of treasures and he is a perfect gentleman in that regard - almost anachronistically so. He is also a "geek", though he hides it well, and dropped out of college because he got bored with the pace of the professors.

===Bio===
Joined the Pennsylvania Militia in September 2009, not long after the US Federal Government collapsed

Made Sergeant 1/10/2010 and given command of a black-ops group mostly comprised of Teefers called "Havok's Hounds". By the August, 25, 2010 date of the "Greater Pennsylvania Commonwealth" joining the nascent NAR he had gained nearly $2bn CND in bounties (somewhere around 200 of them, none with his actual name) placed by the Canadian Government for his actions in combat. After word of a single bounty of $1bn CDN reached the government of Pennsylvania, he was given a field commission and the rank of first lieutenant. (Note that it was a minor bit of mis-information - no single bounty was ever that large) When the bounties were rescinded and he joined the NAR military he was promoted to Captain and left in charge of his unit.

After becoming a member of the NAR Military he was part of the first major battle on the "New Confederacy", during which three members of his squad were injured and one was killed, when he demanded members of an armored unit of the N.C. Army surrender. The heat-bloom from his response - two balls of plasma at about 2800 degrees C - was recorded by several satellites. Those two balls of plasma completely incinerated the M1 Abrams tank that the N.C. unit was using and destroyed the bodies of the N.C. soldiers. But as a result of that act he spent the next three months in a deep coma.

Currently forced to remain in the NARA Reserves because of the fear the government has of his military skills and TFOR's granted powers. He is "hiding" in Polyton county because he was used and turned into one of the hero's of the nascent NAR. He lives in the hotel next to the bar and spends his days working with Alex Henninger maintaining and repairing the numerous utility lines that run through that part of the NAR.

===Appears In===
* [[PAW Collab|The Great Pig and Whistle Collaboration Project]]
* [[User:ShadowWolf/Death and Rebirth|Death and Rebirth]]
* [[Enter a Wolf]]

==Allan Willson==
Allan Michael Wilson

===Stats===
*Human
*Age at onset of TFOR: 18 (June, 2020)
*Height: 6' 1”
*Weight: 135 lbs
*Birthday: November 10, 2002

====Powers====
*High heart rate. About 110-130 at rest. 130-230 when active.
*"Phase Shifting"
:At densities under 10 g/cm³, he can go through about 10 feet of the material before passing out.
:At densities from 10-20 g/cm³, he can go through about 3-5 feet before passing out, with extreme discomfort.
:He cannot pass through densities greater than 21. That element being Platinum.
:As he passes through a material, his heart rate will go up considerably. If it hits 250, serious bodily harm can occur, such as a heart attack, or a ruptured blood vessel.
:when his heart rate is between 130-200, his chances of accidentally phasing through something are greatly increased.
::[[Wikipedia:List of elements by density]]

===Description===
An average, just out of high school, first years of college, student. The only thing odd about him is his weight. At 135 lbs, he is much lighter than he looks to be. Mostly because of a high metabolism that he had before the onset of TFORs. He isn't necessarily weak, but many years on ADHD medicine has lowered his weight to almost unsafe levels. He is now working out to try and regain weight. A kind of spindly fellow, his legs and arms are long. Sun bleached blond hair, that is just starting to darken underneath, and blue eyes. His pupils are usually abnormally dilated due to his constantly raised heart rate. He lost his lower right leg during the bombing of his town, and thus has a transtibial, or below the knee, prosthetic leg. The foot looks like [http://www.endolite.com/foot_echelon.php this].

His watch works as a heart rate monitor. It starts blinking and beeping at 130bpm, vibrates at 150bpm, and if it ever hits 180bpm, the alarm can be heard over almost anything.

===Personality===
Allan is an atypical nonconformist. He doesn't fit in with any crowd. Raised a Christian in Texas for his young childhood, religion has stuck with him, in varying amounts of focus, for most of his life. His four years of high school in California were the worst of his life. A few years of bad friendship has hardened him against personal relationships. He uses his generally upbeat personality to mask how he feels underneath. Ever since his Father died during a bombing of their small town, he hasn't cried. When around others, he finds it very hard to show any emotions, not just fear or sadness, but happiness too. He hardly ever uses curse words, and never says f*ck, more out of habit than from religious ideals, and is generally very kind to others.

===Bio===
His family moved to California in 2016, his freshman year of high school, so that his dad could go to seminary there. Even before he caught the torch, and later TFOR, he was an outsider. Picked on by everyone, his friends turned into fiends in his junior year. That year was also when he caught BlowTorch Fever. Quick medical attention, and well trained staff were all that saved his life. Well, that and God, if his dad is to be believed. His senior year was better, at least until graduation. In June of 2020, his first phase shift happened as he was walking on stage to receive his diploma. Sinking through the floor in front of your entire senior class and their parents is a sure way to become ostracized. In order to avoid unwanted questions and reputations, his family moved back to Texas, settling in a small town just above Amarillo.

His dad got a job as a guard at the Pantex facility, and his mom started working as a temp secretary.
Everything was going great until 10:22 on the 12 of November, 2020. That was when the first bomb hit. There were many wounded, and almost no deaths, but one of the victims was Allan's father. It's unknown what the bombs were targeting, or who exactly was responsible, though the Rangers believe that it may have been meant for the Pantex facility. They hope that no one is that stupid, as nuclear weapons are serious business and any attack on or with them could start a new war.

After spending two years helping to rebuild the town, as well as finishing most of his college education, Allan joins the Rangers in October of 2022 in hopes of finding the party responsible. Rather than join the main armed forces, he works with the intelligence department. Finally finding a use for his computer skills. It also helps that he can walk through most walls. He spends a long time chasing ghosts. It's not until 2032 that he actually finds any concrete leads to the bombing incident, which lead him right into the NAR, to a place called Polyton county.

===Appears In===
* [[Rebuilding]]
* [[The Fool in the Fox]]

==Jonas Balfour==
Johannes Reynard Belford

===Stats===
*Age at onset of TFOR: 16. Jonas refuses to talk about his life before TFOR and if asked about his current age he will only respond with the length of time he’s been a teefer.
*Date at onset of TFOR: December of 2029
*Length: 1 meter (3ft. Tail makes up half of this.)
*Weight: 5.7kg (~12.6 pounds)

====Powers====
*Ages extremely slowly. Jonas ages one year for every 16 that pass, a result of his body "synchronyzing" with a normal human lifespan.
*Pending
===Description===
As a fullmorph red fox, his appearance is typical of the species. Fur colouration is a light orange except on his belly, under the chin, and the tip of his tail where it is white. Unlike a normal fox, the fur around his lower legs/paws and the tips of his ears is a light brown rather than black, a remnant of his former hair colour. Eyes are green and he wears specially made glasses to compensate for the natural short-sightedness of his species. His clothing preferences lean towards the ironic, with his favoured design being a paw print motif. Wears a dog collar with a bone-shaped nametag, the front of which only has his name, but his address and emergency contact information are on the back. Chest is not as deep as on a normal fox, and his joints are slightly more flexible. The only parts of his body that are not fully vulpine are his forepaws, which are just flexible enough to be used as hands (though he lacks thumbs) and his throat, allowing him to speak, but he loses this ability whenever he is in a heightened emotional state, including raised/lowered heartbeat or an adrenaline rush. Technically speaking, Jonas ''is'' capable of walking bipedal - he just doesn't unless it seems necessary and as a result most people are unaware he can.
===Personality===
His mind is heavily influenced by animal traits that, coupled with his sensitivity about his size, makes him very timid, but Jonas tries to overcome this by projecting a laid-back and casual personality. Jonas is socially passive but warm and amiable if approached. His preferred self-image is of an untroubled friend to all, and he attempts to further this as much as possible. Inwardly, he retains part of his ego from when he was human and suffers a suppressed sense of inferiority over the limitations of being a fullmorph - though he absolutely refuses to aknowledge these feelings.
===Bio===
The Belfords are one of the wealthiest families in the NAR; this is primarily due to the fact that Johannes Sr. was not only a shrewd investor but also because he founded Albion shortly before the end of the Collapse, a company that is now the NAR's leading producer of teefer-related products and is aiming to launch overseas expansion. Jonas grew up pushing himself to perfection in everything he did in order to follow in his father's footsteps. After contracting TFOR, Jonas fell into a deep depression and ran away after a year. After wandering for several months he eventually settled in Polyton County. Now employed at the Twin Bells bakery, Jonas is content with a simpler life based on comfort rather than the success-driven one he had previously held, and in order to maintain this he keeps his past hidden, though he stays in semi-regular contact with his family - usually through letters - to prevent them from looking for him. He also has access to his family’s resources and is permitted a generous financial allowance, but sees no reason to use either of them.
===Appears In===
* [[The Fool in the Fox]]

==Taylor Miles==
Taylor Church Miles

''Side note: Taylor was named after the Halo 3: ODST video game [http://www.halo.wikia.com/Taylor_Miles character of the same name]. By sheer coincidence, Miles is the same last name of [http://www.assassinscreed.wikia.com/Desmond_Miles Desmond Miles], protagonist of the Assassin's Creed video game and descendent of Altair Ibn-La'Ahad, the famed Assassin in the game. This means that Taylor is another descendent of Altair. What a strange coincidence.''

===Statistics===
*Age at onset of TFOR: 17 (November 2021)
*TFOR Type: Gray Wolf
*Height: 175 cm
*Weight: 63 kg
*Born: 7 July, 2004 in Kirkland, Washington
*HRM Enlistment Date: 25 July, 2018
:*Service Number: [classified]
*HRM Resignation Date: 24 November 2021
====Powers====
*Manipulation of small objects. Taylor is able to accelerate or manipulate the flight path of projectiles such as rounds or the throwing knives he prefers. The projectile affected also heats up a great deal, effectively increasing its damage capabilities.
:*However, this only works under conditions of extreme concentration, and takes a lot out of him, even if he doesn't notice it then.

===Description===
Taylor Miles maintains an appearance similar to that of the average teenager. However, he has a gaze that most find disconcerting or even unnerving, as thoughhe constantly wears a very guarded expression, his eyes are by far the most expressive part of him. What makes them unnerving is the way he looks at people: usually wary, dark, and cold, and they stand out from his otherwise average appearance. He wears a hooded sweatshirt, or hoodie, and jeans, both in dark colors. The hood is usually pulled low over his eyes, so as to mask his identity and prevent people from recognizing him should he be exposed. When confronted, Taylor acts like any teenager would: his youth is his ultimate disguise, the trick up his sleeve that reduces suspicion. Thus, Taylor usually escapes suspicion directly following an assassination. Even after his resignation from the Human Resistance Movement, Taylor continues to dress in this attire, which has become a habit.
Taylor is quiet most of the time, preferring to keep his opinions to himself, and would rather watch from the sidelines and gather information from conversations he is privvy to. His presence is unobtrusive, leading people to fail to notice him actually being there, which is a useful skill to the nature of his objectives.
====Equipment====
Having been an assassin for the HRM, Taylor has carried out various hits mainly on pro-teefer activists within North America. When he was part of the HRM, he had access to all the equipment they had, though he prefers old-school blades and knives as compared to conventional firearms. This doesn't mean that he refuses to hold a gun; he does know the advantages of having a semi-automatic firearm. Though young, Taylor is heavily armed for each mission. Concealed within his hoodie is his field equipment, consisting of a combat knife, a silenced handgun and an ancient[http://www.assassinscreed.wikia.com/Hidden_Blade hidden blade] which he repaired and utilised. The combat knife was the only thing Taylor has left of his parents after their deaths, and he treasures it greatly. This is the main reason why he prefers knives, though the reason he maintains is that knives are far more elegant than firearms, being both silent and lethal.

===Personality===
Taylor isn't one to tell others his problems. A hard life since childhood has left him dark and cynical and tempered his otherwise rash personality, leaving him far more mature than most his age. Even in times of crisis and stress, he has learnt the art of keeping perfectly, impeccably cool, and he is calm in nearly any situation. As a result of years of hardship, he rarely expresses emotion, having much experience in controlling them, and the only ones escaping him are the strongest. And as a result of relentless training in the HRM and secondary training (both physical and psychological) to be an assassin, Taylor is analytical, calm, logical, and yet a little ruthless. Deceptive and manipulative at times, he is capable of tricking information out of other people, often without their conscious knowledge.

When preparing for a mission Taylor very emotionally detached, willing to do whatever it takes to further his cause. He believes strongly that one life is not a high price to pay for a worth cause. Careful to wrap up loose ends, he makes sure to silence anyone that might jeopardize the mission before executing it. Before missions Taylor ensures that he receives all the intel he requires on the hit, making it a point to recon the place at least twice before the actual attack. Despite his occupation as a career assassin, Taylor has constantly upheld his morals, feeling that what he does is "for the cause" and justifiable, believing that teefers are not people. He has, quite ruthlessly, killed teefers before (though no mass killings, only those who would jeopardize his aims, like those who might expose him), and feels little for it until he actually becomes a teefer and begins to understand that they are people as well. After he quits the HRM, Taylor sees the way he has taken the lives of teefers as his greatest mistake and regret. Having learnt that he had been betraying his own morals all along, Taylor harbours a deep-seated resentment for the organization that deceived him into doing so.

All his life Taylor had been brought up as part of the HRM to distrust teefers, though he never expresses this directly as a human. Displaying anti-teefer sentiments would blow his cover and draw suspicion to him, something that he was trained to prevent. When he TFORed, and learnt the truth about his parents' death, he felt deeply betrayed, and this emotional betrayal has taught him not to trust others again, making Taylor a difficult person to befriend even after he quit the HRM. Secretly Taylor needs somebody to depend on emotionally, but he refuses to acknowledge this, having learnt the hard way not to trust anybody.

===Bio===
'''WARNING! SPOILERS FOR''' ''PRICE IN BLOOD'' '''BELOW!'''

When Taylor was aged ten, he and his parents got caught in the crossfire between teefers and human activists. While Taylor survived unscathed, his parents were killed, orphaning him in the process. He was taken in by a Human Resistance Movement splinter cell (calling themselves the HRM Texas Cell) and was convinced that the teefers had killed his parents. Seeking revenge, he was applied to be trained for combat, and when he entered into training, he was the best and most promising cadet. Despite his young age, he entered into the HRM's academic learning systems, eventually mastering college-level studies, which marked the end of his academic life.

After graduating from three years of HRM military training, Taylor was handpicked to be a assassin, in order to take out key members of the pro-teefer community. As a result of repeated successes, he grew to be a respected and feared member of the HRM, despite his age. On a mission, specifically the Ambrose assassination, he catches the Torch midway and fails spectacularly, eventually ending up taken in by a sympathetic Allan. Initially hostile towards Allan, Taylor is slowly convinced that what he believed was wrong, he ends up turning against the HRM and working against it, resenting the way he was deceived.

'''SPOILERS END HERE.'''
===Appears In===
[[User:WolfyDrake95/Price in Blood|Price in Blood]] (WIP)

Talk:The Strength in the Shark

2009-08-19T19:12:23Z

Lloyd Brunnel: /* Critic Notices */ new section

The Strength in the Shark

2009-08-19T19:10:09Z

Lloyd Brunnel: Revised! Also added the bat signal =D

{{Universe|Pig and Whistle}}{{byline|user=Lloyd Brunnel|author=Lloyd}} {{WIP}} {{Critique requested}}
It was an idyllic summer day; the sun was shining, the breeze was light, and the sky was cloudless. I should have been out enjoying the wonderful afternoon, but instead I was inside the Pig and Whistle sitting on a cushion and nursing a grape soda while trying to salvage some shred of self-esteem.

Last night I had run into a giant shark morph, gotten scared, and ran away. The reaction was understandable—I was a fox slightly larger than a housecat, and he was, quite simply, HUGE, almost a foot taller than Scott—but I still felt ashamed when I thought about it. I don’t usually lose control over my instincts like that, but I guess last night I just… slipped up.

My self-depreciation was interrupted when a voice called out, “Hey there little guy.”

I turned my head and was surprised to see the shark morph I had been pounding myself over crouching nearby. Was he talking to me?

“It’s alright—I won’t hurt you.” The shark continued, in what I imagined to be the closest thing his resonating voice could get to a soothing tone. I continued to stare and he held out a webbed hand—a gesture I recognized as a way to show animals you don’t mean them harm. Great; first he scares me into my instincts and now he thinks I’m a wild animal. This guy was not good for my self-esteem.

I had a very strong desire to yell at him for his ignorance, but I suppressed the urge and instead I got up and slowly walked over to his outstretched hand—my anger tempered by the fact that it would be unwise to make conflict with someone eight times my size. Playing along, I gave his hand a curious sniff. No surprise—it smelled like salty fish.

“There we go!” The shark said happily when it became apparent I wasn’t about to run away. “I’m Jimbari by the way, and you’re—” his eyes flicked to my collar, “Jonas, right?”

I nodded absently and he scratched me behind the ear, smiling as I gave a pleased growl. All I had to do was go along with it and he’d probably go away… or try to make me a pet.

“See? I’m not such a bad guy after all—nothing to be scared of.” Jimbari continued. “And I’m sorry if I frightened you the other day.”

I gave another growl of acknowledgement and he grinned even wider—I averted my eyes away from his razor-sharp teeth.

“Thanks man.” He said with a chuckle, motioning towards the window he added, “It’s a great day out, want to go to the park and play fetch or something?”

Alright, that does it!

“I. Am. Not. A. Dog!” I barked.

Jimbari pulled back in surprise. “Ack!—you can talk?”

“Yes!” I snapped.

“I didn’t think—that is I didn’t… know and—I mean,” He spluttered, blushing a dark grey, “why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“Because I thought playing along would make you go away.”

“I just—” Jimbari began, but I cut him off.

“You just what? Thought that since I looked like an animal I didn’t have a mind?” I shouted, my anger rising. “It’s bad enough that I lost control over my instincts but I do '''NOT''' need someone like you making it worse by patronizing me like a common house pet!”

I fell silent; continuing to berate him would just increase the risk of losing my voice. Besides, we were starting to attract stares.

Jimbari hung his head, thoroughly embarrassed. An awkward silence passed.

“I’m sorry.” He said at last. “I’ve never really met a fullmorph before and people say they got all the instincts and I dunno… I just sort of didn’t think it through.”

“No, you certainly didn’t.” I replied coolly.

“I guess I was just so focused on what you thought of me that I didn’t think about what I thought of you.”

I looked at him quizzically. “What I… thought of you?”

He nodded. “Strangers get scared when they see me—can’t blame them I guess, looking how I do, but it sucks. You’re the tenth person I’ve freaked out this week and I just couldn’t handle someone else thinking I’m a monster.”

I sighed, it was getting harder and harder to stay mad at this guy. “It’s alright; I guess we both messed up.”

Jimbari looked up at me. “Really?”

“Really.”

He gave another smile—this time one of relief. “Thanks man. And I am sorry for treating you like an animal.”
I nodded. “And I’m sorry for venting at you. Just… be more careful in the future, ok?”

The shark got to his feet. “Definitely. I’ll see you around I guess?”

“Sure.”

Jimbari gave a small wave goodbye and headed for the door. I went back to my pillow and soda. He seemed nice enough, I guess, and I felt a bit embarrassed for yelling at him.

[[Category:Pig and Whistle|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Lloyd Brunnel|Strength in the Shark, The]] {{fiction}} [[Category:Story|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Fox|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Animal|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Aquatic|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Anthropomorphic|Strength in the Shark, The]]

Talk:The Strength in the Shark

2009-08-18T12:52:03Z

Lloyd Brunnel: Help request

Although it's finished, this story feels a bit "rushed" to me. Does anyone have a suggestion on how I could pace it better? [[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd Brunnel]] 12:52, 18 August 2009 (UTC)

Talk:Within and Without

2009-08-18T12:50:49Z

Lloyd Brunnel:

{{Green|This sounds oddly familiar. Not the plot, or even characters, but the way it's written. It was like reading something I'd written and then forgotten about.

I like the character, as well as the happenings. It may be a "Day in the life" story, but it's a well told one, and it defines the location just that much more. It's the characters that make the setting, so any definite character we have is always great.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 03:24, 18 August 2009 (UTC)

:I will be sure to pass on your compliment. --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd]] 12:50, 18 August 2009 (UTC)

User:Lloyd Brunnel

2009-08-16T20:59:22Z

Lloyd Brunnel:

Hi, I'm Lloyd, writer and fox, welcoming you to my new and improved user page!

{{DEFAULTSORT: Lloyd Brunnel}} {{author page}}

==About Me==
My [http://winterwolf.co.uk/furcode| FurCode] is FCF4arw A- C- D+ H+ M P+ R- T+++ W++ Z Sm- RLET* a cn+ d e f- h+ i++ j+ p-- sm-

I've always had an interest in anthros and animal TF but I never really paid much attention to it. It was something that sort of "bubled" and would resurge every so often, like my interest in Megaman games. Around 2005 or so I stumbled across the TSA--how I can't remember but I do know that after I had read through it I began looking for more, and Shifti soon appeared on my Google search.

I've been writing for about five years now, though most of that was analytical and essay type-stuff, but I'm trying my paw at short stories and I think I'm making a good start. My TF tastes lean towards the canine/vulpine/feline, and I also like "miscellaneous" transformations. These are mostly obscure inanimate or Xanadu stuff, and I also enjoy mental changes in which the person is unaware of the change itself as it adds a sinister air to the story in my opinion. In my spare time I play ''World of Warcraft'' (Alliance mage, level 80, Thorium Brotherhood server, look up Fenimore if you're in the neighbourhood!), Guild Wars, and various other RPGs with my favorites being the ''Tales'' series. One the non-electronic side of things I collect Yugioh cards (got an awesome spellcaster deck) and I like to read.

Here's a link to [[Lloyd's Favorites|some of my favorite stories on Shifti.]]

==Notes On My Writing==

I recycle names in most of my stories, so don't be suprised to find the same ones poping up as I add more stuff to Shifti. I also procrastinate ''alot'' when writing and have trouble committing to a single story idea, which dramatically inflates the time it takes me to write. Oh, and I tend to mention food more often than would be normal since I usually write while hungry for some reason.

==Shameless Self-Promotion==

[[Lost World]]: Set in the Blind Pig universe for pure laziness reasons (I don't like explaining things) this is a furry => human TF. My thanks to Cubist both for editing, and for publishing it on his anthrozine site.

[[Bureaucracy in Action]]: When a fun-loving force meets a literal-minded object.

[[Convoluted Quality]]: There is something known as the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, a competition to write the worst opening sentence to the worst possible novel. Out of boredom, I made an attempt to write the worst opening sentence to the worst possible TF story. If you think you can do worse, please add to the page.

[[The Fool in the Fox]]: My first foray into the [[Pig and Whistle]] setting introduces [[PAW Timelines/Character Timeline|Jonas]], a fox about to make a very entertaining delivery.

[[The Strength in the Shark]]: This is a follow-up to Zach's Within and Without story (see below). I mainly use this to create a friendship between our two characters and to explore a bit on some of the beliefs people might have regarding fullmorphs.

[[Case Briefing: Leon v. Stewart]]: The main problem with handling teefers came from how to define them in a legal system designed for humans. This case and the subsequent ruling provided the landmark precedent that shaped the NAR's courts.

[[Interview in the Fields]]: Since I lack the stamina to write a full story about the Leon/Stewart lawsuit, I'm going to cheat and instead write about Leon being interviewed about the case twenty years later.

[[PAW Musings]]: Not so much a story as a general list/rant of my various thoughts or questions about the Pig and Whistle setting. Respond to them if you want but this mainly exists so I can get the questions off my chest.
==Stuff by Others==
I did not write anything in this section. In here are stories written by others that I have recieved permission to repost here. Enjoy!

[[Mind Over Matter]]: Arto "FoxOfWar" Mässeli wrote this as part of the Xmas Xchange a while back. He thinks it's good, but his brain seems to disagree. The title is not the one used in the original story, because I can't find out what the original title was.

[[Within and Without]]: My friend Zach Fox has written this PAW story featuring the setting's first shark morph. I think it's good, but I helped edit it so I'm obviously biased. Read it!
==Random Thought==

Fun with ''Corner Gas'': "Enough with the innuendos. Now hand me that big tool so I can mount this thing."

The Strength in the Shark

2009-08-16T20:58:39Z

Lloyd Brunnel: Categories!

{{Universe|Pig and Whistle}}{{byline|user=Lloyd Brunnel|author=Lloyd}}
It was an idyllic summer day; the sun was shining, the breeze was light, and the sky was cloudless. I was, of course, where any self-respecting fox would be on a day like this—the Pig and Whistle. Ever since my rather “explosive” introduction to the bar I had discovered that there were very few ways in which to better spend a lazy Saturday afternoon than curled up on a pillow with a bowl of grape soda; the sunbeam warming my fur only added to my lounging.

“Hey there little guy.” Said a voice; I turned my head and was surprised to see the giant shark-morph I had run into two days ago crouching nearby. Was he talking to me?

“It’s alright—I won’t hurt you.” The shark continued, in what I imagined to be the closest thing his resonating voice could get to a soothing tone. I continued to stare and he held out a webbed hand—a gesture I recognized as a way to show animals you don’t mean them harm.

On the one paw, I was interested in playing along to see where the shark was trying to go with this. On the other, I wanted to berate him for his ignorance; and on yet another I was curious to see what he would do if I just continued to stare. Since I was in a good mood, I chose the first option. I got up and slowly walked over to his outstretched hand and gave it a cautious sniff. No surprise—it smelled like salty fish.

“There we go!” He said happily when it became apparent I wasn’t about to run away. “I’m Jimbari by the way, and you’re—” his eyes flicked to my collar, “Jonas, right?”

I nodded absently and he scratched me behind the ear, smiling as I gave a pleased (involuntary) growl. What was he trying to do exactly?

“See? I’m not such a bad guy after all—nothing to be scared of.” He continued. “And I’m sorry if I frightened you the other day.”

“Oh, is that what this is about?” I said finally.

Jimbari pulled his hand back in surprise. “Ack!—you can talk?”

“Among other things, yea.”

“I didn’t think—that is I didn’t… know and—I mean,” He spluttered, blushing a dark grey, “why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“I wanted to know what you were trying to do.”

Jimbari was now thoroughly embarrassed—I had to feel sorry for the guy.

“If it makes you feel any better, all you really did was startle me on Thursday. I tend to startle easily in crowds—cat-like canine, y’know?” I said consolingly.

“Yea… I guess.” He mumbled. “I feel like such an ''idiot'' though! I’ve never really met a fullmorph before and people say they got all the instincts and I dunno… I just sort of didn’t think it through. God you must be pissed—think I’m a bigot or something.”

I sighed. “I’m amused and slightly annoyed, but not upset.”

Jimbari looked up at me. “Really?”

“Really. The whole ‘looks like a duck’ thing is a good principle under most circumstances and it is true that fullers can get hit harder on the instincts than others. Just… be more careful in the future next time, ok?”

He gave another smile—this time one of relief. “Thanks man. You’re real understanding you know that?”

“I have to be.” I said with a shrug. “There’s over a thousand years of folklore, stories, and Disney movies shaping people’s perception of animals and I can’t get upset every time people confuse reality with fiction.”

“Does that happen often?” Jimbari asked.

“Every now and then. There’s this Japanese guy who sometimes comes to the bakery I work at—keeps calling me kitsune. It’s irritating but I just have to bear with it. Not like I’m above misconceptions either anyway—Gordy may have just gotten some muscle and a head change but some days I think he should be in a labyrinth.”

The shark got to his feet. “Strangely enough, that makes me feel better. Thanks.”

“My pleasure. I’ll see you around I guess?”

“Sure.”

Jimbari gave a small wave goodbye and headed for the door. I went back to my pillow and soda. He seemed nice enough, but as I nestled back down in my sunbeam I couldn’t help but appreciate the irony of someone so concerned with how other people see him being so oblivious.
[[Category:Pig and Whistle|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Lloyd Brunnel|Strength in the Shark, The]] {{fiction}} [[Category:Story|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Fox|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Animal|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Aquatic|Strength in the Shark, The]] [[Category:Anthropomorphic|Strength in the Shark, The]]

Within and Without

2009-08-16T20:58:35Z

Lloyd Brunnel: Categories!

{{Universe|Pig and Whistle}}
''BEEP BEEP BEEP!!!''

I groan, allowing some bubbles to escape and float to the surface. Ugh, where is that bloody alarm clock? I reach around the bottom of my tank and finally find it: a small digital alarm clock sealed in a plastic bag with a few rocks at the bottom to weigh it down. I click it off and roll around a few times to wake up before I climb out of my tank onto a draining board and stretch.

My mom is standing in the doorway “Good morning, sweetie! I was just coming to wake you for work. Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, I could do with a bucket of something.” I say with a wide grin.

She rolls her eyes. “Sorry, I ate all the chum last night for a snack;” she says sarcastically. “Now get up; eggs and toast are on the table.”

After Mom leaves I grab a nearby towel and dry off before hoping down from the draining board and engaging in my typical morning routine. I comb my hair carefully to avoid banging my dorsal fin, brush my hundred or so pearly whites, and throw on some shorts and button up my favorite red Hawaiian shirt—the one my dad got me for my birthday the year after my change—it has little flying pineapples on it I get a kick out of.

As I look myself over in the mirror I can’t help but grin—it’s another kickin’ day as me, sweet! Sure, I might be a tad on the optimistic side but I’ve got a lot to be happy about. I went from 110 pound weakling dork to this 300 pound solid muscle awesome shark hybrid thanks to the Torch and TFOR. Even better, I beat the odds and got almost a perfect mutation! I love it, Muscles, tough skin, teeth that grow back in seconds, good senses that are even better under water—oh and I can breath underwater too, how freaking cool is that? Before, I could hardly do a chin up, or even lift any weights; no matter what I did I could not build muscle, and here I am, flexing in front of my mirror like some Merman God from TV.

My reminiscing is interrupted as my mom yells “Come and get it James honey!” in her “''get your ass down here already”'' voice.

“Cooooming!” I call back. “And for the hundredth time it’s Jimbari!” After the change I wasn’t really James Barrows anymore. I wanted something cooler, so I just gave ‘Jim’ and “Barrow” a twist—cool huh?

I slip into my sandals—made with extra tough leather to keep from wearing out against my shale-like skin—and double time it downstairs to a platter of fried eggs and a loaf of toast smeared with peach jelly.

As I start to dig in my mom hands me a big cup of coffee. “I will be having company over for dinner so if you want you can go to that Pork and Beans place of yours you love so much.”

I groan. “Mom, it’s the Pig and Whistle for Pete sakes…yeesh” I swallow another egg whole and bite into some toast “And thanks; is it Sally and Dave?”

“Yes, and they’re bringing Nicola along too, so you might not want to stay out too long; I know how much you like her.”

“MOM!!!”

I blush dark grey and glare at her as I gulp down the coffee before my gills filter it. Nico was '''''THE''''' prettiest girl in the world—not to mention the one I’ve had a crush on since the dawn of time (aka preschool). Of course, since her dad is not only my boss but someone who would rather eat his own arm than see his daughter go out with a teefer, I’ve had trouble plucking up the courage to ask her out.

“Don’t you dare say a word to her!! I mean it! I swear I’ll eat your car keys!”

But Mom just laughs as she leaves for work. I hear her pulling out as I run back to my room to grab my backpack and begin my twenty minute sprint to work at the construction site for the new mall.

I arrive just as my friends Dallas and Roger pull up.

“Yo! Jimmy! What’s up man?” Dallas shouts as we high five

“Yeah, what’s up, Fishbait?” Roger adds as I scowl and (carefully!) punch him on the shoulder, but it was all in good fun. The twins were like brothers to me after all.

I throw my bag into their truck and grab my Re-Breather out of it. A handy little gizmo I just clamp around my neck and gills to keep them wet and help me breath. Just plain air is hard in the summer when it reaches 90 to 100 degrees on the work site. After fastening it in place I turn back to the twins. “Hey guys, I gotta leave early, Nico is coming over and I want to hit the PAW before she gets to my place—think you can cover for me?”

“Sure man, sure.” Dallas snickers and shoots me a look “You gonna make a move or can I finally ask her out?”

I click my teeth and glare. “Yeah I’m going to…tonight…or tomorrow…eventually…”

“Hey! Get to work! This ain’t tea and crackers time ladies!” I turn and see Dave, my boss, standing behind us. Rog and Dal bail on me—figures, those wusses.

“Err…hey boss!” I wave weakly. “Good morning sir!”

“I need those bricks and the left half of section nine finished before you leave today.” He says, looking over my shoulder rather than at me directly. I mutter a “yes sir…” looking and feeling incredibly stupid. Dave is notorious for not liking us—the ones hit with TFOR—and says teefer like a curse word. He can be a jerk sometimes but I really can’t complain that much about it since the guy’s all bark and no bite. Besides, every day I get to show off how a ''teefer'' has the strength of five of his norm workers put together!

I bite back anything I might get fired for and instead just click my teeth—something I find I do when annoyed—and head over to the pallets filled with 400 pound cement bricks. I heft one up over each shoulder and haul them across the lot and position them so the concrete crew can pour the start of the parking garage tomorrow.

6:30 rolls around and I finish the last pallet, then gather them up and stack the not-so-broken ones in a neat pile, then smash the unusable ones and throw them into the dumpster.

I jog all the way to Pig and Whistle and start fiddling with the strap my Re-Breather as I head for the bar. The darn thing goes on easily enough but my webbed fingers always have trouble getting the clasp open again, not to mention—

“Yip!”

My train of thought is interrupted as I almost run into a little fox guy dressed in actual clothes (Huh, see something new everyday. Oh look at that—he’s got little paw prints on the front, cute)

“Oh hey sorry little guy, you alright?” I say with a grin to show him I’m not as scary as I look; but he just squeaks something and bolts off. Damn it, I did it again. That’s the major drawback of looking how I do: people freak out. Feeling a little dejected, I finish getting my Re-Breather off.

“Hey” I say to Gordy as I hand him my breather. “Can you refill this and put it on my tab?”

“Sure thing kid.” He takes it and walks off. I don’t even know how to open the darn thing but he can refill it. Go figure.

I absently drum my fingers on the counter trying not to scratch the wood and take a look around the bar. Not much going on—just a bunch of people chatting with each other and swapping stories over drinks—usual fare really. I try and find the fox kid but I can’t spot him in the crowd. Sighing, I make a note to track him down later to apologize—I hate it when people are afraid of me.

My eyes sweep across the door and I swallow my tongue as '''''SHE''''' walks in. I feel my heart stomp against my chest. What the heck is Nico doing here!? I thought she was going to be at my house with her folks? Damn, I bet my mom had something to do with it. Her keys are sooo gone.

“Hey Jimbari, I figured you’d be here.” She says with a smile and my heart stops. God she’s beautiful.

“I uh…hey…yeah, I’m here” Smooth…idiot

She giggles and sits on the stool next to me. Since I’m a good two to three feet taller than her I squat down on the floor and pull my legs up to reach her eye level.

“What are you doing here?” I mutter like a total fool; she came to see you stupid!!

“Just thought I’d see if you were here and check this place out. My friend, Alice, said it was really awesome.”

“Yeah Gordy’s a good guy and the food is alright; I can’t taste much of it but everyone likes the drinks are best anyway. I like the pineapple soda he’s got, pretty sweet but you know my hiccup problem. So would you like something? I could order you a drink, or maybe something to eat?” God shut your freaking mouth you babbling moron! I slap myself mentally.

She just giggles and pulls some of her curly hair behind her ear as she scoots forward. “Nah, I figured we could head to your place early and eat there. What do you think? Want to walk with me?”

“I uh..walk? With you? Home?” Wait, what? Really?

“Yeah come on, looks like the um…bartender has your breather ready”

“Wha?” Sure as heck it was refilled and waiting for me. Gordy winks and turns away as I grab the breather and refasten it.

“So…walk...home?” God I’m doomed…

She takes my hand and I freeze, am I dreaming? I stare down numbly as we begin walking down the street, mostly devoid of people.

“How was work?” she asks, giving my hand a reassuring ''‘yes this is really happening’'' squeeze at my horribly embarrassing stuttering.

“Fuh..fine…finished the parking garage foundation. How was school?”

“Boring as usual. Being a teacher’s aid at the college can be a real drag sometimes… though Derik Manson asked me out for Friday night.”

I blinked. He what?! Derik was the football jock from hell in my opinion and a total man whore. He’s probably dated every girl in town! I am so going to maim his car for that…

“What did you say?”

“I told him no, I was busy that night”

“Really?” Take that you preppy jerk! “What are you doing?”

“I have another date already” Good lord I am the slowest, stupidest—“with you. You’re taking me to the movies and dinner at seven sharp” I am?

“I…We…Awesome!”

She laughs “What?”

Shoot, I said that out loud, nice job moron! I take a breath—which makes my breather bubble, ruining any sort of Cool I might have salvaged.

“Err I mean, Nicola, will you go to the movies with me this Friday?”

She smiles and curls a finger making me bend down to her level. “I would love to Jimbari.” She says and…and then…she KISSES ME!!! OH MY GOD!!! A kiss!! From her!! OH HELL YEAH!! I spend the rest of the night in a daze as I drop her off at home and stumble back to my house. She KISSED me! And I have a DATE!

Score one for the shark man!
[[Category:Pig and Whistle]] {{fiction}} [[Category:Story]] [[Category:Aquatic]] [[Category:Anthropomorphic]]

The Strength in the Shark

2009-08-16T20:53:17Z

Lloyd Brunnel: This one is mine, critique appreciated

It was an idyllic summer day; the sun was shining, the breeze was light, and the sky was cloudless. I was, of course, where any self-respecting fox would be on a day like this—the Pig and Whistle. Ever since my rather “explosive” introduction to the bar I had discovered that there were very few ways in which to better spend a lazy Saturday afternoon than curled up on a pillow with a bowl of grape soda; the sunbeam warming my fur only added to my lounging.

“Hey there little guy.” Said a voice; I turned my head and was surprised to see the giant shark-morph I had run into two days ago crouching nearby. Was he talking to me?

“It’s alright—I won’t hurt you.” The shark continued, in what I imagined to be the closest thing his resonating voice could get to a soothing tone. I continued to stare and he held out a webbed hand—a gesture I recognized as a way to show animals you don’t mean them harm.

On the one paw, I was interested in playing along to see where the shark was trying to go with this. On the other, I wanted to berate him for his ignorance; and on yet another I was curious to see what he would do if I just continued to stare. Since I was in a good mood, I chose the first option. I got up and slowly walked over to his outstretched hand and gave it a cautious sniff. No surprise—it smelled like salty fish.

“There we go!” He said happily when it became apparent I wasn’t about to run away. “I’m Jimbari by the way, and you’re—” his eyes flicked to my collar, “Jonas, right?”

I nodded absently and he scratched me behind the ear, smiling as I gave a pleased (involuntary) growl. What was he trying to do exactly?

“See? I’m not such a bad guy after all—nothing to be scared of.” He continued. “And I’m sorry if I frightened you the other day.”

“Oh, is that what this is about?” I said finally.

Jimbari pulled his hand back in surprise. “Ack!—you can talk?”

“Among other things, yea.”

“I didn’t think—that is I didn’t… know and—I mean,” He spluttered, blushing a dark grey, “why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“I wanted to know what you were trying to do.”

Jimbari was now thoroughly embarrassed—I had to feel sorry for the guy.

“If it makes you feel any better, all you really did was startle me on Thursday. I tend to startle easily in crowds—cat-like canine, y’know?” I said consolingly.

“Yea… I guess.” He mumbled. “I feel like such an ''idiot'' though! I’ve never really met a fullmorph before and people say they got all the instincts and I dunno… I just sort of didn’t think it through. God you must be pissed—think I’m a bigot or something.”

I sighed. “I’m amused and slightly annoyed, but not upset.”

Jimbari looked up at me. “Really?”

“Really. The whole ‘looks like a duck’ thing is a good principle under most circumstances and it is true that fullers can get hit harder on the instincts than others. Just… be more careful in the future next time, ok?”

He gave another smile—this time one of relief. “Thanks man. You’re real understanding you know that?”

“I have to be.” I said with a shrug. “There’s over a thousand years of folklore, stories, and Disney movies shaping people’s perception of animals and I can’t get upset every time people confuse reality with fiction.”

“Does that happen often?” Jimbari asked.

“Every now and then. There’s this Japanese guy who sometimes comes to the bakery I work at—keeps calling me kitsune. It’s irritating but I just have to bear with it. Not like I’m above misconceptions either anyway—Gordy may have just gotten some muscle and a head change but some days I think he should be in a labyrinth.”

The shark got to his feet. “Strangely enough, that makes me feel better. Thanks.”

“My pleasure. I’ll see you around I guess?”

“Sure.”

Jimbari gave a small wave goodbye and headed for the door. I went back to my pillow and soda. He seemed nice enough, but as I nestled back down in my sunbeam I couldn’t help but appreciate the irony of someone so concerned with how other people see him being so oblivious.

User:Lloyd Brunnel

2009-08-16T20:49:28Z

Lloyd Brunnel:

Hi, I'm Lloyd, writer and fox, welcoming you to my new and improved user page!

{{DEFAULTSORT: Lloyd Brunnel}} {{author page}}

==About Me==
My [http://winterwolf.co.uk/furcode| FurCode] is FCF4arw A- C- D+ H+ M P+ R- T+++ W++ Z Sm- RLET* a cn+ d e f- h+ i++ j+ p-- sm-

I've always had an interest in anthros and animal TF but I never really paid much attention to it. It was something that sort of "bubled" and would resurge every so often, like my interest in Megaman games. Around 2005 or so I stumbled across the TSA--how I can't remember but I do know that after I had read through it I began looking for more, and Shifti soon appeared on my Google search.

I've been writing for about five years now, though most of that was analytical and essay type-stuff, but I'm trying my paw at short stories and I think I'm making a good start. My TF tastes lean towards the canine/vulpine/feline, and I also like "miscellaneous" transformations. These are mostly obscure inanimate or Xanadu stuff, and I also enjoy mental changes in which the person is unaware of the change itself as it adds a sinister air to the story in my opinion. In my spare time I play ''World of Warcraft'' (Alliance mage, level 80, Thorium Brotherhood server, look up Fenimore if you're in the neighbourhood!), City of Heroes, and various other RPGs with my favorites being the ''Tales'' series. One the non-electronic side of things I collect Yugioh cards (got an awesome spellcaster deck) and I like to read.

Here's a link to [[Lloyd's Favorites|some of my favorite stories on Shifti.]]

==Notes On My Writing==

I recycle names in most of my stories, so don't be suprised to find the same ones poping up as I add more stuff to Shifti. I also procrastinate ''alot'' when writing and have trouble committing to a single story idea, which dramatically inflates the time it takes me to write. Oh, and I tend to mention food more often than would be normal since I usually write while hungry for some reason.

==Shameless Self-Promotion==

[[Lost World]]: Set in the Blind Pig universe for pure laziness reasons (I don't like explaining things) this is a furry => human TF. My thanks to Cubist both for editing, and for publishing it on his anthrozine site.

[[Bureaucracy in Action]]: When a fun-loving force meets a literal-minded object.

[[Convoluted Quality]]: There is something known as the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, a competition to write the worst opening sentence to the worst possible novel. Out of boredom, I made an attempt to write the worst opening sentence to the worst possible TF story. If you think you can do worse, please add to the page.

[[The Fool in the Fox]]: My first foray into the [[Pig and Whistle]] setting introduces [[PAW Timelines/Character Timeline|Jonas]], a fox about to make a very entertaining delivery.

[[The Strength in the Shark]]: This is a follow-up to Zach's Within and Without story (see below). I mainly use this to create a friendship between our two characters and to explore a bit on some of the beliefs people might have regarding fullmorphs.
[[Case Briefing: Leon v. Stewart]]: The main problem with handling teefers came from how to define them in a legal system designed for humans. This case and the subsequent ruling provided the landmark precedent that shaped the NAR's courts.

[[Interview in the Fields]]: Since I lack the stamina to write a full story about the Leon/Stewart lawsuit, I'm going to cheat and instead write about Leon being interviewed about the case twenty years later.

[[PAW Musings]]: Not so much a story as a general list/rant of my various thoughts or questions about the Pig and Whistle setting. Respond to them if you want but this mainly exists so I can get the questions off my chest.
==Stuff by Others==
I did not write anything in this section. In here are stories written by others that I have recieved permission to repost here. Enjoy!

[[Mind Over Matter]]: Arto "FoxOfWar" Mässeli wrote this as part of the Xmas Xchange a while back. He thinks it's good, but his brain seems to disagree. The title is not the one used in the original story, because I can't find out what the original title was.

[[Within and Without]]: My friend Zach Fox has written this PAW story featuring the setting's first shark morph. I think it's good, but I helped edit it so I'm obviously biased. Read it!
==Random Thought==

Fun with ''Corner Gas'': "Enough with the innuendos. Now hand me that big tool so I can mount this thing."

Within and Without

2009-08-16T20:47:10Z

Lloyd Brunnel:

''BEEP BEEP BEEP!!!''

I groan, allowing some bubbles to escape and float to the surface. Ugh, where is that bloody alarm clock? I reach around the bottom of my tank and finally find it: a small digital alarm clock sealed in a plastic bag with a few rocks at the bottom to weigh it down. I click it off and roll around a few times to wake up before I climb out of my tank onto a draining board and stretch.

My mom is standing in the doorway “Good morning, sweetie! I was just coming to wake you for work. Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, I could do with a bucket of something.” I say with a wide grin.

She rolls her eyes. “Sorry, I ate all the chum last night for a snack;” she says sarcastically. “Now get up; eggs and toast are on the table.”

After Mom leaves I grab a nearby towel and dry off before hoping down from the draining board and engaging in my typical morning routine. I comb my hair carefully to avoid banging my dorsal fin, brush my hundred or so pearly whites, and throw on some shorts and button up my favorite red Hawaiian shirt—the one my dad got me for my birthday the year after my change—it has little flying pineapples on it I get a kick out of.

As I look myself over in the mirror I can’t help but grin—it’s another kickin’ day as me, sweet! Sure, I might be a tad on the optimistic side but I’ve got a lot to be happy about. I went from 110 pound weakling dork to this 300 pound solid muscle awesome shark hybrid thanks to the Torch and TFOR. Even better, I beat the odds and got almost a perfect mutation! I love it, Muscles, tough skin, teeth that grow back in seconds, good senses that are even better under water—oh and I can breath underwater too, how freaking cool is that? Before, I could hardly do a chin up, or even lift any weights; no matter what I did I could not build muscle, and here I am, flexing in front of my mirror like some Merman God from TV.

My reminiscing is interrupted as my mom yells “Come and get it James honey!” in her “''get your ass down here already”'' voice.

“Cooooming!” I call back. “And for the hundredth time it’s Jimbari!” After the change I wasn’t really James Barrows anymore. I wanted something cooler, so I just gave ‘Jim’ and “Barrow” a twist—cool huh?

I slip into my sandals—made with extra tough leather to keep from wearing out against my shale-like skin—and double time it downstairs to a platter of fried eggs and a loaf of toast smeared with peach jelly.

As I start to dig in my mom hands me a big cup of coffee. “I will be having company over for dinner so if you want you can go to that Pork and Beans place of yours you love so much.”

I groan. “Mom, it’s the Pig and Whistle for Pete sakes…yeesh” I swallow another egg whole and bite into some toast “And thanks; is it Sally and Dave?”

“Yes, and they’re bringing Nicola along too, so you might not want to stay out too long; I know how much you like her.”

“MOM!!!”

I blush dark grey and glare at her as I gulp down the coffee before my gills filter it. Nico was '''''THE''''' prettiest girl in the world—not to mention the one I’ve had a crush on since the dawn of time (aka preschool). Of course, since her dad is not only my boss but someone who would rather eat his own arm than see his daughter go out with a teefer, I’ve had trouble plucking up the courage to ask her out.

“Don’t you dare say a word to her!! I mean it! I swear I’ll eat your car keys!”

But Mom just laughs as she leaves for work. I hear her pulling out as I run back to my room to grab my backpack and begin my twenty minute sprint to work at the construction site for the new mall.

I arrive just as my friends Dallas and Roger pull up.

“Yo! Jimmy! What’s up man?” Dallas shouts as we high five

“Yeah, what’s up, Fishbait?” Roger adds as I scowl and (carefully!) punch him on the shoulder, but it was all in good fun. The twins were like brothers to me after all.

I throw my bag into their truck and grab my Re-Breather out of it. A handy little gizmo I just clamp around my neck and gills to keep them wet and help me breath. Just plain air is hard in the summer when it reaches 90 to 100 degrees on the work site. After fastening it in place I turn back to the twins. “Hey guys, I gotta leave early, Nico is coming over and I want to hit the PAW before she gets to my place—think you can cover for me?”

“Sure man, sure.” Dallas snickers and shoots me a look “You gonna make a move or can I finally ask her out?”

I click my teeth and glare. “Yeah I’m going to…tonight…or tomorrow…eventually…”

“Hey! Get to work! This ain’t tea and crackers time ladies!” I turn and see Dave, my boss, standing behind us. Rog and Dal bail on me—figures, those wusses.

“Err…hey boss!” I wave weakly. “Good morning sir!”

“I need those bricks and the left half of section nine finished before you leave today.” He says, looking over my shoulder rather than at me directly. I mutter a “yes sir…” looking and feeling incredibly stupid. Dave is notorious for not liking us—the ones hit with TFOR—and says teefer like a curse word. He can be a jerk sometimes but I really can’t complain that much about it since the guy’s all bark and no bite. Besides, every day I get to show off how a ''teefer'' has the strength of five of his norm workers put together!

I bite back anything I might get fired for and instead just click my teeth—something I find I do when annoyed—and head over to the pallets filled with 400 pound cement bricks. I heft one up over each shoulder and haul them across the lot and position them so the concrete crew can pour the start of the parking garage tomorrow.

6:30 rolls around and I finish the last pallet, then gather them up and stack the not-so-broken ones in a neat pile, then smash the unusable ones and throw them into the dumpster.

I jog all the way to Pig and Whistle and start fiddling with the strap my Re-Breather as I head for the bar. The darn thing goes on easily enough but my webbed fingers always have trouble getting the clasp open again, not to mention—

“Yip!”

My train of thought is interrupted as I almost run into a little fox guy dressed in actual clothes (Huh, see something new everyday. Oh look at that—he’s got little paw prints on the front, cute)

“Oh hey sorry little guy, you alright?” I say with a grin to show him I’m not as scary as I look; but he just squeaks something and bolts off. Damn it, I did it again. That’s the major drawback of looking how I do: people freak out. Feeling a little dejected, I finish getting my Re-Breather off.

“Hey” I say to Gordy as I hand him my breather. “Can you refill this and put it on my tab?”

“Sure thing kid.” He takes it and walks off. I don’t even know how to open the darn thing but he can refill it. Go figure.

I absently drum my fingers on the counter trying not to scratch the wood and take a look around the bar. Not much going on—just a bunch of people chatting with each other and swapping stories over drinks—usual fare really. I try and find the fox kid but I can’t spot him in the crowd. Sighing, I make a note to track him down later to apologize—I hate it when people are afraid of me.

My eyes sweep across the door and I swallow my tongue as '''''SHE''''' walks in. I feel my heart stomp against my chest. What the heck is Nico doing here!? I thought she was going to be at my house with her folks? Damn, I bet my mom had something to do with it. Her keys are sooo gone.

“Hey Jimbari, I figured you’d be here.” She says with a smile and my heart stops. God she’s beautiful.

“I uh…hey…yeah, I’m here” Smooth…idiot

She giggles and sits on the stool next to me. Since I’m a good two to three feet taller than her I squat down on the floor and pull my legs up to reach her eye level.

“What are you doing here?” I mutter like a total fool; she came to see you stupid!!

“Just thought I’d see if you were here and check this place out. My friend, Alice, said it was really awesome.”

“Yeah Gordy’s a good guy and the food is alright; I can’t taste much of it but everyone likes the drinks are best anyway. I like the pineapple soda he’s got, pretty sweet but you know my hiccup problem. So would you like something? I could order you a drink, or maybe something to eat?” God shut your freaking mouth you babbling moron! I slap myself mentally.

She just giggles and pulls some of her curly hair behind her ear as she scoots forward. “Nah, I figured we could head to your place early and eat there. What do you think? Want to walk with me?”

“I uh..walk? With you? Home?” Wait, what? Really?

“Yeah come on, looks like the um…bartender has your breather ready”

“Wha?” Sure as heck it was refilled and waiting for me. Gordy winks and turns away as I grab the breather and refasten it.

“So…walk...home?” God I’m doomed…

She takes my hand and I freeze, am I dreaming? I stare down numbly as we begin walking down the street, mostly devoid of people.

“How was work?” she asks, giving my hand a reassuring ''‘yes this is really happening’'' squeeze at my horribly embarrassing stuttering.

“Fuh..fine…finished the parking garage foundation. How was school?”

“Boring as usual. Being a teacher’s aid at the college can be a real drag sometimes… though Derik Manson asked me out for Friday night.”

I blinked. He what?! Derik was the football jock from hell in my opinion and a total man whore. He’s probably dated every girl in town! I am so going to maim his car for that…

“What did you say?”

“I told him no, I was busy that night”

“Really?” Take that you preppy jerk! “What are you doing?”

“I have another date already” Good lord I am the slowest, stupidest—“with you. You’re taking me to the movies and dinner at seven sharp” I am?

“I…We…Awesome!”

She laughs “What?”

Shoot, I said that out loud, nice job moron! I take a breath—which makes my breather bubble, ruining any sort of Cool I might have salvaged.

“Err I mean, Nicola, will you go to the movies with me this Friday?”

She smiles and curls a finger making me bend down to her level. “I would love to Jimbari.” She says and…and then…she KISSES ME!!! OH MY GOD!!! A kiss!! From her!! OH HELL YEAH!! I spend the rest of the night in a daze as I drop her off at home and stumble back to my house. She KISSED me! And I have a DATE!

Score one for the shark man!

Within and Without

2009-08-16T20:44:35Z

Lloyd Brunnel: Critique if you want, but I'm not the one who actually wrote this

''BEEP BEEP BEEP!!!''

I groan, allowing some bubbles to escape and float to the surface. Ugh, where is that bloody alarm clock? I reach around the bottom of my tank and finally find it: a small digital alarm clock sealed in a plastic bag with a few rocks at the bottom to weigh it down. I click it off and roll around a few times to wake up before I climb out of my tank onto a draining board and stretch.

My mom is standing in the doorway “Good morning, sweetie! I was just coming to wake you for work. Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, I could do with a bucket of something.” I say with a wide grin.

She rolls her eyes. “Sorry, I ate all the chum last night for a snack;” she says sarcastically. “Now get up; eggs and toast are on the table.”

After Mom leaves I grab a nearby towel and dry off before hoping down from the draining board and engaging in my typical morning routine. I comb my hair carefully to avoid banging my dorsal fin, brush my hundred or so pearly whites, and throw on some shorts and button up my favorite red Hawaiian shirt—the one my dad got me for my birthday the year after my change—it has little flying pineapples on it I get a kick out of.

As I look myself over in the mirror I can’t help but grin—it’s another kickin’ day as me, sweet! Sure, I might be a tad on the optimistic side but I’ve got a lot to be happy about. I went from 110 pound weakling dork to this 300 pound solid muscle awesome shark hybrid thanks to the Torch and TFOR. Even better, I beat the odds and got almost a perfect mutation! I love it, Muscles, tough skin, teeth that grow back in seconds, good senses that are even better under water—oh and I can breath underwater too, how freaking cool is that? Before, I could hardly do a chin up, or even lift any weights; no matter what I did I could not build muscle, and here I am, flexing in front of my mirror like some Merman God from TV.

My reminiscing is interrupted as my mom yells “Come and get it James honey!” in her “''get your ass down here already”'' voice.

“Cooooming!” I call back. “And for the hundredth time it’s Jimbari!” After the change I wasn’t really James Barrows anymore. I wanted something cooler, so I just gave ‘Jim’ and “Barrow” a twist—cool huh?

I slip into my sandals—made with extra tough leather to keep from wearing out against my shale-like skin—and double time it downstairs to a platter of fried eggs and a loaf of toast smeared with peach jelly.

As I start to dig in my mom hands me a big cup of coffee. “I will be having company over for dinner so if you want you can go to that Pork and Beans place of yours you love so much.”

I groan. “Mom, it’s the Pig and Whistle for Pete sakes…yeesh” I swallow another egg whole and bite into some toast “And thanks; is it Sally and Dave?”

“Yes, and they’re bringing Nicola along too, so you might not want to stay out too long; I know how much you like her.”

“MOM!!!”

I blush dark grey and glare at her as I gulp down the coffee before my gills filter it. Nico was '''THE'''''Italic text'' prettiest girl in the world—not to mention the one I’ve had a crush on since the dawn of time (aka preschool). Of course, since her dad is not only my boss but someone who would rather eat his own arm than see his daughter go out with a teefer, I’ve had trouble plucking up the courage to ask her out.

“Don’t you dare say a word to her!! I mean it! I swear I’ll eat your car keys!”

But Mom just laughs as she leaves for work. I hear her pulling out as I run back to my room to grab my backpack and begin my twenty minute sprint to work at the construction site for the new mall.

I arrive just as my friends Dallas and Roger pull up.

“Yo! Jimmy! What’s up man?” Dallas shouts as we high five

“Yeah, what’s up, Fishbait?” Roger adds as I scowl and (carefully!) punch him on the shoulder, but it was all in good fun. The twins were like brothers to me after all.

I throw my bag into their truck and grab my Re-Breather out of it. A handy little gizmo I just clamp around my neck and gills to keep them wet and help me breath. Just plain air is hard in the summer when it reaches 90 to 100 degrees on the work site. After fastening it in place I turn back to the twins. “Hey guys, I gotta leave early, Nico is coming over and I want to hit the PAW before she gets to my place—think you can cover for me?”

“Sure man, sure.” Dallas snickers and shoots me a look “You gonna make a move or can I finally ask her out?”

I click my teeth and glare. “Yeah I’m going to…tonight…or tomorrow…eventually…”

“Hey! Get to work! This ain’t tea and crackers time ladies!” I turn and see Dave, my boss, standing behind us. Rog and Dal bail on me—figures, those wusses.

“Err…hey boss!” I wave weakly. “Good morning sir!”

“I need those bricks and the left half of section nine finished before you leave today.” He says, looking over my shoulder rather than at me directly. I mutter a “yes sir…” looking and feeling incredibly stupid. Dave is notorious for not liking us—the ones hit with TFOR—and says teefer like a curse word. He can be a jerk sometimes but I really can’t complain that much about it since the guy’s all bark and no bite. Besides, every day I get to show off how a ''teefer'' has the strength of five of his norm workers put together!

I bite back anything I might get fired for and instead just click my teeth—something I find I do when annoyed—and head over to the pallets filled with 400 pound cement bricks. I heft one up over each shoulder and haul them across the lot and position them so the concrete crew can pour the start of the parking garage tomorrow.

6:30 rolls around and I finish the last pallet, then gather them up and stack the not-so-broken ones in a neat pile, then smash the unusable ones and throw them into the dumpster.

I jog all the way to Pig and Whistle and start fiddling with the strap my Re-Breather as I head for the bar. The darn thing goes on easily enough but my webbed fingers always have trouble getting the clasp open again, not to mention—

“Yip!”

My train of thought is interrupted as I almost run into a little fox guy dressed in actual clothes (Huh, see something new everyday. Oh look at that—he’s got little paw prints on the front, cute)

“Oh hey sorry little guy, you alright?” I say with a grin to show him I’m not as scary as I look; but he just squeaks something and bolts off. Damn it, I did it again. That’s the major drawback of looking how I do: people freak out. Feeling a little dejected, I finish getting my Re-Breather off.

“Hey” I say to Gordy as I hand him my breather. “Can you refill this and put it on my tab?”

“Sure thing kid.” He takes it and walks off. I don’t even know how to open the darn thing but he can refill it. Go figure.

I absently drum my fingers on the counter trying not to scratch the wood and take a look around the bar. Not much going on—just a bunch of people chatting with each other and swapping stories over drinks—usual fare really. I try and find the fox kid but I can’t spot him in the crowd. Sighing, I make a note to track him down later to apologize—I hate it when people are afraid of me.

My eyes sweep across the door and I swallow my tongue as ''SHE'''''Bold text''' walks in. I feel my heart stomp against my chest. What the heck is Nico doing here!? I thought she was going to be at my house with her folks? Damn, I bet my mom had something to do with it. Her keys are sooo gone.

“Hey Jimbari, I figured you’d be here.” She says with a smile and my heart stops. God she’s beautiful.

“I uh…hey…yeah, I’m here” Smooth…idiot

She giggles and sits on the stool next to me. Since I’m a good two to three feet taller than her I squat down on the floor and pull my legs up to reach her eye level.

“What are you doing here?” I mutter like a total fool; she came to see you stupid!!

“Just thought I’d see if you were here and check this place out. My friend, Alice, said it was really awesome.”

“Yeah Gordy’s a good guy and the food is alright; I can’t taste much of it but everyone likes the drinks are best anyway. I like the pineapple soda he’s got, pretty sweet but you know my hiccup problem. So would you like something? I could order you a drink, or maybe something to eat?” God shut your freaking mouth you babbling moron! I slap myself mentally.

She just giggles and pulls some of her curly hair behind her ear as she scoots forward. “Nah, I figured we could head to your place early and eat there. What do you think? Want to walk with me?”

“I uh..walk? With you? Home?” Wait, what? Really?

“Yeah come on, looks like the um…bartender has your breather ready”

“Wha?” Sure as heck it was refilled and waiting for me. Gordy winks and turns away as I grab the breather and refasten it.

“So…walk...home?” God I’m doomed…

She takes my hand and I freeze, am I dreaming? I stare down numbly as we begin walking down the street, mostly devoid of people.

“How was work?” she asks, giving my hand a reassuring ''‘yes this is really happening’'' squeeze at my horribly embarrassing stuttering.

“Fuh..fine…finished the parking garage foundation. How was school?”

“Boring as usual. Being a teacher’s aid at the college can be a real drag sometimes… though Derik Manson asked me out for Friday night.”

I blinked. He what?! Derik was the football jock from hell in my opinion and a total man whore. He’s probably dated every girl in town! I am so going to maim his car for that…

“What did you say?”

“I told him no, I was busy that night”

“Really?” Take that you preppy jerk! “What are you doing?”

“I have another date already” Good lord I am the slowest, stupidest—“with you. You’re taking me to the movies and dinner at seven sharp” I am?

“I…We…Awesome!”

She laughs “What?”

Shoot, I said that out loud, nice job moron! I take a breath—which makes my breather bubble, ruining any sort of Cool I might have salvaged.

“Err I mean, Nicola, will you go to the movies with me this Friday?”

She smiles and curls a finger making me bend down to her level. “I would love to Jimbari.” She says and…and then…she KISSES ME!!! OH MY GOD!!! A kiss!! From her!! OH HELL YEAH!! I spend the rest of the night in a daze as I drop her off at home and stumble back to my house. She KISSED me! And I have a DATE!

Score one for the shark man!

User:Lloyd Brunnel

2009-08-16T20:37:42Z

Lloyd Brunnel: Added Within and Without under Stuff by Others

Hi, I'm Lloyd, writer and fox, welcoming you to my new and improved user page!

{{DEFAULTSORT: Lloyd Brunnel}} {{author page}}

==About Me==
My [http://winterwolf.co.uk/furcode| FurCode] is FCF4arw A- C- D+ H+ M P+ R- T+++ W++ Z Sm- RLET* a cn+ d e f- h+ i++ j+ p-- sm-

I've always had an interest in anthros and animal TF but I never really paid much attention to it. It was something that sort of "bubled" and would resurge every so often, like my interest in Megaman games. Around 2005 or so I stumbled across the TSA--how I can't remember but I do know that after I had read through it I began looking for more, and Shifti soon appeared on my Google search.

I've been writing for about five years now, though most of that was analytical and essay type-stuff, but I'm trying my paw at short stories and I think I'm making a good start. My TF tastes lean towards the canine/vulpine/feline, and I also like "miscellaneous" transformations. These are mostly obscure inanimate or Xanadu stuff, and I also enjoy mental changes in which the person is unaware of the change itself as it adds a sinister air to the story in my opinion. In my spare time I play ''World of Warcraft'' (Alliance mage, level 80, Thorium Brotherhood server, look up Fenimore if you're in the neighbourhood!), City of Heroes, and various other RPGs with my favorites being the ''Tales'' series. One the non-electronic side of things I collect Yugioh cards (got an awesome spellcaster deck) and I like to read.

Here's a link to [[Lloyd's Favorites|some of my favorite stories on Shifti.]]

==Notes On My Writing==

I recycle names in most of my stories, so don't be suprised to find the same ones poping up as I add more stuff to Shifti. I also procrastinate ''alot'' when writing and have trouble committing to a single story idea, which dramatically inflates the time it takes me to write. Oh, and I tend to mention food more often than would be normal since I usually write while hungry for some reason.

==Shameless Self-Promotion==

[[Lost World]]: Set in the Blind Pig universe for pure laziness reasons (I don't like explaining things) this is a furry => human TF. My thanks to Cubist both for editing, and for publishing it on his anthrozine site.

[[Bureaucracy in Action]]: When a fun-loving force meets a literal-minded object.

[[Convoluted Quality]]: There is something known as the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, a competition to write the worst opening sentence to the worst possible novel. Out of boredom, I made an attempt to write the worst opening sentence to the worst possible TF story. If you think you can do worse, please add to the page.

[[The Fool in the Fox]]: My first foray into the [[Pig and Whistle]] setting introduces [[PAW Timelines/Character Timeline|Jonas]], a fox about to make a very entertaining delivery.

[[Case Briefing: Leon v. Stewart]]: The main problem with handling teefers came from how to define them in a legal system designed for humans. This case and the subsequent ruling provided the landmark precedent that shaped the NAR's courts.

[[Interview in the Fields]]: Since I lack the stamina to write a full story about the Leon/Stewart lawsuit, I'm going to cheat and instead write about Leon being interviewed about the case twenty years later.

[[PAW Musings]]: Not so much a story as a general list/rant of my various thoughts or questions about the Pig and Whistle setting. Respond to them if you want but this mainly exists so I can get the questions off my chest.
==Stuff by Others==
I did not write anything in this section. In here are stories written by others that I have recieved permission to repost here. Enjoy!

[[Mind Over Matter]]: Arto "FoxOfWar" Mässeli wrote this as part of the Xmas Xchange a while back. He thinks it's good, but his brain seems to disagree. The title is not the one used in the original story, because I can't find out what the original title was.

[[Within and Without]]: My friend Zach Fox has written this PAW story featuring the setting's first shark morph. I think it's good, but I helped edit it so I'm obviously biased. Read it!
==Random Thought==

Fun with ''Corner Gas'': "Enough with the innuendos. Now hand me that big tool so I can mount this thing."

User talk:WolfyDrake95/Price in Blood

2009-08-10T17:38:11Z

Lloyd Brunnel: I've removed Drake's email address. We've had some vandal issues and it'd suck if they got your info.

==Storyline Discussion==
{{Green|ShadowWolf knows a lot more about PaW than I do, but as far as I remember, the major conflicts were when Canada was sweeping down into the leftovers of the USA. But because you're from Singapore, you could start a story section over on that side of the world.

Here's some times for conflict:

2008-09: the start of the collapse, and first infections.

2011: the New Confederacy is formed. They could be the assasinators, as they are a very Anarchistic group.

2015: Most fighting stops. NAR stabilizes. New confederacy mostly gone. A splinter cell could cause some trouble.

2020: this is when Allan's hometown is bombed. After this, there is almost no figting in the greater NAR area. Some outlying areas could still have trouble with the Confederacy.

Thats the best I can do for now. If the character is going to be sticking around, I would recommend creating a character timeline page as well. It helps define the character's traits and description so that it stays constant across stories.

PAW needs some more authors, so I look forward to whatever you may come up with. Though by about 2020, most persecution in the north American region seems to have stopped, an earlier assassination plot could be a good setup for a character.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 14:03, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

:Hmm...I think PaW works, because my mind's already working out the kinks of the story. Well, I'll tell you what I'm planning now. '''SPOILER WARNING!!!'''

:'''Price in Blood'''—At the very end of some conflict (2015?), there is a skirmish between TFORs and an anti-TFOR splinter cell. This is when the main character's parents are killed, and the leader of the splinter cell finds him, takes him in, and slowly nurtures a hatred for TFORs, fuelled by his parents' deaths. Or, alternatively, his parents could have been the victims of the Brown incident (see Lloyd's [[Case Briefing: Leon v. Stewart]], but I haven't asked him yet), and died thereof. Same thing happens with the cell.

:Then the main character is trained, and within years (2019?) he is sent on his first mission for the cell: to go assassinate an outspoken pro-TFOR activist who's promoting TFOR equality and all that. The first time, a sniper attack is attempted; it fails, and the main character resorts to a direct knifing, etc. But then the main character catches the Torch, and collapses at the crucial moment of the assassination.

:The activist doesn't press charges on accounts of his age, but instead sends the main character to a friend's house (Allan himself, perhaps? That'd be a nice crossover) to recuperate, where it is revealed that the M.C. has caught the TFOR. As the M.C. deals with TFOR, the activist's friend starts to tell him about the TFOR community, and the M.C realizes that TFORs aren't all bad. Suddenly doubting his upbringing, he begins to investigate his parents' deaths, eventually finding a human survivor of that skirmish years ago. Then the M.C. finds out that actually it was the splinter cell who killed his parents; he goes back there to kill that leader, and succeeds.

:Admittedly I haven't thought of the very, very ending: perhaps the police arrest him? That would be an interesting ending, despite being sad.

:This story, being in the idea stage, is very loose. If you've got any good ideas, feel free to tell me! If ShadowWolf is reading this, then his advice would be crucial too! And if Allan is to be featured, I'll need a bunch of details about him, and probably you'll have to vet and monitor the dialog. The last time I featured someone else's character (awesome writer Jetfire's AT), I think I wrote her in terribly. My fault, of course. I still have trouble believing that I was forgiven for screwing up the Paradise universe. But I digress.
:If I've got your permission to use Allan, I'll probably be bugging you a lot. Or, we could use that nifty EtherPad to pull the partial collab. Tell me what you think!
:PS, forgive me for putting a reference to Allan in this story. I couldn't resist it. I have some problems. :) —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 14:30, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|The main idea sounds good. Around 2020 is when Allan's town is Bombed, but after that there's two years open for anything. 2022ish is when the Rangers contact Allan again, but I haven't started that story very far, so it could be that they both join.

If it were Allan, they could have a talk about losing a parent/parents, and other such discussions. Crossovers are what make a story universe so great, so I don't mind. Indeed, Lloyd has already used Allan in a [[The_Fool_in_the_Fox|story.]]

On the TFOR, It may have to be that he had the Torch previously, which created tension in the anti-TFOR community, but he didn't come down with TFOR right away. Then leading up to the assassination, he would be craving weird foods, and during the assassination TFOR could kick in, causing the systemic lock-up and changes.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 14:43, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

:As late as 2040 there are still people in the region that was once "The New Confederacy" that still perform anti-teefer terrorist acts. From what I can tell of your idea it would need to be no later than 2025 because around 2025 the "resistance" in that region has become wildly decentralized and so fractured that it has been known to attack other branches. -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 14:53, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

::Actually I was thinking along the lines of pre-2020, so that the main character could go live with Allan without Allan being preoccupied by bombings and death. So, skirmish in 2010s, training from 2011 through 2015, then assassination in 2016. More or less. I can already imagine fight scenes and gunfire and flying knives and two-meter leaps. All in my head, of course, and this messes up my lessons in school. By the way, where exactly does Allan live? And when is Lloyd's story set? I might be able to pull Jonas Balfour into this. :)
::And ShadowWolf's right about my story. I need it to be some kind of anti-TFOR splinter cell (I like the words "splinter cell": they're cool) that attacks pro-TFOR activists. I'll start on it right away, but this week I have to prep for my school's National Day Parade, so I'm kinda busy. I'll find time; I wake up at 5:30 sometimes just to check Shifti for updates before going to school. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 15:03, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|If it was set before 2020, which is when I set Rebuilding, I would have to go back and retcon a lot of exposition into it to make mention of MC, so to be perfectly honest, I think late 2020-2021 would be the best setting for MC and Allan to meet. That gives two years, and story material for both you and me.

Before 2020, Allan lived in California, near LA. Around 2020, he moved to just above Amarillo, Texas. 2021, when he's in college, if he gets into University of Texas, He'll be living in Austin Texas.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 15:20, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

:Got it. Shifting the timeline ahead, assassination now occurs in 2021. Oh, and can anyone help me think up a name and TFOR type for the pro-TFOR activist? I'm terrible at name-choosing and power-picking. Some help, please. I've written the intro, but right now I have to sleep. It's midnight over here. :) --[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 16:07, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|It seems to me that there is a high density of certain types of anthros in these settings. Generally of felines, lupines, and canines. I'm going to try and remedy that in my next story, because there are a lot of different species on earth, and the virus can even use ones not of this earth. So just as a challenge, you might try something out of the ordinary.

On the powers, only 30% of all teefers receive powers, so he may not have a "super" power, but he could have a biological capability. Such as hardened skin or extreme reflexes. An Armadillo TFOR might work, as it could lead to the bullet failing to penetrate far enough to be lethal. Just remember that the species should affect how the story progresses, instead of just being a block of descriptive text.

As for names, I'm terrible at names. You could try flipping through a phonebook, and picking out random first and last names to throw together.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 16:44, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

:Hmm...now that I think of it, maybe this activist shouldn't be a TFOR at all. Instead, I'm thinking having him as a normal human would be far better for the storyline. As for the main character, I'm naming him Taylor Miles, after the Halo 3: ODST [http://www.halo.wikia.com/wiki/Taylor_Miles character of the same name]. He's probably going to wind up some kinda wolf (grey or arctic), but you might have guessed that I liked wolves from my name, so this isn't a surprise. And he's going to have some limited object manipulation capabilities, which he can use to accelerate or manipulate bullets or throwing knives, for example. That sorta thing. I'll upload when I'm done with the first couple of chapters. :) —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 12:50, 5 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|A human activist would have a much higher chance of causing an upset in Taylor. If he expects to be shooting at what he believes are "animals," or whatever the propaganda is, then he may have issues with shooting a human being. I have noticed that you like wolves, yes.

On the issue of power characters, I'll link you to my talk page on [[Talk:Rebuilding|rebuilding]]. Both Lloyd and ShadowWolf had something to say about power characters, so it's worth a read. The main notes are to come up with definite limits on his powers, and definite consequences.

On a side note, because Allan is human, but also a TFOR, it could lead to interesting conversation things with Taylor. I enjoy discussions of "what makes a human" so I would love to come up with dialog with you.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 14:18, 5 August 2009 (UTC)

:Yes, exactly. It's supposed to be like that; the target is supposed to be human, but supporting TFORs. Here's an excerpt of what I've written so far:

::“This is your assignment. Find this man, and kill him. Silence him. I believe that you, of all the others, are up to this task. We already have the necessary information regarding him, but it shall be no easy task, since he is so successful that the TFORs have begun offering him protection.”

::“Wait,” Taylor cut in, unheeding of the protocols of respect. “This man is human. An innocent. He has done no wrong and neither is he one of ''them''—”

::“Don’t you see?” Myers slammed his hands on the table, emotion evidently forcing him out of his seat. “This man is corrupting the minds of the people! Human or not, he must be silenced. He is the voice of those beasts, and he has to be silenced, lest the people turn and support them instead of our noble cause!”

::Myers dropped back into his seat, seeming to regain control of his emotions. But looking at the man, Taylor saw a fire burning in his eyes as he continued, “You should know this, of all people. Anyone supporting the TFORs is a threat, and these TFORs are the greatest danger to our society. Or have you forgotten how they ''killed'' your parents, and how we had to take you in, shield you from the beasts and their claws and their teeth?”

::Now it was Taylor’s turn to rise, hands balled into fists. His words were dark, cold, but seething anger underlined them. “I ''never'' forgot, and I ''never'' will.”

:Yeah, so that's the reason why Taylor eventually agrees to it. But it's exactly this reason that plants a little doubt in Taylor's mind...it hints to him that humans can live alongside TFORs perfectly fine, something that his upbringing told him was impossible. As for the things about power characters, yeah, I've read that. Of course I'll work in some limitations, but I'll deal with that when I get there. Right now I'm working the intro. As for dialog...yeah, we could use this "EtherPad" that RM talked about. Seems pretty useful. :) —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 15:34, 5 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|Sounds like a plan.}}--[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 16:08, 5 August 2009 (UTC)

:Awesome! I'll drop you a message on your talk page or here or something when I get to that part. In the meantime I'll be working on the intro and assassination, as well as investigating the strange EtherPad. Off to sleep now! :) —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 16:11, 5 August 2009 (UTC)

::'''ADDITION'''Hey, CR, where do you live? As in, timezone. I'm not going to look you up or anything; I just need to sync times so that if we need to meet for a real-time collab we won't screw up the timings. That sorta thing. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 07:08, 6 August 2009 (UTC)

I should probably mention that TFOR is the acronymn for Transformative Failure of Ontogenetic Regulation. ''Teefer'' is the term used for those who were affected by TFOR. --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd]] 19:02, 5 August 2009 (UTC)

:Ah, yes. My mistake. Thanks for pitching in! By the way, when does Jonas catch the Torch? Because I like to put little cameos of characters I like, and Jonas is one of them. Even if the cameos are something as small as stepping on his tail. And when does [[The Fool in the Fox]] take place? It'd be useful if I knew when Jonas and Allan met. By the way, if you object to a cameo, it's fine with me. :) —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 07:04, 6 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|Fool in the Fox takes place sometime around 2032. Other than that you'll have to wait for Lloyd. I live in GMT-6, but will be out of town for a few days, so I don't know if I'll have internets. Wow, it looks like we are on exactly opposite time zones. When I'm waking up, you're finishing your day.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 12:24, 6 August 2009 (UTC)

:Yup, that's about right. But don't worry, I get up at four-thirty in the morning often enough (usually to do homework; I procrastinate). So there's no problem in meeting online, I guess. As for you going out of town, that's fine with me. I probably won't be getting to that part soon. And thanks for the info on Jonas, though I suppose I'll have to wait for Lloyd to reveal more...it's like some kind of conspiracy! :)
:—[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 12:49, 6 August 2009 (UTC)

:Jonas catches the Torch when he's 16, comes to Polyton when he's 17, and Fool takes place when he's 18 and it also happens in the summer of 2031. I have no objections to you using Jonas in your story by the way, that's one of the ideas behind a shared setting after all. --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd]] 13:24, 6 August 2009 (UTC)

::Sigh...I'm sorry, but I don't think I can cameo Jonas, because of the timeline. You see, my story needs the civil unrest of the 2020s. Jonas is eighteen in year 2031, meaning he would be eight and un-TFORed in 2021. So, unfortunately, I can't place him in there, because it would result in a timeline clash. Sorry. Perhaps in a sequel... —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 14:37, 6 August 2009 (UTC)

Oh, and could somebody enlighten me as to the kind of symptoms Blowtorch Fever causes? I'm only sure of the high fever and the cravings; the PaW page only listed those. Are there any others? Thanks. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 12:29, 9 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|And I'm back in town. I haven't had a chance to read it yet. I'll do that tonight. On Blowtorch, It only causes cravings if TFORS is also contracted, otherwise it's just a very deadly fever.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 01:58, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:'Kay. Thanks a lot! —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 02:00, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|Here is a clock for Texas,}} [http://www.timeanddate.com/worldclock/fullscreen.html?n=24 timeanddate.com]. --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 04:19, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:And [http://www.timeanddate.com/worldclock/fullscreen.html?n=236 here] is mine! So that we can sync up to a time where we can meet online for the dialog. Maybe next weekend, around eleven pm (Singapore time). Meanwhile I'll work on a list of what I need the conversation to cover. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 15:34, 10 August 2009 (UTC)
==Comments and Critique==
Hey guys, Wolfy here. Right now you've probably seen that I just uploaded the first segment of my story. If there's anything you think is bad, say so now! Thanks! Oh, and good comments are welcome too. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 08:52, 9 August 2009 (UTC)

:You've shown great improvements from your first foray into writing. I've thoroughly enjoyed what you have here right now and will be waiting for more. -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 11:48, 9 August 2009 (UTC)

::Wow, thanks for the praise! I kind of worried that I didn't manage to convey Taylor's character as a ruthless assassin very well, but really, thanks! I'm writing the actual assassination part now. Your praise is now compelling me to write more...Thanks once more! :D —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 12:22, 9 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|I just started reading it, and it's looking pretty good so far. Though you might want to start using pronouns at some point...}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 03:02, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|I have now finished the story in it's current posted form, and must say it is a very good start. A couple of notes:

*You mention that the phone is an iPhone, and I'm not sure if Apple would have survived the collapse, much the same way that Microsoft didn't. We might want to come up with a new mobile device that everyone uses, Otherwise it's hard to tell that the story takes place in the future. Blind Pig had this present future problem pretty bad.
*You don't seem to have any paragraphs. Everything is on a new line, and it makes it a bit difficult to read on a wide-screen monitor.
*The steak house should have a proper name, Such as "The County Line," "Rudy's," or "The Salt Lick." Which are all, coincidentally, real BBQ joints in Austin.
*Your Texas accents aren't too bad. At the very least, they don't portray Texans as idiots.
**"Doubt this killer’ll dare to show his face ‘round these parts when the Rangers are here." might be changed to "..parts with the Rangers in town."
*You drop a lot of Halo cameos in your stories. You might want to tone it down a bit, but that's more of a personal choice.
**In this case, the 99D-S2AM sniper rifle is very loud, and very evident as to where the bullet has come from due to the tracer in every round. You might look up some real world sniper rifles that are more anti-personnel and quiet.
*on the Encryption code: This isn't necessary, but for an added level of realism, you could research [[Wikipedia:Public Key|Public Key]] cryptography, and change it from Delta to a public key that they would use.
*On the robber: There are a lot of drunk, homeless, and/or bad people in east Austin, so you might set the Hotel there.

And that's all I could find right now. Keep up the good work.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 04:02, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:Thanks for the praise! As for your comments...
:*About the iPhone, it's mainly because I can't think of anything else. If one of the creators of PaW would step up and offer a nifty new brand, I wouldn't mind changing.
:*Paragraphing: I noticed that too, so maybe I'll switch to double-spacing between paragraphs. I use short paragraphs because it emphasizes suspense (I think).
:*Naming the steak house: Got it.
:*Texas accents: I worried that it would be offensive as I hate steorotypes. My bad.
:*Halo cameos: Right. Maybe I'll change it to a AWC (Arctic Warfare Covert). And, if you didn't notice, they're a lot more Halo references, like the Seventh Pillar Hotel is a ref. to the Seventh Column Bungie fangroup (Column is something like Pillar), and how the numbers of all the times add up to [http://www.halo.wikia.com/Seven seven]. And I intend to dump in more Assassin's Creed references, because I love that game. In case you didn't read Taylor's character page on PaW Character Timelines, Taylor bought a [http://assassinscreed.wikia.com/Hidden_Blade hidden blade] and repaired it for use. I know too many game references are bad but god I love those games!
:*Encryption: That's pretty minor, but maybe I'll follow your suggestion. I used "Omega" just to make it sound cool, as well as being a reference to my still unfinished [[User:WolfyDrake95/Last Man Standing|Last Man Standing]].
:*The robber: Okay.

:And thus, I reply. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 04:20, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

::An iphone, as is my understanding, does not require the presence of an Apple network in order to be used as a phone, so it is fully possible that it were still in use/production. If you want an alternate brand though, I believe the PAW Collab mentions something about Linux being the new microsoft so you may be able to come up with something there. --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd]] 11:53, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|The iPhone does require an AT&T plan, as well as access to the app store. Apple also has a history of locking down their devices, so that they cannot be used to their fullest unless they are illegaly jailbroken. Now if someone more into the open source/Linux community had taken over Apple, the new iPhone could be a linux based device, as well as more open to modification. Such as an encrypted communications application.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 13:11, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:As it stands this story is set so close to the end of the collapse that there will have been little in the way of technological innovation in regards to "consumer electronics". I can see the jailbreaking applications for the iPhone having become common - hell, I could see someone having broken into Apple's campus and stolen all of their source as having happened. If the source was stolen, then making it available to the public could have happened as well.

:I say that I can see this kind of thing happening and similar because I will not dictate things like that as having occurred. At this point the setting is still growing and details like that will likely be allowed as "canon". As the setting grows more details will get filled in it will become harder for people to add major new facets to the setting. -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 14:34, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

::Actually, I was thinking of using the iPhone because of its large application database, as well as its functionability (I read in NewsWeek that US snipers use it to calculate bullet drop). The one Taylor has is an upgraded version that the HRM developed for their field operatives. The HRM wasn't affected much by the Collapse, because it's quite a large movement and has a lot of powerful people within to support it. The cell featured in the story is only the Texas cell; many other cells are seeded within the New Confederacy. I can imagine someone in Apple being a member of the HRM and supplying them with the tech as well as the programs and applications specially designed for the Movement. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 15:04, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|As a hardware platform, the iPhone is very good. I can see that it could have grown into a much more robust device without Apple limiting it. Really, it's just kind of weird to see it called an iPhone in a future setting. I don't know if it should be called something else, but you might need to differentiate it from the iPhone of today.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 15:11, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:Hmm...I'll think about a new name. iPhone 2.0? uPhone? So many possibilities...—[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 15:34, 10 August 2009 (UTC)
== On self deprication. ==

{{Green|I'm noticing a trend with us young writers. We seem to think everything we write is, for lack of a better term, complete sh*t. I echo your author's note almost exactly on [[Talk:Rebuilding]]. To quote:

::"Anyways, I don't want to accidentally wreck your carefully crafted world with my bad fanfiction."

I don't know if this is a good or bad thing. It may mean we are more open to criticism, but it also means that we may be more prone to giving up on a story before giving it a chance.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 02:05, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:I think I know why. It's because when we (at least just me) read good stories (like Michael Bard's w00t I'm a fan!) we feel that we can't get up to that standard. When we read other stories in the universe we feel that we can't maintain that level of awesomeness. And so, we're terrified that we'll screw up the story universe. As for whether it's a good thing or bad...I think good because small bits of praise make me so happy that I get motivated a lot, but bad because if I don't get any praise or comments I get very demoralized. Queer. :) —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 02:18, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|True enough. On a side note, I still haven't read it yet because I'm RPing on one of District 9's Facebook pages. For the uninformed: [[Wikipedia:District_9|District 9]]. The Facebook page is}} [http://www.facebook.com/board.php?uid=57580949635#/MNUSpreadsLies here].

{{Green|The universe the movie is set in is very interesting, and the fact that the RP is entirely user driven, with no professional posters, even more so. I think I may attempt a short in the universe, but that will probably not show up on shifti.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 02:31, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:You Facebook? I never really understood the lure of that thing...I'm not much for social networking. I'll probably try to work out my account soon enough. Strange thing, this Facebook. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 02:56, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|It helps to connect to friends that aren't near you, and set up group things, and, as I'm now finding out, it's pretty good for rping as well. This is a [http://www.explosm.net/comics/1137/ facebook]. I don't really want to link to my facebook from shifti, mainly because I don't really want my ident to be publicly known yet.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 03:02, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:Yeah, I understand. I'm so free with my identity because I feel very trapped, and I only find understanding online in people like you. But if you want to add me (on MSN, not Facebook, I don't use the latter), you're welcome to do so *******.com)...I'm lonely 'cos nobody I know in real life is actually interested in this sorta thing as well. Just don't send me viruses...—[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 15:34, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|I masked your email to prevent spamming, and added you to my contacts list. I'll email/message you at a later time. You might also hop onto the #Transformations irc network. It's full of like minded individuals.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 16:27, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

User talk:WolfyDrake95/Price in Blood

2009-08-10T11:53:39Z

Lloyd Brunnel:

==Storyline Discussion==
{{Green|ShadowWolf knows a lot more about PaW than I do, but as far as I remember, the major conflicts were when Canada was sweeping down into the leftovers of the USA. But because you're from Singapore, you could start a story section over on that side of the world.

Here's some times for conflict:

2008-09: the start of the collapse, and first infections.

2011: the New Confederacy is formed. They could be the assasinators, as they are a very Anarchistic group.

2015: Most fighting stops. NAR stabilizes. New confederacy mostly gone. A splinter cell could cause some trouble.

2020: this is when Allan's hometown is bombed. After this, there is almost no figting in the greater NAR area. Some outlying areas could still have trouble with the Confederacy.

Thats the best I can do for now. If the character is going to be sticking around, I would recommend creating a character timeline page as well. It helps define the character's traits and description so that it stays constant across stories.

PAW needs some more authors, so I look forward to whatever you may come up with. Though by about 2020, most persecution in the north American region seems to have stopped, an earlier assassination plot could be a good setup for a character.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 14:03, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

:Hmm...I think PaW works, because my mind's already working out the kinks of the story. Well, I'll tell you what I'm planning now. '''SPOILER WARNING!!!'''

:'''Price in Blood'''—At the very end of some conflict (2015?), there is a skirmish between TFORs and an anti-TFOR splinter cell. This is when the main character's parents are killed, and the leader of the splinter cell finds him, takes him in, and slowly nurtures a hatred for TFORs, fuelled by his parents' deaths. Or, alternatively, his parents could have been the victims of the Brown incident (see Lloyd's [[Case Briefing: Leon v. Stewart]], but I haven't asked him yet), and died thereof. Same thing happens with the cell.

:Then the main character is trained, and within years (2019?) he is sent on his first mission for the cell: to go assassinate an outspoken pro-TFOR activist who's promoting TFOR equality and all that. The first time, a sniper attack is attempted; it fails, and the main character resorts to a direct knifing, etc. But then the main character catches the Torch, and collapses at the crucial moment of the assassination.

:The activist doesn't press charges on accounts of his age, but instead sends the main character to a friend's house (Allan himself, perhaps? That'd be a nice crossover) to recuperate, where it is revealed that the M.C. has caught the TFOR. As the M.C. deals with TFOR, the activist's friend starts to tell him about the TFOR community, and the M.C realizes that TFORs aren't all bad. Suddenly doubting his upbringing, he begins to investigate his parents' deaths, eventually finding a human survivor of that skirmish years ago. Then the M.C. finds out that actually it was the splinter cell who killed his parents; he goes back there to kill that leader, and succeeds.

:Admittedly I haven't thought of the very, very ending: perhaps the police arrest him? That would be an interesting ending, despite being sad.

:This story, being in the idea stage, is very loose. If you've got any good ideas, feel free to tell me! If ShadowWolf is reading this, then his advice would be crucial too! And if Allan is to be featured, I'll need a bunch of details about him, and probably you'll have to vet and monitor the dialog. The last time I featured someone else's character (awesome writer Jetfire's AT), I think I wrote her in terribly. My fault, of course. I still have trouble believing that I was forgiven for screwing up the Paradise universe. But I digress.
:If I've got your permission to use Allan, I'll probably be bugging you a lot. Or, we could use that nifty EtherPad to pull the partial collab. Tell me what you think!
:PS, forgive me for putting a reference to Allan in this story. I couldn't resist it. I have some problems. :) —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 14:30, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|The main idea sounds good. Around 2020 is when Allan's town is Bombed, but after that there's two years open for anything. 2022ish is when the Rangers contact Allan again, but I haven't started that story very far, so it could be that they both join.

If it were Allan, they could have a talk about losing a parent/parents, and other such discussions. Crossovers are what make a story universe so great, so I don't mind. Indeed, Lloyd has already used Allan in a [[The_Fool_in_the_Fox|story.]]

On the TFOR, It may have to be that he had the Torch previously, which created tension in the anti-TFOR community, but he didn't come down with TFOR right away. Then leading up to the assassination, he would be craving weird foods, and during the assassination TFOR could kick in, causing the systemic lock-up and changes.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 14:43, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

:As late as 2040 there are still people in the region that was once "The New Confederacy" that still perform anti-teefer terrorist acts. From what I can tell of your idea it would need to be no later than 2025 because around 2025 the "resistance" in that region has become wildly decentralized and so fractured that it has been known to attack other branches. -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 14:53, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

::Actually I was thinking along the lines of pre-2020, so that the main character could go live with Allan without Allan being preoccupied by bombings and death. So, skirmish in 2010s, training from 2011 through 2015, then assassination in 2016. More or less. I can already imagine fight scenes and gunfire and flying knives and two-meter leaps. All in my head, of course, and this messes up my lessons in school. By the way, where exactly does Allan live? And when is Lloyd's story set? I might be able to pull Jonas Balfour into this. :)
::And ShadowWolf's right about my story. I need it to be some kind of anti-TFOR splinter cell (I like the words "splinter cell": they're cool) that attacks pro-TFOR activists. I'll start on it right away, but this week I have to prep for my school's National Day Parade, so I'm kinda busy. I'll find time; I wake up at 5:30 sometimes just to check Shifti for updates before going to school. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 15:03, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|If it was set before 2020, which is when I set Rebuilding, I would have to go back and retcon a lot of exposition into it to make mention of MC, so to be perfectly honest, I think late 2020-2021 would be the best setting for MC and Allan to meet. That gives two years, and story material for both you and me.

Before 2020, Allan lived in California, near LA. Around 2020, he moved to just above Amarillo, Texas. 2021, when he's in college, if he gets into University of Texas, He'll be living in Austin Texas.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 15:20, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

:Got it. Shifting the timeline ahead, assassination now occurs in 2021. Oh, and can anyone help me think up a name and TFOR type for the pro-TFOR activist? I'm terrible at name-choosing and power-picking. Some help, please. I've written the intro, but right now I have to sleep. It's midnight over here. :) --[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 16:07, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|It seems to me that there is a high density of certain types of anthros in these settings. Generally of felines, lupines, and canines. I'm going to try and remedy that in my next story, because there are a lot of different species on earth, and the virus can even use ones not of this earth. So just as a challenge, you might try something out of the ordinary.

On the powers, only 30% of all teefers receive powers, so he may not have a "super" power, but he could have a biological capability. Such as hardened skin or extreme reflexes. An Armadillo TFOR might work, as it could lead to the bullet failing to penetrate far enough to be lethal. Just remember that the species should affect how the story progresses, instead of just being a block of descriptive text.

As for names, I'm terrible at names. You could try flipping through a phonebook, and picking out random first and last names to throw together.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 16:44, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

:Hmm...now that I think of it, maybe this activist shouldn't be a TFOR at all. Instead, I'm thinking having him as a normal human would be far better for the storyline. As for the main character, I'm naming him Taylor Miles, after the Halo 3: ODST [http://www.halo.wikia.com/wiki/Taylor_Miles character of the same name]. He's probably going to wind up some kinda wolf (grey or arctic), but you might have guessed that I liked wolves from my name, so this isn't a surprise. And he's going to have some limited object manipulation capabilities, which he can use to accelerate or manipulate bullets or throwing knives, for example. That sorta thing. I'll upload when I'm done with the first couple of chapters. :) —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 12:50, 5 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|A human activist would have a much higher chance of causing an upset in Taylor. If he expects to be shooting at what he believes are "animals," or whatever the propaganda is, then he may have issues with shooting a human being. I have noticed that you like wolves, yes.

On the issue of power characters, I'll link you to my talk page on [[Talk:Rebuilding|rebuilding]]. Both Lloyd and ShadowWolf had something to say about power characters, so it's worth a read. The main notes are to come up with definite limits on his powers, and definite consequences.

On a side note, because Allan is human, but also a TFOR, it could lead to interesting conversation things with Taylor. I enjoy discussions of "what makes a human" so I would love to come up with dialog with you.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 14:18, 5 August 2009 (UTC)

:Yes, exactly. It's supposed to be like that; the target is supposed to be human, but supporting TFORs. Here's an excerpt of what I've written so far:

::“This is your assignment. Find this man, and kill him. Silence him. I believe that you, of all the others, are up to this task. We already have the necessary information regarding him, but it shall be no easy task, since he is so successful that the TFORs have begun offering him protection.”

::“Wait,” Taylor cut in, unheeding of the protocols of respect. “This man is human. An innocent. He has done no wrong and neither is he one of ''them''—”

::“Don’t you see?” Myers slammed his hands on the table, emotion evidently forcing him out of his seat. “This man is corrupting the minds of the people! Human or not, he must be silenced. He is the voice of those beasts, and he has to be silenced, lest the people turn and support them instead of our noble cause!”

::Myers dropped back into his seat, seeming to regain control of his emotions. But looking at the man, Taylor saw a fire burning in his eyes as he continued, “You should know this, of all people. Anyone supporting the TFORs is a threat, and these TFORs are the greatest danger to our society. Or have you forgotten how they ''killed'' your parents, and how we had to take you in, shield you from the beasts and their claws and their teeth?”

::Now it was Taylor’s turn to rise, hands balled into fists. His words were dark, cold, but seething anger underlined them. “I ''never'' forgot, and I ''never'' will.”

:Yeah, so that's the reason why Taylor eventually agrees to it. But it's exactly this reason that plants a little doubt in Taylor's mind...it hints to him that humans can live alongside TFORs perfectly fine, something that his upbringing told him was impossible. As for the things about power characters, yeah, I've read that. Of course I'll work in some limitations, but I'll deal with that when I get there. Right now I'm working the intro. As for dialog...yeah, we could use this "EtherPad" that RM talked about. Seems pretty useful. :) —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 15:34, 5 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|Sounds like a plan.}}--[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 16:08, 5 August 2009 (UTC)

:Awesome! I'll drop you a message on your talk page or here or something when I get to that part. In the meantime I'll be working on the intro and assassination, as well as investigating the strange EtherPad. Off to sleep now! :) —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 16:11, 5 August 2009 (UTC)

::'''ADDITION'''Hey, CR, where do you live? As in, timezone. I'm not going to look you up or anything; I just need to sync times so that if we need to meet for a real-time collab we won't screw up the timings. That sorta thing. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 07:08, 6 August 2009 (UTC)

I should probably mention that TFOR is the acronymn for Transformative Failure of Ontogenetic Regulation. ''Teefer'' is the term used for those who were affected by TFOR. --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd]] 19:02, 5 August 2009 (UTC)

:Ah, yes. My mistake. Thanks for pitching in! By the way, when does Jonas catch the Torch? Because I like to put little cameos of characters I like, and Jonas is one of them. Even if the cameos are something as small as stepping on his tail. And when does [[The Fool in the Fox]] take place? It'd be useful if I knew when Jonas and Allan met. By the way, if you object to a cameo, it's fine with me. :) —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 07:04, 6 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|Fool in the Fox takes place sometime around 2032. Other than that you'll have to wait for Lloyd. I live in GMT-6, but will be out of town for a few days, so I don't know if I'll have internets. Wow, it looks like we are on exactly opposite time zones. When I'm waking up, you're finishing your day.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 12:24, 6 August 2009 (UTC)

:Yup, that's about right. But don't worry, I get up at four-thirty in the morning often enough (usually to do homework; I procrastinate). So there's no problem in meeting online, I guess. As for you going out of town, that's fine with me. I probably won't be getting to that part soon. And thanks for the info on Jonas, though I suppose I'll have to wait for Lloyd to reveal more...it's like some kind of conspiracy! :)
:—[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 12:49, 6 August 2009 (UTC)

:Jonas catches the Torch when he's 16, comes to Polyton when he's 17, and Fool takes place when he's 18 and it also happens in the summer of 2031. I have no objections to you using Jonas in your story by the way, that's one of the ideas behind a shared setting after all. --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd]] 13:24, 6 August 2009 (UTC)

::Sigh...I'm sorry, but I don't think I can cameo Jonas, because of the timeline. You see, my story needs the civil unrest of the 2020s. Jonas is eighteen in year 2031, meaning he would be eight and un-TFORed in 2021. So, unfortunately, I can't place him in there, because it would result in a timeline clash. Sorry. Perhaps in a sequel... —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 14:37, 6 August 2009 (UTC)

Oh, and could somebody enlighten me as to the kind of symptoms Blowtorch Fever causes? I'm only sure of the high fever and the cravings; the PaW page only listed those. Are there any others? Thanks. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 12:29, 9 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|And I'm back in town. I haven't had a chance to read it yet. I'll do that tonight. On Blowtorch, It only causes cravings if TFORS is also contracted, otherwise it's just a very deadly fever.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 01:58, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:'Kay. Thanks a lot! —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 02:00, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|Here is a clock for Texas,}} [http://www.timeanddate.com/worldclock/fullscreen.html?n=24 timeanddate.com]. --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 04:19, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

==Comments and Critique==
Hey guys, Wolfy here. Right now you've probably seen that I just uploaded the first segment of my story. If there's anything you think is bad, say so now! Thanks! Oh, and good comments are welcome too. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 08:52, 9 August 2009 (UTC)

:You've shown great improvements from your first foray into writing. I've thoroughly enjoyed what you have here right now and will be waiting for more. -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 11:48, 9 August 2009 (UTC)

::Wow, thanks for the praise! I kind of worried that I didn't manage to convey Taylor's character as a ruthless assassin very well, but really, thanks! I'm writing the actual assassination part now. Your praise is now compelling me to write more...Thanks once more! :D —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 12:22, 9 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|I just started reading it, and it's looking pretty good so far. Though you might want to start using pronouns at some point...}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 03:02, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|I have now finished the story in it's current posted form, and must say it is a very good start. A couple of notes:

*You mention that the phone is an iPhone, and I'm not sure if Apple would have survived the collapse, much the same way that Microsoft didn't. We might want to come up with a new mobile device that everyone uses, Otherwise it's hard to tell that the story takes place in the future. Blind Pig had this present future problem pretty bad.
*You don't seem to have any paragraphs. Everything is on a new line, and it makes it a bit difficult to read on a wide-screen monitor.
*The steak house should have a proper name, Such as "The County Line," "Rudy's," or "The Salt Lick." Which are all, coincidentally, real BBQ joints in Austin.
*Your Texas accents aren't too bad. At the very least, they don't portray Texans as idiots.
**"Doubt this killer’ll dare to show his face ‘round these parts when the Rangers are here." might be changed to "..parts with the Rangers in town."
*You drop a lot of Halo cameos in your stories. You might want to tone it down a bit, but that's more of a personal choice.
**In this case, the 99D-S2AM sniper rifle is very loud, and very evident as to where the bullet has come from due to the tracer in every round. You might look up some real world sniper rifles that are more anti-personnel and quiet.
*on the Encryption code: This isn't necessary, but for an added level of realism, you could research [[Wikipedia:Public Key|Public Key]] cryptography, and change it from Delta to a public key that they would use.
*On the robber: There are a lot of drunk, homeless, and/or bad people in east Austin, so you might set the Hotel there.

And that's all I could find right now. Keep up the good work.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 04:02, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:Thanks for the praise! As for your comments...
:*About the iPhone, it's mainly because I can't think of anything else. If one of the creators of PaW would step up and offer a nifty new brand, I wouldn't mind changing.
:*Paragraphing: I noticed that too, so maybe I'll switch to double-spacing between paragraphs. I use short paragraphs because it emphasizes suspense (I think).
:*Naming the steak house: Got it.
:*Texas accents: I worried that it would be offensive as I hate steorotypes. My bad.
:*Halo cameos: Right. Maybe I'll change it to a AWC (Arctic Warfare Covert). And, if you didn't notice, they're a lot more Halo references, like the Seventh Pillar Hotel is a ref. to the Seventh Column Bungie fangroup (Column is something like Pillar), and how the numbers of all the times add up to [http://www.halo.wikia.com/Seven seven]. And I intend to dump in more Assassin's Creed references, because I love that game. In case you didn't read Taylor's character page on PaW Character Timelines, Taylor bought a [http://assassinscreed.wikia.com/Hidden_Blade hidden blade] and repaired it for use. I know too many game references are bad but god I love those games!
:*Encryption: That's pretty minor, but maybe I'll follow your suggestion. I used "Omega" just to make it sound cool, as well as being a reference to my still unfinished [[User:WolfyDrake95/Last Man Standing|Last Man Standing]].
:*The robber: Okay.

:And thus, I reply. &mdash[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 04:20, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

::An iphone, as is my understanding, does not require the presence of an Apple network in order to be used as a phone, so it is fully possible that it were still in use/production. If you want an alternate brand though, I believe the PAW Collab mentions something about Linux being the new microsoft so you may be able to come up with something there. --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd]] 11:53, 10 August 2009 (UTC)
== On self deprication. ==

{{Green|I'm noticing a trend with us young writers. We seem to think everything we write is, for lack of a better term, complete sh*t. I echo your author's note almost exactly on [[Talk:Rebuilding]]. To quote:

::"Anyways, I don't want to accidentally wreck your carefully crafted world with my bad fanfiction."

I don't know if this is a good or bad thing. It may mean we are more open to criticism, but it also means that we may be more prone to giving up on a story before giving it a chance.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 02:05, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:I think I know why. It's because when we (at least just me) read good stories (like Michael Bard's w00t I'm a fan!) we feel that we can't get up to that standard. When we read other stories in the universe we feel that we can't maintain that level of awesomeness. And so, we're terrified that we'll screw up the story universe. As for whether it's a good thing or bad...I think good because small bits of praise make me so happy that I get motivated a lot, but bad because if I don't get any praise or comments I get very demoralized. Queer. :) —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 02:18, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|True enough. On a side note, I still haven't read it yet because I'm RPing on one of District 9's Facebook pages. For the uninformed: [[Wikipedia:District_9|District 9]]. The Facebook page is}} [http://www.facebook.com/board.php?uid=57580949635#/MNUSpreadsLies here].

{{Green|The universe the movie is set in is very interesting, and the fact that the RP is entirely user driven, with no professional posters, even more so. I think I may attempt a short in the universe, but that will probably not show up on shifti.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 02:31, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:You Facebook? I never really understood the lure of that thing...I'm not much for social networking. I'll probably try to work out my account soon enough. Strange thing, this Facebook. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 02:56, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|It helps to connect to friends that aren't near you, and set up group things, and, as I'm now finding out, it's pretty good for rping as well. This is a [http://www.explosm.net/comics/1137/ facebook]. I don't really want to link to my facebook from shifti, mainly because I don't really want my ident to be publicly known yet.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 03:02, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

Talk:JT Fox's Sly and Tracy At the Bus Stop

2009-08-10T04:00:23Z

Lloyd Brunnel:

I must confess a certain weakness for your Sly Fox stories, thank you for writing another one. Though if you'd like a bit of critique, Tracy seems to accept Sly sooner than can be reasonably believed. Even if Xanadu was widely known and accepted at this point, one would still be wary of someone as... peculiar as Sly. You may also wish to expand on the TF process itself as well as the overall description of events as this story seems to lack some of the quality shared by the other stories in this series. --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd]] 11:05, 8 August 2009 (UTC)

:Sadly, I agree with Lloyd. The other Sly Fox stories really impressed me (except for the occasional grammatical error, but that's understandable), but this one...not so much. Like what Lloyd said, you seem to have cut off several bits that continue the willing suspension of disbelief thing, and the story is mainly conveyed through conversation, making it flow less well. It'd be better if you threw in more descriptions. If you don't mind an amateur's opinion, I'd say that it seemed like you were trying to cut a long story short, and in the process you removed several bits and pieces, like additional dialog between the two characters or descriptions of the TF. Still, thanks for another Sly Fox story! —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 01:44, 9 August 2009 (UTC)

Sadly, JT is suffering with Summer school and doesn't have time for Sly. He wrote this short one a while ago purely as a favor to me. There was actually a much longer story that was written only halfway before he lost interest. that took place after Sly had begun to turn his hotel into a haven for Xanadu victims who were just a little too weird to assimilate back into society (and as a rule, he only toonifies his xanadu-victim tenants if they ask for it in some way, which isn't that surprisingly often). And he was trying to convince a wheel chair bound man who was once a cabby in round about to request being turned into a toon taxi...but the man's bitterness mean it wasn't going well and could have possibly mounted to being Sly's first defeat... --Alex Warlorn 2009-08-08

:Dang. Any chance we could see that story as a WIP/hiatus piece though? --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd]] 04:00, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

Talk:JT Fox's Sly and Tracy At the Bus Stop

2009-08-09T11:21:16Z

Lloyd Brunnel:

I must confess a certain weakness for your Sly Fox stories, thank you for writing another one. Though if you'd like a bit of critique, Tracy seems to accept Sly sooner than can be reasonably believed. Even if Xanadu was widely known and accepted at this point, one would still be wary of someone as... peculiar as Sly. You may also wish to expand on the TF process itself as well as the overall description of events as this story seems to lack some of the quality shared by the other stories in this series. --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd]] 11:05, 8 August 2009 (UTC)

:Sadly, I agree with Lloyd. The other Sly Fox stories really impressed me (except for the occasional grammatical error, but that's understandable), but this one...not so much. Like what Lloyd said, you seem to have cut off several bits that continue the willing suspension of disbelief thing, and the story is mainly conveyed through conversation, making it flow less well. It'd be better if you threw in more descriptions. If you don't mind an amateur's opinion, I'd say that it seemed like you were trying to cut a long story short, and in the process you removed several bits and pieces, like additional dialog between the two characters or descriptions of the TF. Still, thanks for another Sly Fox story! —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 01:44, 9 August 2009 (UTC)

Sadly, JT is suffering with Summer school and doesn't have time for Sly. He wrote this short one a while ago purely as a favor to me. There was actually a much longer story that was written only halfway before he lost interest. that took place after Sly had begun to turn his hotel into a haven for Xanadu victims who were just a little too weird to assimilate back into society (and as a rule, he only toonifies his xanadu-victim tenants if they ask for it in some way, which isn't that surprisingly often). And he was trying to convince a wheel chair bound man who was once a cabby in round about to request being turned into a toon taxi...but the man's bitterness mean it wasn't going well and could have possibly mounted to being Sly's first defeat... --Alex Warlorn 2009-08-08

Dang. --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd]] 11:21, 9 August 2009 (UTC)