Money : Prologue
Hey, thanks for clicking. This is a prologue to a story series I'll be writing, a story of a young fur who's exposed to the harsh realities of the true world and his fight to keep sane and true to himself in the hell that he's in. As this is only a prologue, it won't be as long, but rest assured, there will be much yiffing (M/M and M/F) and action to fill up the other chapters. Now, enjoy!
From a distance, only a faint roar and a trail of sandy-brown dirt betrayed that anything out of the ordinary was plowing through the beaten desert road. A flock of vultures flew skywards as the rusty old car headed towards them, the driver only offering a small smirk as they seemed to glare back down at him. The car was as beaten as the road it lurched over, though one could make out that it used to be an exquisite white Cadillac convertible. In the backseat were a variety of guitar cases, worn and covered in dust and stickers. The driver was a black otter, with a small tuft of red chest fur popping out the top of his jacket. He looked tired but determined, obviously having drove a long way to get where he is now. Suddenly, a large grin spread across his muzzle as a sign came into view.
"Harrison City - 40 miles"
He had been waiting to see that sign all his life. He dreamed about it, thought about it, spent most of his teenage years planning it. He was going to go to Harrison City, and become a musician. That was his dream. That was his ambition, and hell or high water, he was going to at least try. Stretching his arm across the empty passenger's seat, he sighed in silent satisfaction. It was finally in sight. The first half of the beginning of his life was here. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a strange figure. It appeared to be another fur, but it was simply standing in the middle of the desert on the side of the road. Raising an eyebrow, the otter slowed down the car to a gentle stop. Throwing his bag across his shoulder, he walked towards the figure. It's head slowly turned, piercing him with an insane-looking glare. He was a male tiger from what he could see, wearing a simple black jacket with a white frilled undershirt and black dress pants. A cane lay by his side, dust covering it as if it had not been used in a long time. The otter raised a gentle hand and spoke, his voice soft and comforting to contrast the harshness of the desert.
"You need some help, man? A ride?" The otter got nervous as the tiger continued to simply stare. "Water, maybe? My name's Commodore, by the way."
The man nodded once, the only movement he had offered. He spoke, with a rough gravelly voice that was somehow lulling.
"Nice to meet you, son." The man looked over to his car. "Guitars?"
Commodore stammered for a moment. "Er... Er, yeah. Going to Harrison City, try to get a record contract. Why do you ask?"
The tiger's head snapped up at this, and his ears raised. His lips curling into an impish grin, he walked towards them slowly. Commodore had barely managed a few steps backward before the man was right in front of him. He reached into his dirty coat pocket and fished out a business card. It was solid black, with simple white print. He handed it to him with a shaky hand, and patted him on the shoulder.
"Get to moving, it's almost nightfall."
After a few seconds of reading the card, the otter turned swiftly around. The man was nowhere to be found in the flat desert. He wasn't in his car, which was the only cover for miles. Slightly afraid and aching with excitement, he got behind the wheel once more and sped towards the city.
He had a special meeting to attend.
Who is the tiger? What was on the business card? What's the meeting?
When will the yiff start?
All questions will be answered in the next chapter... Well, not all. But most.
Comments are appreciated.