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The five minutes of silent staring wasn't necessarily intimidating, but there was a lot communicated during that time about personal integrity, enthusiasm for new opportunities, the well-earned scrim of serenity veiling uncertainty that could plunge rapidly into desperation, and who the fuck this guy thought he was.

Exactly three hundred seconds of uninterrupted staring. And then:

"That's a shitty name."

"It's perfectly descriptive."

"You gonna sit on stage and flex and drink a bunch of milk? We ain't buyin' you milk to drink."

"I'm not gonna sit on stage and flex and drink a bunch of milk."

"You gonna eat like a whole turkey or whatever?"

"Sure, if they ask for it."

"Alive?"

"Verbal shrug."

"Resounding and articulate hum, but I like your spunk."

"So will they, if it's turkey flavored."

"They are mostly predators..."

"That's the idea."

"... but that ain't how prostates work."

"I'm banking on the power of suggestion, honestly."

"Sigh. Alright, fine, you're a big jacked up hunk, you've got some sorta food fetish act. So, what's the ramp?"

"Mostly plywood, but I shouldn't be too heavy for it."

"No, what's the BUILD."

"Plywood... and staples?"

"Guy, you show up on foot in a wifebeater and seventeen shitty wooden bracelets I think you stole off a Girl Scout camp and cargo shorts I think you stole off a dead man, and asking for an hour to shake your dick and muscle-tits in front of live audience. You're pretty, sure you are, but pretty's cheap and I shoot it down by the hour. Stop with the lip."

"I start with some eggs; swallow a chicken piece by piece, then whole; swallow a live salmon; swallow a live ram; flex and dance as I go."

"Run that last one by me again."

"I'm going to eat a ram. Whole."

Jef-one-eff, the fawn-furred, jacked, rabbit combination manager and bouncer stuffed his pinky in his left ear and checked his claw for gunk. "Alright, so nothing crazy in there. One more time, for good measure." The ear took a little while to recover its posture - a sort of tremor on the way back that jangled two fine, silver earrings against one another. It was a beautiful sound, perfectly tuned to a high C.

"Measure thrice, pay once; I like the logic. On stage, at the climax of my strip tease, I will swallow one whole, live sheep." The huge muscle-wolf, Forty Days Fasted, gestured to his maw, which he opened wide. For a brief moment, the rabbit's ears folded back, because he couldn't shake the sudden sensation that the maw had blotted out the rest of the dim evening; that there was nothing but bright, white teeth broader than possible in that chestnut brown muzzle, nothing but the wet unsealing of lips and welcoming tongue, nothing but the warmth and famished wind of hungry breath, and the quiet clatter of wooden bracelets on the muscle-wolf's arms and tail and ankles.

But that wasn't the case, and so Jef-one-eff, the jacked rabbit, shook his head. "Weird as fuck and I don't believe you, but Tuesday literally shot himself in the foot, so we have an empty spot in the schedule. I'll tell Ten Panthers and Grop to show - they're into stuff like this."

"Ten... panthers?"

"Ten Panthers. Listen to the percussive fricatives, my man - how you have a name like Forty Days Fasted and not keep a fine enough enunciative tongue on your percussive fuckin' fricatives? Ten Panthers, not ten panthers. Real quiet chipmunk fellow, real specific kinks, always see him doin' shit like you're talking about with the fish, but smaller."

"And Grop?"

"Grop's a squirrel who kills people for a living."

"Neither one of those are carnivores."

"Yeah, but they are both predators. Grop's real professional, though, and a real solid dude. Never kills on site - only on sight."

"Um."

"It's his tag line."

"It's not very good."

"It's too sibilant and lacks a simply-stated syllogism - even if he's sniping, he's scoring on site." Jef-one-eff looked briefly relieved he had made it through that line. "Scary dude, though."

"So... Anything I should... avoid, in particular...? I'm real interested in not-dying."

"Look, two things." Both long, turgid ears went straight up, again with the left ear lagging behind and jingling. "One." The right fell down. "He's a professional. You'll die if you're on a contract he owns, and you won't if not. He's not a barbarian. Two." The other followed, slowly. "You're a salesman and all you got's a body for sale, and we ain't classy. We ain't shit, but we ain't classy. I'll pay you two hundred bucks for Tuesday night. One-hour set. Keep tips, and keep any after-hours illegal shit off premises, but I won't tell you where to stick your dick and where not to. You make either TP or Grop happy, you can come back. You make any of the three of us unhappy? Buddy, acts like yours are hit or miss, and when they miss, they're sick as sick shit. I ain't into sick sick shit. I'll blackball you from here to Out There and back."

"Uh... I... I'm new in town?" "Out There's like fifty miles out. Nice place. Couple of real cool underground nightclubs in between; it's like a sinner's alley type of deal along Highway 621. Some north side, some south side - that's why I'd have to blackball you both there and back." "Oh, so that'd be..."

"Deathknell of a Salesman, fella."

The muscle-wolf quirked a corner of his mouth, to give their repartee a beat of reprieve. "I like the cut of your jib." "Yeah? Couple of the nicer gals are sailors and enjoy the aesthetic." Jef-one-eff let half a grin wink out the corner of his mouth, punctuating the gentle moment of breath, and peace.

Forty Days Fasted dared to broaden that quirk into a smile. "Any chance you and I could make out later? It'd be real hot."

"Impress me first, and you ain't done that yet." A scribbling of graphite. "There, look, you're penciled in. And you can provide all that stuff you said?" "Spent my last dime on it." "... why, man? You could go masturbate in front of grandpas or something. Mow lawns in a bikini. Hell, get a real job. Lift heavy things and put them down. You could fake your way into owning a whole gym; you've got charm and chisel and grit and you're six-foot-two, two-forty-three. Why this kinky live-action porn shit?"

Forty Days Fasted sighed deeply and leaned against the door frame with his arms crossed, the motion forcing his chest to stretch his top almost past its last thread. "Three years ago, I met a guy who broke my hea-"

"Bored as FUCK. Get out of here and don't come back 'til ten minutes before your slot."

"You got it, Jef-one-eff."

And thus, Forty Days Fasted was hired. Tuesday night at The Gilded Chasm - "Some Vore Porn with a Muscle-Wolf." Don't miss out~