A shity day
Quicky I did while working on Feralfangs 2. This story has a humorous edge and made me laugh more than a dozen times. Hope you'll like it as much as I did!
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Commissioner Laril pulled a spicy blob from his pouch. He plopped it in his mouth, chewing. He looked up. Grey. It's been like this since morning. Clouds blanketed the sky, refusing to share their burden.
Whatever. He was close enough. Laril moaned softly. The delightful taste of meat and spices traveled across his tongue, spreading in every corner of his spotted muzzle. Laril licked his whiskers, swallowed,and entered "the three way" inn.
He scratched an ear. If the outside reminded him of latrines, the inside was definitely the shit pit. Three sets of tables, each of different heights and shapes made for the ugliest cake he's ever seen. Midget walls separated the inn like its name suggested. Three slices for gods-know-what purpose. And the stench. It reeked of piss and-
"Greetings," a fat man stomped the hard wood. He wore a white shirt, black tie, and glasses to go with that bald head of his.
"Greetings," he said again, nodding his chubby chin.
Laril scoffed. "I greet..."He extended a furred hand. The innkeeper looked at him, at his hand, and smiled.
"Ohuah!" Tables screeched, chairs fell down, almost dragging the innkeeper with them.
"You," Laril finished. The man shook himself.
"Yeah yeah." He wasn't even in reach for a hand shake, and that weight. This creature could barely walk under all those stashed supplies. His shirt buttons were tight, pressed by an unreasonably large girth.
"EHeheh. Greetings."
Finally.
Laril shook the man's hand. "Same."
Ugh. Sweaty. And cold. The cheetah wiped his pads on the sleek raincoat and looked around, flicking his tail. Two humans, a feline and a lone wolf. That's it? Four patrons? Laril popped another spicy blob into his mouth, catching it mid-air. The man stared, a light frown crossing his face.
"I'm not giving you these," Laril said. The innkeeper started chewing the inside of his mouth. Hungry bastard. "Consider vggies. Drop the bat on that fat."
"Yeh," he nodded. "Heheh."
So fast? Laril expected a comeback. He motioned towards the counter, scowling. "You know why I'm here?"
"Yeh, yeh," the two walked to the counter. "You are the commissioner. Came earlier than y'ere supposed to."
"Yeh. Nothing beats speed. Laril's the name, by the way."
"Good name." Pudgy hands caressed each bottle. The innkeeper mumbled something, and reached for the upper shelf. Laril waited for his glass to be filled, then snatched it up. He downed it in one go, then licked his fangs and whiskers. That was a bloody good starter.
"Sounds cheetah-ish," the innkeeper smiled broadely. "Mine's Pan."
Laril watched him for a moment, then removed his soaked raincoat. Ugly as it was, this latrine stored heat better than a fertile whore. The mere thought stirred his sleeping member. It's been a while...
"Frying pan, y'know?" My mother couldn't reach the hospital and birthed me into a-"
"Don't," Laril gestured towards the drinks, then at the glass. Another round. "I don't care how your whor-whole mother dumped you into the world."
"Hehe," The innkeeper flustered. He dragged a screeching chair under his arse, mumbling something. A fat hand swiped across his forehead before their eyes met.
"Business then?"
"Yes," the cheetah answered. "Got any cigars?"
"Yoy."
"Bring a few. And a round of beers too."
The innkeeper moved slow and clumsily. Better late than never. Laril thought of a couple of questions. Only standard ones crossed his mind. Whys and whats and hows. This creature of blubber and sweat seemed nervous enough without throwing the words 'murder' and 'bloodshed' into the fray. No. Pressure would only encourage lies.
"Another round, Pan."
They drank again, wetting their tongues with bitter lemon humped by alcohol. The innkeeper groaned.
"Burns, eh?"
"A bit," Laril said. "It will pass quickly, as will my visit. Can you tell me what happened?"
He fidgeted in his chair. Damned oaf, he was. These kind of people died first. Pan was too slow to move and too dimwitted to smell danger. Yet he survived. A timely piss or an upset stomach conveniently saved him from last week's massacre.
"Where...where do I begin?" Another one of those smiles. He was really glad to be the only survivor, wasn't he? Charming fellow.
Laril look at the bottles. It was easier than counting spots between his teeth. "From the beginning."
"Ohey," Pan said. "So it was morning. You know, when everyone's drowsy and groggy. I served drinks," he waved three fat fingers behind. "Coffee, beer, liquour. Whatever these drunks asked for."
"I see," Laril scratched his wrist and cupped his chin, making himself comfortable. "Normal day."
"Not normal. I almost peed meself-" Pan laughed. Wasn't that a piss poor joke?
"You served drinks and peed," Laril said impatiently. "Then?"
"He came to my counter," Pan's eyes widened. "One of the fattest elves I've ever seen! And I'm generous enough, heh. See this girth?"
Laril nodded.
"Yeh. Got my share of supplies. So this elf comes in, crashing himself into a chair that crashes down with him."
"It happens," Laril lighted a cigar and nodded for the innkeeper to continue.
"I laughed," he said innocently. "Everyone did. Whole inn was ablaze with laughter. And then this elf comes up, two shotguns as fat as his hands pointing right b'tween my eyes."
"Gimme beer," the innkeeper's voice became gruff and hoarse. "Or I'll make you sneer."
"Did he?" Laril licked one of his fangs and inhaled the scented smoke. He blinked twice, resisting the urge to cough.
"Made me pee, he did. The second course was about to follow too. Ehh." The mug offered temporary relief. Pan drank a few gulps, then resurfaced from his beer.
"Ohey. So this elf has the guns. Big guns. I look at the fat, and then at the gun, not knowing what to do!"
"Shoulda pour his gorram drink," Laril growled.
"I did! T'was hard with the pee and everything-"
"Leave the gross bits out." The soothing relief of another puff turned mind from excrements.
"Ohey. So I gave the elf a drink, and this scrawny lad rises from his table. He looks at the elf, then at me, and squints those little eyes. He walks towards me. The basterd! I knew he meant business by the way he walked."
The innkeeper paused.
"What after?"
He looked at the cheetah, blinking.
"They fight. Somehow the elf notices and turns around," the innkeeper picked a bottle. "Bfuuuh bfuuh! His shotguns spat. Bewm bewm! The shots kill a bunch of people. They scream and die. The drunk fucks spilled blood and drink everywhere!"
"That what you think of your customers?" Laril asked.
"B...that's the truth!"
"Whatever," the commissar smiled. "Continue."
"So they die. Blood everywhere, but not on this lad. He's moving his hands, doing all sorts of movements and symbols and shit."
Laril pressed his claws on the fat man's wrist. "No more shit from now on. Word's banned. Had my fill with it."
"Owwhey," Pan nodded, rubbing the cherry marks. "This bare chested fellow blocked all those bullets. They just flicker and vanish like he's burning them. Dunno what he did."
Pan slammed the table. "And then he flies into the elf. Like, flies! Kicks the elf right in the neck! The elf grunts and drops his guns. He tries to hit this guy, punch punch, but he's too fast! He ducks and feints and evades everything, all while hitting and punching and slapping all that fat."
"Dunno how, but strangled the elf with his own intestines, he did. "
"Aaalright. Totally plausible scenario," Laril washed down three gulps of ice cold beer, purring with contentment.
"Tis true," Pan leaned his elbows on the counter. "I speak truth. Never lie. Momma taught me good."
The cheetah dug his claws in one of those fat arms. "Then continue."
Pan winced. "Gotta stop doing that. Hurts."
"So this karate shaolin Tae-Kwon-Do monk dude looks at me and does that greeting. Hands together, like monks greed each other," he paired his palms and bowed for emphasis.
"I know. Just continue."
"I gave him two bottles of some weird asian drink. Cause you know, he had these little eyes," Pan squinted. "And he goes to his table. Normal day, apart from the bodies and the blood."
"No one left?" Laril questioned, blowing a gust of smoke.
"Some did. Most remained, cheering and praising this monk. He had all the girls around him, "Pan leaned closer to the cheetah's ear. "Including a whore!"
Laril shuckled. "They haven't been a secret for ages. What happened next?"
"The king rises!" Pan said, voice loud and eyes wide
Laril looked behind. Nobody new entered, save for two dwarves with long, ashen beards.
"The king?" Laril turned back to Pan. "Is this some sort of bullsh- cow dung you're selling me?"
"N-no. I only sell drinks," the innkeeper spluttered.
"And some browny extra," Laril threw the cigar away. "You're full of it."
"Fat," Pan shook his had. "just fat. You want to hear the rest or not?"
"Whatever," Laril leaned on the counter, resting his chin on an elbow. "Prrroceed,"
"Ohey. This beggar looking man stands up and anoints Ser Monk as a knight. He says some crap about the country he used to rule, and how his court smelled of piss and semen."
"Many begin to laugh, me included. I still tremble from the elf incident, but I also laughed. This guy was drunk, more so than those dwarves." Pan sipped more beer and continued. "That's what everyone believed, until his rags drop, followed by his fake beard, and his fake hair."
"And his pants," Laril mumbled.
"Those too," Pan giggled. "Turns out he was a king. The undercover sort of king. He had this golden dragon tabard with two dragons on top of each other, like they're mating."
"Mmhmm," Laril purred.
"And armor. He had this blue colored spiky metal shoulders, a breastplate and leg plates. Anyway, he declared the monk a heretic, having not accepted the King's Bounty or some crap. Then shuuish. He pulls out this big rune sword."
Laril turned an eye, looking at the frowning innkeeper. "It had these glowing things on it. Thought them as runes," he coughed.
Laril said nothing.
"The king points the sword to the monk and challenges him to fair combat by trial," he made a slight pause, shaking his head."Yeah, something like that. So they take position and fight."
"Take position where?" Laril hissed.
Pan encompassed the whole inn with his arms. "Here. In the inn. On the tables."
Laril laughed a weird, gurgling noise. "How many drinks d'you have?"
"Just this beer," Pan said, clapping his hands around the prized mug. He looked quite menacing. Eyebrows had a way of darkening his stare. "So these two stay on two separate tables, explaining rules and shi--err, poo," The innkeeper jumped in surprise. "When four other beggars throw their flea ridden rags. Knights and mages!"
Laril swished his tail, tongue licking between his furred knuckles. What a shity story. Far smellier than the shit he took yesterday. He was better off in a brothel, with a muzzle around his throbbing cock.
"They start hacking and slashing, while the mages hurl ice and fire from their fingers. They kill everyone, cheetah! It's a bloodbath. Swords cut through flesh, spells burn and freeze all my freaking customers! And the damned king almost takes my head!"
"They hit everywhere, except near that God blessed monk!"
"Yeah..." Laril said. "That the end of it? I gotta-"
"Close," Pan smiled. He looked so dumb, with that short blonde beard and chubby face.
"Ohey," he resumed. "The monk gets angry. He doesn't show it. No. He's smiling."
"How do you know...?"
"You just do!" Pan interrupted. "He seethed with anger. So he pulls a staff from his ass or whatever hidden place and starts whackin' the king."
Pan reached his mug with a trembling hand. Meaty lips sipped the liquid up to the bottom. It rose. And rose. And BAM. Drops rained around as the mug smashed against the counter.
"Like this!' he shouted. "Bone cracking, stone shattering, steel bending, cock blocking blows! Oh, cheetah," Pan laid a hand on Laril's shoulder. "You wish you were one of those dead drunks, cause this monk kicked serious ass! He punched and kicked those royal scumbags until their bones ruptured and faces melted."
"Their faces melted..." Laril sighed. Not even the spicy blobs washed the taste of shit from his mouth. "Ypu far will melt before I believe this crap!" He snarled.
Pan recoiled to the drink rack. The bottles rattled, protesting in their wooden shelter. 'I-I'm almost done," he pleaded.
"Same as my time with this piece o' crap."
"Eh..I'll be short. The monk kills them. Mages, knights, the fucking king. They lay dead along with most of my inn."
"That's it" Laril asked, hopeful.
"No," Pan sketched a fleeting smile. "The whore lived."
Laril stormed from his chair.
"W-wait!"
A pudgy hand stopped him. Laril bared his teeth, hissing. "I had enough shit to last me for a year," he swiped the hand like it was nothing. "I'll bring my mate to investigate this crap. I'm done."
The cheetah almost left when a shout stopped his hurried strides. "I'll give you any drink. Name it, and is yours."
Free drink? This wasn't too bad. Maybe a whole in the fat man's pocked would make up for his incredulous, piss stained tongue. When he got back to the counter, Laril asked for the most expensive bottle.
"The Kink's Larder," Pan said, frowning. "Only got two of those."
"King's Larder, fatty. Bring me one of those," Laril scratched his neck, purring with satisfaction.
"A bottle? Like, whole bottle?" Pan flustered.
"You said 'name a drink.' I named mine."
"B-but not a whole."
"You should've specified. It's mine now."
The display of fangs, or perhaps Laril's flawless reasoning swayed Pan's decision.
"Finish your story," the cheetah snatched his prize, cradling the runemarked bottle like a newborn cub.
"Oh...ohey," disappointment oozed through the innkeeper's voice. "The whore gets up from under the table, spitting all manner of vile insults. She started with the face. You are familiar with 'your face jokes.' "
"Your face looks worse than my ass."
"So is your face," the innkeeper shot back. They both laughed.
"So the whore started with the face. Boring. She got to the chest. Man boobs. Boring. She climbed down to the abs. Nonexistent, flat, fat, whatever. Boring."
Pan smiled. "But then she reached his...his."
"Python," Laril added.
"Yeh. The pervy snake. Oh, such vileness left her mouth. Bent, twisted, puckered, smaller than her smallest finger."
"Move on."
"Ohey. The monk said nothing. Don't think he cared, that one. He still smiled. I doubt he even understood the whore's tongue."
"I understand tongues pretty well," Laril grabbed the budge tenting his pants.
"Hehe. Me too," Pan agreed. "So the whore starts undressing. Not everyone understands words, but all men know the meaning of cunt. The whore splayed there on the table, overflowing with juices."
"And you sat there, watching like an idiot."
"Oh yeh," the innkeeper answered. "She slid right next to her king. Husband, whatever she called him in that sweet voice of hers. She smiled and giggled, dashing her crimson hand between breasts." Probably was one of those weird ones who enjoy pain."
"Maso something," Laril said.
"Yeh. So our monk gets harder than his staff. And that was a tough piece of wood!"
Pan chuckled, face red with mirth. When he regained his composure, the fat man continued. "So they started fucking on that table, the monk screaming and moaning like an underage girl. Couldn't been more than five thrusts when he roars his release."
Laril perked his ears. "How do you know? A lick moistened his muzzle.
"Cause the whore finished him!" The innkeeper yelled. Shiv in the neck, pam pam and pam!"
Pan stabbed the air, fat quivering with each blow. He poured himself a strong, translucent liquor after the demonstration. "Killed the man at the peak of his climax."
"Unfortunate death," Laril rose from his seat. "But way better than what the others got. This way, I wouldn't mind dying." He chuckled.
The innkeeper joined in with his merry coughs. "So how was it?"
"Bad," Laril said simply. "I will tell my boss that a gang of thugs raped this inn," he turned to Pan. "And you too."
The fat man smiled. "Believe what you will."
"None of your words is what I believe," Laril donned his raincoat and lit another cigar. He bit, licking its rear. "It's been a waste of time."
"Not totally," Pan pointed at the bottle.
"Heh, yeah. Not totally."
He bid his farewells and left the inn. It started raining, as predicted. He had no suspects, no leads, no clues and no traces. And soon, no job.
Laril dropped on all fours and ran. Away from the inn, away from the job, away from his dump of an apartment. He had few friends to call his own, no coin and no relatives.
What he had was a bottle of expensive drink and the drops of water falling on his head. They rammed the short fur, chilling his flesh. A hat would've been good. He left it inside his home, along with the three month debt he owed. The cheetah took a turn, leaping over a bench. He disappeared in a dark alley.
A piss poor ending to a shity day.
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