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Chickadee (Bi Furry Short): Part 1
🕑 Added 2022-03-21 23:26:27 +0000 UTCI thought I'd try something different for this short. For those of you interested in this stuff please bear with me as I've never written, or even read, a furry story before and have no knowledge of the tropes and conventions of the genre. For those not into this stuff feel free to skip it or brave it out and stumble along with me. Maybe we'll discover a new kink together! LOL Also, a fair warning that this story will be unapologetically bisexual.
***
“WAHOOOO!” Jun yips, his white-tipped tail puffs out with excitement and begins to wag. “We got salvage! Two o’clock.”
“It’s bout fuckin time.” Remus growls as he hurries across the bay to the downward periscope. His intense yellow lupine eyes focus on the eye-piece and he twists the scope to see ahead of the Chickadee. The view pans across the arid sun-baked land below them before zeroing in on a glint of steel against the ochre-hued earth.
“I told ya. Didn’t I tell ya? I knew there’d be at least one who tried to make the run.” Jun says as he flicks switches and turns knobs before turning the yoke to veer the antiquated airship toward the drifting ribbon of black in the distance. His paws could almost feel the satisfying weight of coin in them already. As he pushes the throttle forward the thumping and chugging of steam engine thrums through the wood and metal hull of the old bird like a quickening heartbeat. “Looks fresh. It’s still smoking. A skiff?”
“Walker.” Remus answers as he clicks through different lenses to magnify the image. The image blows up though distorts around the edges of the pocked and scratched lense so that only the center can be seen with any sort of clarity. It was enough to make out details though. “Quadriped, small one, single driver type with cargo pod.”
Jun’s perky pointed ears tilt the way they did when he was confused, one more erect and the other tilting at a forty-five degree angle. “A walker?” Leaning forward the pilot peers out of each of the cockpit windows in turn to scan the horizon for any signs of a caravan, either the telltale trail of one or the caravan itself, his keen slitted green eyes see none. “What in the Six Hells is a lone walker doing all the way out here?”
“Waitin to be scrapped.”
“Tribal colors?”
“Nope.”
“Critters?”
“Nope. Not yet.” Remus’ eyes narrow. “I’m not seein anything movin down there.”
Jun’s black-tipped ears tilt the other way and his whiskers twitch as he tries to puzzle it out. “Dropped from a ship for weight maybe?”
“Nah, it’s on its feet and in too good of shape. All in one piece.” Remus says. “Maybe set down.”
“Why risk a landing? Just drop the damn thing. You won’t be coming back for it out here.”
“Dunno.”
“Burrower?”
“They’d have to be nuts burrowing out here.” Remus rightly scoffs. “Besides, no drills.”
“All in one piece…shit, it hasn’t even been out here a night. Crits would have torn that thing to pieces for sure.”
“Yep.”
Jun licks this snout then clicks his teeth. “Something doesn’t add up big man. This is too good. It’s either our lucky day…or a bushwhack.”
“Rrrm.” Remus collapses the periscope and moves to the near wall to pull down the large faded map of the Hells. His gaze locks onto the Al’Bama Badlands, the area they were currently cruising over, and he searches it for clues. “If a walker set out from Dega at sunup it might have made it this far.”
“Set out going where? You aren’t getting anywhere in a walker out here in a single day, even a quick one.”
“La Grange.”
“Shit man, they skedaddled over three months ago. They’re probably pushing through bog by now. Anyone in Dega would know that.”
“Musta been set to auto and sent out.”
“But…why? Why waste a walker like that?”
“Rmm.” Remus flips the map back up into its housing and glances at the cracked face of the clock mounted on the door of the crapper. “We got no more than two hours ’til dusk. No time to waste. ETA?”
“Twenty minutes.” As if on cue the Chickadee’s engine lets out a loud POP followed by a long slowly fading buzz, there is a momentary lurch as the ship suddenly looses a few feet of altitude before quickly leveling off again. “Twenty five.” Jun corrects himself. “Let’s hope we find something worth it. Dee’s on her last wing here. We need to put in for repairs soon.”
“She’s never let us down yet.” Remus grabs his maul-gun off the wall. He plants the handle end on the floor and opens the pepperbox half of the hammer head to ensure it was full loaded. A ring of five unfired shotgun shells tells him it was ready for action. “If there’s a driver they might still be alive.”
Sobered by the distasteful possibility of bloodshed Jun’s expressive ears droop as he looks back through the cockpit doorway. “You said you didn’t see anything moving.”
“Couldn’t see inside, could I?” He slaps the head of his weapon back together and clicks it into place. “And like you said, might be a bushwhack.”
“Remus…”
“Jun. If they’re not already dead they will be once the sun falls.” Remus shakes his gray shaggy head and rolls his broad powerful shoulders. “Whether movin or still, ain’t nobody down there but a corpse.”
***
“Motherfucking piece of civvy shit!” The percussive clank of steel on steel joins the fizzing and farting of the rapidly dying motor to ring out across the sunbaked landscape from beneath the smoldering hauler. “Scraps!”
“Here Miss Posey.” Toots the two and half foot tall robot who stood nearby, its mismatched arms holding a tray with a selection of tools laid upon it.
Out from around one of the stout legs of vehicle pops a conical goggled face, it’s mottled brown fur blackened with smoke and smudged with grease and oil. “I NEED a gasket.”
The bot looks down at the tray. “There is no gasket.”
“We’re going to die out here.” The mousy mechanic quips, trying hard to keep the fear from her voice. “You know that right? We are GOING to die.”
“Yes Miss Posey. You have stated it thirteen times since we left the base.”
“I am SO happy you are keeping count.” She sneers, baring her bright white buck teeth.
Immune to sarcasm the little bot replies. “A high morale means increased efficiency.”
“Why in the Hells did I build you?” Posey sighs with a twitch of her fine whiskers.
“I still do not know.” Scraps says. “You have now asked me one hundred and sixty…”
“Shut up.”
“Yes Miss Posey.”
Her round ears perk as she catches a faint unfamiliar churr that was not coming from inside the hauler. Reaching up into the engine bay she kills the motor and tilts her head to listen. As it sputters into silence she hears the thrum more clearly coming from the far side of the walker. “What is that?”
Scraps round glass lens eyes click as they shutter shut and open, it often did that when processing a query, but this time it does not reply. Direct orders overrode questions in its programming.
“You may speak.” Posey snaps. “What is it?”
“It is an airship.”
“Airship!? What fucking airship!?”
“The one landing approximately forty meters Northwest of here.” Scraps states. “It changed course toward this location twenty-three minutes ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell me!?”
“You did not ask.”
“Didn’t ask? Oh my God, you little…” With no time to dismantle the bot into component parts and dump them in a shallow grave she scrambles to tuck in behind the nearest leg and draws her tiny two shot pistol from out of her boot. Her long prehensile tile whips around Scraps and pulls him into cover as well. Pulling her goggles down to hang around her neck she peers through the back legs of the vehicle and she now sees the underside of the airship that her dumb ass sidekick failed to mention before now. Whoever they were they were already anchored! She hisses under her breath. “Shit!”
A sense of terror and deliverance strikes her simultaneously. Deliverance because as it stood there was no sign of shelter anywhere in sight. There wasn’t even hope of repairing the walker before dusk fell and this still empty land would come alive with the crawling (mostly) nocturnal horrors known as Critters as they crawled from their subterranean hives to scour the badlands clean of pesky fugitive mice and cobbled together robots and broken down haulers and every other damned thing they could find. Terror because the only ones likely to have found her were the people hunting her to take her back to a fate even worse than a Crit’s sharp chitinous mandibles.
This terror abates to mere dread as Posey gets right down on her belly to get a better view and sees the faded painting of an unclothed furless female on the side the ship’s hull. No militia ship would display something so garish as a nude pinup girl from a long extinct race. Hearing the pained and tired groan of this ship’s struggling engine also told her this was not of the standard of a fleet vessel. Hells, it might have been something special once but from the little Posey could see the damn thing looked at least ten years past due for the scrap yard. Just beneath the picture of the naked human was the word “Chickadee” in a fancy curly font that was completely at odds with the rest of the ramshackle lady.
“Scavs.” Posey whispers.
“I do not know.” Scraps unhelpfully reports.
“It wasn’t a question!” She hisses. Before the robot could reply she says. “Shut it!”
“Yes Miss Posey.” It hears and obeys.
Posey’s mind races as she scrambles to think of what to do. Her chances of making it to nightfall had grown exponentially but it was still on the wrong side of even odds. Scavengers were some of the roughest and toughest hombres in the Hells and generally mercy was not among their defining characteristics. She shrinks as small as she could go with just one eye peeking around the leg. Her pistol gripped at the ready she waits to see who would emerge. She hoped that maybe, just maybe, she might luck out and get a peace loving race like some herbivorous feathered folk or maybe a bovine or fellow rodent.
“Ohhhhh no!” Her heart drops and freezes in fear as hopping down from the rear cargo door comes one of the worst of the worst, partially silhouetted by the low sun she sees the figure of a massive dark gray wolf!
Wolves were hardly monsters, they were still people after all, but as a people they had a well earned reputation as fearsome and merciless warriors. In general they acted with their own particular code of honor and once they accepted you you could not ask for a better or more loyal friend but if they saw you as outside of their pack you could expect no compassion. This particular wolf wore a pocketed bandoleer across his thick built torso, a kilt and thick leather bracers. In his huge hands he held a long heavy sledgehammer. Even through his dense fur one could make out hints of the impressive physique beneath. In normal circumstances this was a beast she would give a WIDE berth.
As light as a feather a nimble red fox springs down beside the towering brute. In a dapper green vest over a satiny white blouse with billowing sleeves and snug brown trousers he appeared quite the dashing gentleman rogue. Around his hips was a belt with a revolver holstered on one side and an elegant rapier on the other. Long, fit, and lean to the point of effeminate he was also blessed with such striking good looks there were few beds in The Hells that this hot fox would be turned away from. Foxes could be tricky but they were, on average, far more open-hearted and open-minded than their purely carnivorous cousins.
For a brief moment Posey saw a glimmer of hope. Surely the well-dressed ginger was the captain of this vessel. He looked a man to be reasoned with. She had skills she could offer. For one thing she could get that poor old bird’s engine singing true. With just her sharp ears she could make out a dozen issues she could work on to get it running better. The handsome flyboy also looked a man that would would take kindly to a flattering word or a not so coy flirtation. Posey was not without her wiles, though admittedly she wasn’t exactly looking her best right now. That hope is quickly dashed however as she sees the pair begin to interact and the clear alpha becomes apparent by the smaller one’s obviously deferential body language. Too bad.
Her chances of talking her way aboard had just plummeted. She looks to her pistol. Two shots, two of them. With the element of surprise and a whole lot of luck…maybe. If she gave up this small advantage to speak with them she would be entirely trusting her fate in the hands of a wolf. Neither option seemed favorable. She looks into Scraps’ mechanical eyes as if they might hold some answer. All she sees is her own frightened face staring back.
“Looks clear to me. Ha ha! I say we take the whole damn thing.” Posey can just make out fox’s soft melodic voice followed by sound of approaching footsteps. “She’d struggle but I think the Dee could take it. If we can fix it up it could be a nice payday.”
“Too risky.” Comes the low gruff grunt of the wolf. He sniffs the air. “We work quick. We take the valuables and come back in the mornin to see what’s left for salvage.”
“The morning?” The slender one yips as he pets the fur of the big one’s arm in a subtly intimate way that told her that these two were more than simple shipmates. “You want to hover until morning? We could be twelve hours closer to…”
“Shh!” The wolf snaps, his sharp yellow eyes scanning the hauler as he brings his hammer up to grip the shaft in both hands. “Rrrrm. Stay sharp.”
Posey tucks back behind the leg, her tiny gun close to her bosom and Scraps still held in her tail, as her heart pounds inside of her chest at double its normal rate. She watches their long canine shadows begin to emerge from around the vehicle. Every rodent instinct inside of her screamed RUN! HIDE! But run where? There was certainly nowhere to hide in this vast scrubland. That ship anchored out there was her only hope for survival. Her mouth dry and her breath fast and shallow she readies herself. Even if she somehow remained out of sight the keen canid noses of the pair would soon pick her up. She had to make a play and she had to make it fast.
Comments
Meat Toilet
Yay for more Bi stuff! I really like the setting so far.
