(The POV of the anonymous goose)
The thick morning haze hangs hauntingly above Birkwood as the grandeur of Aether's high towers, Luminaré, blot out the sun. It conceals any drop of light that attempts to reach the slums of Birkwood. The shadow of Luminaré engulfs the entire ghetto beneath it.
"Hear, hear, my boys and girls! My slumrats, my mammals of Kingsblood! My brethren!"
The year is 1856, a revolutionary year, really. Mechanical weavers and peddlers crawl about in every city, carrying the labor workers that generate the money for it. A good year for the King of the Kings' Isles, the Roi or whatever these mammals call it these days.
"A monster lurks about in your homes, a force even the Elders fear stirs within this city itself – People of Aether, you are doomed! These are fleeting joys, in front of that Eldritch force, you are feeble creatures– Insects, really."
Aight, let's get to the story now. I always get carried away when I try to narrate the tales of these Animagi folk who inhabit Terra these days, interesting creatures, man.
In the damp streets of Birkwood, there's a lantern pole flickering in one dark corner. The drunk young raccoon on the other end of the road is tumbling on the gravel path.
A silly goose with a viola in his feathery hands plays at his strings to the tune of the Bach Chaconne, squawking as loud as possible to the world. His googly eyeballs shake to the violent tune of the Chaconne as the eerie music seeps into the slumbering streets of Birkwood.
"Wake up, you slumbering fools!" He squawks loudly. "Slumbering at the bunny whorehouse, are you! Your dicks ain't going to save you from the Eldritch horror that lurks beneath these feeble wooden houses!"
The silly long-necked virtuoso is standing upon a trash can to gain ground for the world to hear. He's standing in front of the whorehouse of young rabid bunnies, only accompanied by the lustrous moans of the young ladies that barge into the streets and the groans of the drunk raccoon who just finished his round with a bunny.
Barely able to see the googly-eyed virtuoso in his drunken haze, the raccoon grabs an empty bottle of whiskey in one hand and hurls it at the goose.
The foolish raccoon misses by a mile.
"Ugh! *HONK!*" The goose angrily honks at the drunken fool. "You wretched raccoon! Throwing things at the bard that harbingers your doom! Cheap fuck! *HONK!*"
"Tch, delusional stupid duck," the raccoon mutters under his breath, continuing to stumble in his foolish path down the road.
The silly, yet wise goose continues the masterpiece on his viola as it mixes in with the sad, lustful moans of one of the miserable damp streets of Birkwood – just an average morning in this stupid city. Prisoned in their cage, waiting to be swallowed by the Eldritch horror that lurks beneath.
Only if they'd listen to one such as me – but my role is to simply hint, not to make the journey too obvious. I mean, I'm not even the main character of this story, man. I'm barely important, haha.
*HONK!*
///
(Renoir's Pov)
The Bunny Escorts, Birkwood.
A sense of ethereal refreshment washes over my white fur as I lie back in the bed, half covered in Fae's lovely sparkling cum. A morning session with Fae is always the best a fox like me could wish for. I'd say it's one of the best mornings this month – if not for an asshole goose who was honking out in the street playing some classical piece of crap on his violin or something.
I puff out a cloud of smoke from my cigar towards the wooden ceiling.
Thud! Thud! The escort is getting thrust against the wooden floorboard on the floor above us. I see a trail of sand leaking out of the ceiling beside the bed.
Cheap old place – but barely affordable for me even. Thankfully, Fae's my dear bunny friend. My best friend since childhood. She lets me fuck for free.
"Wow, that goose could play for the high folk at Luminaré, don't you think, Reno? Something so eerie, so professional about his music, right?" Fae's gentle voice calls out to me. "Only if he wasn't such a nutcase piece of shit honking in front of a whorehouse about some stupid prophecy."
I chuckle at her suggestion, slowly averting my gaze to Fae.
Her short, slender, curvy in all the right places figure is leaning against the balcony of the room. Only a see-through chemise is adorning her puffed-up grey fur, her tiny furry tail poking out of its back. The way she leans gives me a good glance at her big hoppers poking out of the chemise, foreboding, like those cheeks are gazing at me.
Holy Elders, help me.
Fae's furry tail flinches, letting me know that she knows I'm looking.
"I think the freaky goose down there is a piece of shit, but you know who's the biggest piece of shit?" Her eyes flinch, her pretty eyelashes turning towards me.
"Who?" I ask, too dazed by the gloriousness of her image.
"My best friend, the damned fox who comes to visit his poor old bunny whore bestie just to fuck her every Friday," she says, in her gentle voice, as usual. So gentle, but so piercing. "I mean, I know it's your free quota, Reno. But snatching a hasty peek right after I gave you a free session for an hour? You're beyond shitty, idiot. Pay up for all that looking."
I chuckle again, sliding out of the bed. I slowly step towards Fae and slap her in the great big hoppers before receding into the chamber. It's too cold outside to walk out there, naked.
"Unfortunately for you, Fae. I'm shitty and broke."
She lets out a sigh, shaking her head. I hand her my cigar, and she takes a puff from it.
"But the Eldritch horror business he's talking about – is it true, Renoir?" She asks, a bit of worry in her voice.
"Nothing to worry about, really. I didn't really catch any Eldritch horror lurking under my floorboards at my place. Neither did I see any lurking in the pubs I've been to this week. I did meet a dozen people who don't even think that the Eldritch is a real thing anymore – and I agree, I barely know anyone in the town except for myself."
I pull up my leather pants. The morning mist blows into the chamber, sending goosebumps down my tail. I need another puff of that cigar.
"Yeah, stupid of me to believe that silly goose, I guess. And I know you, out of all the foxes I know, can manage yourself."
"True." I couldn't disagree.
I sit back on the bed, sliding my arms into my old white shirt, stenched with the smell of old booze. And all of a sudden, Fae utters a familiar name.
"Butch – is that Butch?"
"Butch?" I squint in confusion. "Butch Rotwood?"
"Who else, idiot, do we know a dozen Butches!"
I want to say that with her profession, the extent of Butches she knows widens a bit more than mine. But her tone's already getting a bit harsh – I wouldn't want to make it worse.
"What's he doing there?" I ask as I button up the last three buttons on my shirt.
"Um, he's – he's talking to the goose? Why the hell is he talking to the goose? Wait, now he's – he's jumping onto the balcony below – wait, he's –"
I hear the loud screams of the escorts below, surprised by Butch's sudden appearance.
"HEY, FAE! KEEP THE WINDOW OPEN!" Butch's deep voice barks out hastily.
"OK!" Fae cries out back to him.
I feel like something's up. With Butch, it's always a problem. He's the head officer of the police department in our ghetto, the worst police job one could wish for. But for him, a blessing – even that.
Thud! This time, the noise is not the escort above us. It's Butch landing on the balcony. A massive silhouette draws across the room, blotting out what little light escaped through the open balcony. As Fae steps backward into the room through the curtain, the massive figure of the 7-foot fall doberman enters the room.
Butch's a massive 7 feet tall Doberman, 38 years in age. Unlike every other day I see him, today, he's not in his leather trench coat, the signature dress of Birkwood's police general.
That's strange. He's wearing a plain old shirt, much like mine. Unbuttoned, like he's a drunkard too. A doberman of two puppies – what is wrong with today?
A goose with classical music and a Butch without his trench coat. Today's not a normal day.
"Confused about my sudden appearance here?" He asks in that deep Butch voice. "I apologize for the inconvenience –" The doberman turns to Fae. "Both of you."
Fae crosses her arms, raising her brows in that hot judgemental way.
Butch turns back to me, bending his head at an angle so that the ceiling would not bash against his head. "And it's your fault really, Fox. I've tried to reach you, went to your place three times the previous week. And you are nowhere to be found."
I couldn't blame him. I had a miserable bender the other week. I mostly spent my days trapped in the new Alkhalian pub.
"Well, yeah – he's right," I turn to Fae. "This is the only place that I could be found for certain in a week like this."
Fae shakes his head.
"Now, what's your business here? And what's so important that you need to barge in at me and Renoir's hour, Butch?"
"About that." Butch pulls up the rolled-up file tucked in his belt and shoves it into my hands. "I got a case, high priority. It's a request straight from the Roi, the King himself, Foxy. I got one of my best officers, most skilled, and the most proficient Weaponmaster working alongside you in this case."
I open the file to see black and white pictures of bloodied corpses, and a river of documentation falls onto my lap. I slide it back into the file, keeping it in place. Too much to check now.
"High priority and from the King himself, the gold must be crazy good," I say, surprised.
"A whole bag full of gold coins, Renoir," Butcher says with a grin.
Fae's listening to this conversation, intrigued. She's standing there, her curious blue eyes switching between me and Butch. Sharing personal information in front of an escort? What kind of foolish professional is that? But no. Me and Butch, I don't believe we trust anyone more than Fae.
"High priority case, high amount of gold – and a lot of bellies to feed at your own station, Butch. Why hand this case to me? You got me confused there," I explain, squinting in confusion once again.
"Ah, that's when things get interesting," Butcher leans towards me, his towering figure approaching closer to my eyes. We fix our eyes together – that only happens when shit's serious.
"The case is about the Eldritch. An Eldritch monster, to be exact. And who could be better than one of the Eldritch themselves, Renoir? And one of the Foxes that I know who would know the entirety of the capital of Aether, head to toe. You."
"Eldritch monster –" I tilt my head, a memory from only moments earlier rushing into my brain.
"Eldritch horror." Fae finishes my words. She looks up at Butch anxiously. "That fucking duck from earlier, Butch. He was singing about the Eldritch Horrors to come – he said –"
"Yeah, I met him on the way here. I told the bastard goose to stay there, and he agreed to cooperate with us, gladly. He's probably waiting down there now, which will be our first lead of the case, Foxy." Butch's proud of himself.
"Is he…?" Fae asks Butch, and he turns to her. For a moment, I stare at Butch staring at Fae. Fae stares back at Butch. For three seconds, we're all frozen, staring at each other.
"Oh fuck." Butch rushes into the balcony and throws the curtains away, peering into the street below. "Fuck that goose," he mutters. It's obvious – the mystery goose is gone. The proud part of the puzzle, which Butch had solved earlier, has suddenly vanished.
"It's fine, it's fine," he says, coming back inside, reassuring himself. "First thing to remember. The moment any of us sees that goose, we tie him down."
Fae and I nod at him.
"And I'm supposed to start this when?" I ask him, still in half confusion as to what's going on. "And am I a detective now? A formal officer – a former confox. Life's full of surprises."
Butch chuckles. "Yeah, be at my station at five this evening. I'll introduce you to your partner and your new workplace – temporary workplace, detective Renoir."
"That sounds very nice," I grin at Butch.
ROAR! All of a sudden, the wooden clock hanging above the bed bashes open, and the head of a lion pops out, roaring to mark the beginning of the day – 8 a.m. on the dot.
Everyone looks up at it, and Fae suddenly shakes her head, realizing that she has work – unlike the other two bozos here.
"It's 8 a.m., and you two idiots took 30 minutes from my rest time," she hastily walks towards the door to get her robes. "Out, both of you. Because, unlike the two of you, my job requires me to work myself hard every day."
She slides into the robes, making her glorious hoppers disappear into the warmth of the fabric. She taps my burned-out cigar on the ashtray and walks towards me.
"You were nice, as always, Reno~" She says to me, before pulling me into a kiss. Hers are lips that I've kissed a thousand times, but they are also the type that you can crave a thousand more.
Butch stands back and grunts a bit, gazing down at us. Fae's long, grey ears twitch, and she looks over her shoulder, prepared to taunt.
"You can wait till it's your hour, big boy. It's Renoir's hour now."
"Sure, whatever," Butch jealously turns his back to us and hurries towards the balcony. "Be there at five, Fox!" He yells and leaps off the balcony, disappearing as quickly as he came.
I sit there, the case file still in my lap, contemplating how many things just happened in one morning. Fae buttons up two more of my shirt's buttons, only leaving two left unbuttoned.
"Are you going to offer your flat ass to the next customer or are you going to give me my 30-minute rest, Renoir?" She's angry. The one thing I didn't want her to be.
"Ok, ok, I'm leaving. A Fox needs to process his crazy morning." I get up, still contemplating, and start making my way to the door.
"And a bunny needs her rest before more customers, Fox."
As I step into the corridor, Fae slams the door behind me. Suddenly, the filthy smell of sweat and semen mixed with the fragrance of sandalwood from the distant isles of Alkhali enters my nose. I walked in a deprived confox and I walked out a detective. This is why I love whorehouses. They always find a way to surprise you.