split open the kegs of salted sprats

The Extra Mile 
He recalled driving by some new construction at some point in his travels. Today, he was pulling in to a brand new garage and convenience store in the same place and wondering briefly how much time he had misplaced, for it was as though the store had sprung up overnight. This was nothing new for him. Remy was such a relaxed individual that he may as well not have any concept of time whatsoever. He lived for now.

He backed his truck in to a spot off the side and shut her down. Stepping out, hands on his hips, he whistled at the establishment. Not far from his home, this place would provide him easily accessed gasoline and more importantly, snacks. Convenience stores often had all the best things near one another: trail mix and peanuts; chocolate bars and candies; local jerkies and pepperonis in plastic flip-top containers or jars with little tongs... yup. He sure was pleased with the new addition to Red Rock's sparse main drag.

Remington was about to venture inside and see what was on offer when afternoon sunlight glinted off something shiny. Sufficiently distracted, he wandered over to discover a newly minted nickel, which he promptly bent to pick up. He held to coin up for inspection, and then polished it on the shoulder of his black tee shirt before slipping it into the pocket of his blue jeans. The caw of a crow overhead on a light pole drew his attention next.

"Sorry ol' chap, were you lookin' at that?"

The day was somewhat muggy. But still warm enough that Orri had decided to go out and explore. This time he let his fox out closer to civilization, feeling that he could hop back and get a drink of water or something if needed.

After running around in the heat and rolling around in the red dirt he had decided that a drink was definitely in order. So he had sniffed his way to the nearest building hoping to find some water, or a drink. As he was trotting his way up to the road a smell wafted over. A new smell. Were smell. A playmate!

Renewed he slithered under the fence around the gas station, going through a dug hole that smelled a lot like coyote. Bent over by the pumps was a tall man, built very muscly. Hesitant Orri paused under a light pole which sent a crow fluttering off with an offended caw. This apparently caught the attention of the man who stood up and turned to look over. Orri grinned and his tongue lolled.

There were downsides to owning a white van. Especially somewhere red and dusty. Not so much an issue when you were parked in a lay by in the middle of nowhere, as soon as said van came within range of mischievous little fingers the problem became starkly apparent.

M E !!
8==D - - -

Had Fletch been a betting man, he might have put money on his Banksy belonging to one of three coyotes; retribution for his own efforts on the floor of the garage. But the spelling error seemed more likely attributable to a denizen of Red Rock itself. Either way, much as he enjoyed a good bit of lewd anarchy, it had to go. There was no sense in driving around advertising who and what you were if you stood to gain nothing from it.

Parked near enough to the garage to take advantage of its water supply, but not so close that Kai might find herself the unwilling participant of a wet t-shirt contest, he was occupied uncoiling a substantial length of hose when a truck pulled off onto the dirt. The owner caught his attention, not just on account of the fact he was built like a brick shit house, but because his presence was one both unfamiliar and curious.

'Nah, you keep it, mate.' He called, well aware the man had been talking to a crow. 'Won't net you a bouncy ball. Might afford a Chupa Chup with it though, if you're that way inclined.'

Remington was a hunter and observant as such; he took immediate note of the appearance of a suspicious fox idling beneath the pole. This was no resident species of Colorado but a notably large arctic sort. He smiled knowingly at the beast, but a reply from elsewhere had the man turning his head to regard a feller uncoiling hose at the side of the building. Remy laughed, grinned and tipped his head as he headed that way.

"I wouldn't turn down a Chupa Chup, no sir. I'm inclined to any way that involves food." Remy winked as he closed the distance and extended his hand, aware of an all too familiar ripple of uncertainty along his spine. It came with the territory of having a small beast in a world dominated by critters far larger and more powerful. "Name's Remy. I was just about to wander in there actually and see what snacks could be had."

'Figured you might be.' He grinned as his palm clapped against the one offered over, his handshake firm and easy in a way that suggested frequent deployment. 'Fletch.'

That same hand shielded his eyes as he regarded the convenience store tacked onto the garage. 'Don't let me stop you. We've got chips, candy, candied chips, chipped candy, fruit, trail mix, nuts; salted, roasted, sweet and mildly unhinged -' he winked back at him. 'Not including yours truly.'

The head of the hose hanging limply beside him, he used it to gesture at the doors. 'Give Mr. Wonka a run for his money in there. An Aladdin's cave of nibbles.' He eyed him. Tried to figure him out some. 'You local?'

There was another man, another smell, another playmate. His nose twitched and he bounced on the pads of his paws. Playmate! They were talking about food and his ears swiveled to hear better. Still grinning he started to pad forward, towards the men and their cars.

One smelled like something new, the thinner more stringy one, almost like a coyote. But he didn't have time to think on that as the Muscle man's scent became clear. Food! Delicious plump rat. He felt incredibly sorry for the man for the barest moment before the fox instincts took over.

He lunged for the man ready to bite into the flesh and taste the rat. Except his feet skidded on the rough pavement of the lot and he went tumbling head over paws and landed in a heap. The acrobatics did managed to dislodge some of the dirt on his fur.

Missed chomp


"Fletch." He parroted, committing the name to memory as they shook hands.

His ear was on his newfound friend but his eyes trailed to the side. The fox was moving. Keeping the animal in his periphery, Remy carried on the conversation with ease. "Just met you and already you know how to speak my language, good on ya!" He laughed. "I'm local. Ain't been around long but yeah, just down the road aways, south of the Squealing Hog, you'll see an old wooden sign with RKT slapped onto it. That drive is mine. Got a decent home and some land down there. Door's open if you're in the area and need a safe place to hang out. Got plenty of extra beds too if you're caught out wandering under the moon some night." Remington's smile and twitch of his brows said it all. That bushy tail and slick ears he caught a glimpse of in his mind marked them as brothers. So to speak. His rat thought otherwise.

Closer came the fox, looking rather predatory in its prowl. Remy smirked and waited, reminded of a time when a brazen raccoon had looked similar. The fox lunged for him but seemed to have a poor grasp on its own limbs. It missed him and went sprawling instead. Remy seized his chance to swoop down on the little anklebiter and pluck him up by his scruff, holding him aloft in front of him. "Easy there, fella. Probably hungry, huh? Where's your mind at? Can you talk, got a sensible person lyin' in that skull of yours or what?"

With his free hand, Remy dug into his pocket and produced a half-eaten pack of licorice nibs. "This probably won't do you, eh? Tell you what, how about I set you down and if you goes and behaves yourself, I'll buy you a snack too. Deal?"


It was always a funny notion, meeting someone like Remy. Physically big but metaphysically small, Fletch was privately glad his own monthly shrinks weren't on the same scale. As ever, he wondered. The mutt offered up a soft, brown shape; frustratingly obtuse.

'I'll bear that in mind, mate. Thanks.' A nod. Few and far between were the times Fletch willingly slipped into his second skin, but he tucked the mental image of Remy's place away nonetheless. A backstop, in the event of emergency. He considered it would be worth getting to know him a little better before then. Remy might have been smiles and winks and great overtures of kindness on the surface, but who knew what he got up to come dark.

The fox had caught his eye previously; suffering the same predicament as his van, and ironically the same, nominal shade of white. Unlike Remy, Fletch paid the creature no mind. What business it had skulking around in broad daylight was anyone's guess. At least until it made a move for the Extra Mile's would-be customer.

He might have intervened. Hosed the fox a little, like one might an errant cat. But seeing the big guy had the situation both metaphorically and literally in hand he returned to his task; opening up one of the Sprinter's rear doors and tugging out a storage bin from underneath his bed.

One ear trained to the exchange all the while, he smirked to himself as he found a head for the hose. Both generous and benevolent, Remy displayed far more restraint than he might have done. Part of him was impressed. A larger part of him sank in disappointment he wouldn't learn how far the man could punt a furry football.

The moment he was picked up by the scruff his body went still, curling his tail up between his legs and scrunching his limbs up to be easier to move. An instinct of the foxes. It did allow him to regain some control, enough to attempt speech. He was rather abashed, he had tried to eat a man.

"Sorrrre. You smell dericious. I might bite again if you purt me down."

His words came out awkward with far to many R's. But well considering he was speaking with a snout instead of lips it was rather impressive at least he thought so. The packet of sweets smelled mouth watering and his nose was twitching eager to be inside the bag. A snack sounded wonderful, but he was fairly sure he would lose himself to the desire to chew on this man's ankle. Probably not a great thing considering how physically powerful the man seemed.

The other man seemed uninterested in the exchange and was moving around in the car.

The touching did mean that metaphysical animals could sniff at each other. His own fox was far more interested in trying to eat the rat though.

Well, what did you know. The fox had a voice. If Fletch's ears were capable of twitching as he stood on two legs, they might have done.

'Can't promise my finger won't slip on this hose trigger if you do,' he offered the lazy threat from where he stood; testing the pressure once or twice against the palm of his hand. With a faint frown, he dialled it round from SHOWER to JET. Pointed it at the fox as one might a gun before using it to motion at Remy. 'This bloke's our star customer. He's not for eating.'

So there was a person lurking somewhere nearby within the fox. Splendid! By the sounds of it though, he didn't quite have a full grasp of his beast and was prone to giving into the urging of animal instincts. Remy understood. He sensed the three of them were standing somewhere on equal footing.

"Hah! I'll take that as a compliment!"

Remy considered his options as he rubbed at his beard. He was not the least bit worried about the fox having another go at him, but he would prefer to handle the situation without blood being drawn. Licorice might not have been a natural part of a fox's diet and that was unfortunate, but who went around with lemmings in their pocket exactly? (Remy might, if lemmings came salted in little baggies...) Besides, Remy could see that twitching nose and grinned. Hungry animals, especially opportunistic predators, would hardly turn down anything.

"Alright. Here's what's going to happen, Mr. Fox." He flung the packet of nibs off to the side. "I'm going to give you a gentle lob toward that there licorice. You're going to help yourself to it. Have a bit o' fun diggin' into the plastic. I'm going to go into the store and find us all something proper, and while I'm doin' that, Fletch is going to watch ya, and give you a good blast if you act stupid." He punctuated this with a nod. Then, leaning down, he did as he said he would: he gently swung the fox toward the licorice and released his hold on the scruff, hoping the little beast would land on his feet and be too engaged in the sweet treat to bother turning around to come for Remy's delicious ankles.

So he was going to get a treat. His mouth all salivated at the thought and in the next instant he was flying through the air. Woohoo! He landed in a roll of sorts coming up on wobbly legs. The bag of sweets was close enough that it immediately captured the fox's interest and he dove for it.

Plastic was not very condusive to be opened by claws and he scrambled at it eventually resorting to biting with his teeth. While he did so he made little yipping sounds excited by the smell. One good tug and tear with one of his fangs and the bag spilled open it's sticky red contents. With a lolling tongue he slurped up some of the objects and attempted to chew them. They stuck against his teeth and he sat back on his hunches mouth open as his tongue attempted to lick the sticky mess off of where it had become trapped. So engrossed in this he paid no mind to the playmate or the meal smelling man,

That worked perfect, Remy noted with a chuckle and a toothy grin.

He headed into the store. His nose and his eye both were drawn to the wieners cooking slowly on rollers. Two were ready. He chucked them into the foil bags provided, forgoing the option of steamed buns and any condiments. Roaming about the snacks, he selected one of his favorites: dill pickle Spitz. Next, a pack of Wonka Everlasting Gobstoppers. Then at the counter, two Chupa Chups were tossed into the mix as he readied to pay for the works.

Remington wandered back to Fletch with a small white bag of goodies in hand. The fox was still at the licorice. Dumping the two wieners into his hands from their foil packs, he tossed them toward the fox. They landed at his paws. "That oughta fix ya up!" Remy called out. Next, he extended his hand to Fletch with the two Chupa Chups held between his thumb and forefinger; apple and orange flavors. "Pick your poison. Got some Gobstoppers and sunflower seeds here too."

Fletch shut the Sprinter's rear door with a soft snap. Quite content to fall in with Remy's game plan, he leant against the van and fiddled with his hose; his attention passing back and forth between the dial on the end of the nozzle and the fox. If he squeezed a sharp jet of water in the general direction of the latter, well, it was explained away by his nonchalance. A man had to check his plumbing was in order, didn't he?

Fortunately for the fox, Remy returned before Fletch was overcome by the impulse to soak him. Like a beach-ready Santa Claus he came bearing gifts; lending the impression that he was a man of his word in more than just a moral sense. Fletch raised a brow as two hot dogs were tossed to their four-legged friend, before the sight of two, brightly-wrapped globes made him forget his detached, wry amusement in favour of a joy that was far more honest.

'Ah, really?' Apple was plucked from the pair, before he knocked the hard boiled sweet against its twin. 'Been yonks since I had one of these. Cheers.'

Wasting no time in divesting the lollipop from its wrapper, he stuck it in the corner of his gob. The wrapper found his pocket. 'Take it you found what you were looking for, then.' That question needed no answer. Remy was armed with snacks enough to satisfy the three of them, if not to see him home. 'So what do you do out here, anyway?' He asked, turning at last to the task of hosing the knob off his van. 'What's your business?'

He had just managed to lick the last trace of the sweet from his teeth when two hot dogs came bouncing up to his feet. Food! He pounced mouth wide and grabbed hold of one of the sausages with his teeth. After tearing into it he gulped it down and went for the next. Only after both the hot dogs and the bag of licorice was the fox mulled enough that he could trot up to the meal smelling man without attacking.

He sat down in between the men and let his tongue loll out of his mouth. It was a bright red from the sweets. A drink was in order though and he eyed the hose and the stream of water coming out of it.

With only a moments hesitation he bounded up to the van and leapt up biting at the water.

"Cheers," Remy grinned and tipped his head again as orange knocked against apple. He followed after Fletch in unwrapping the lolly and shoving it to the corner of his mouth, and could not help the amusement he felt at the pair of them standing there like school kids with their treats. It was not often enough that Remington encountered another spirit who seemed like himself; someone who could go along with the flow and simply make the best of what was being handed to them.

In reply to Fletch's first question, Remy laughed and bobbed his head. "I'm a taxidermist," he answered to the second. "I'm fixing up my homestead a bit right now and getting my workplace sorted out before I get back into the full swing of things. What about yourself? This your shop?" If The Extra Mile was owned and run by a Were, then Remy would be all the more eager to drop his cash here.

The fox had finished with its wieners and was coming bounding over. Remy quartered toward the little predator, prepared, in case it decided it was still feeling a bit chompy. Seemed it was more interested in the water. It sat between him and Fletch for a moment or two before going after the hose. Remy laughed and shook his head, playing with and rolling the lollipop in his mouth with his tongue. "Well, ain't this a picture. Two of us grown men sucking on Chupawhatchamacallsits with our little pet."

This time, Fletch didn't hold back. As the fox leapt up to take advantage of the water jet, it was turned on him; full-throttle, smack-in-the-gob.

'Tough-guy sucks and watches older man shower young fox.' He suggested, smirking around the lurid green bauble. The creature received a good, thorough soaking. 'Nah, wish I could say this place was mine. Belongs to a couple of band mates; joint-owned, as I understand it. I'm just a groupie.'

Freeloader was a more accurate term. Making use of the garage's water supply was the tip of the iceberg when it came to his sticky-fingered crimes. Remy didn't need to know this, of course. The generous were often less giving once they knew they'd get nothing in return.

Deciding he had grown bored of watering the fox Fletch dialled the hose back to SHOWER. The water then sighed against the van doors. 'You best watch yourself, laddie. If the wind changes on you,' he told the voracious vulpine, 'you'll stick like that.'

'Taxidermist though, that's a skill and a half,' addressing Remy, his brows rose in a gesture of admiration. 'You hunt your own specimens too, or -?'

Despite his stature, Fletch got the impression Remy wasn't much of a hunter. But he'd been surprised before.


He got a bite full of water before it was suddenly turned on him. The force of it blasted him back to the ground and into a heap. It did however manage to clean out his fur which now shined a wonderful snowy white. He gave a gurgled yip and coughed up some water. The fox was entirely mollified and slunk about his mind with its tail under it's legs. It would be best to change back now.

His ear twitched as he gave a listen to the conversation. Owned by a band of weres? Oh cool. Hopefully that meant they wouldn't mind if he began to shift on the property. Still shifting out in the open probably wasn't a good idea. He moved his head looking around for some cover. There was a truck, the meal smelling man's vehicle.

Standing up his coat dripped puddles of water onto the ground and stuck to his skin. Tail between his legs he scurried under the truck. Once there he began the shift. Fur began to shrink into the skin along with the tail. Both of his Hind legs snapped out of place. He gave a few whimpers of pain.

He saw that coming. His companion did not seem possessed of as much patience as Remington. The fox received a good ol' soaking for its antics and at this, and Fletch's lewd witticism, Remy laughed heartily.

The mention of a band had his ears metaphorically perking, but the question he wanted to ask was held as Fletch directed a warning to the fox and asked one of his own. "It's quite something," he chuckled. "I hunt a lot myself, yep. Good thing because sometimes the capes from my own deer wind up being used in the mounts I do for clients. I don't get it myself, but some folks want minor imperfections like scars in the pelt cut out and patched. They're takin' away some of the animal's story when they do that, baw!" Throughout his reply, Remy gesticulated animatedly, finishing by tossing a hand out in the air. His expression briefly shifted to something of a frown but never once did he lose his good cheer. This was just something he was a passionate about. "But it's their hunt and their animal and they pay me to capture their moment, so I don't argue beyond tellin' them that I think those scars and things are awesome." He grinned as he pumped his fists. "Mostly though, I hunt for the meat. Stuff my freezers right full of wild game. Mmm-mmm."

Remy took note that the fox had went under his truck and was apparently shifting back. He arched a brow at this for he made every effort not to shift back in confined spaces and preferably not in public areas. Indecent exposure being one of many risks. But that was the fox's choice and there was nothing for him to do about it. Though he kept a watchful gaze on the beast under his Colorado, he posed his question to Fletch.

"So you mentioned a band, are you with Alex then?" Shuffling the lollipop to the other side of his mouth, Remy scratched thoughtfully at his beard. She had told him that her and a few others like her were considering moving into Larkspur, but at The Cage he overheard her mention a move to Red Rock. If this was her joint he would be even more thrilled again.

Fletch nodded along with a keen interest as Remy spoke of his profession. There was a certain joy in listening to someone talk about their passion, and to hear Remy divulge just this small chapter of knowledge with such enthusiasm suggested that a true craftsman of the trade stood before him. By the end, he was grinning too. It felt impossible not to.

'Davidson?' Fletch pulled the lollipop out from between his teeth and hovered his hand at her approximate height, '- so big, twiggy, brows on steroids? Aye.'

He might have gone on, but there was some constipated noises coming from where he'd last seen the fox which interrupted his flow, his expression twisting to one of faint exasperation. A glance toward the garage confirmed his worst fears before he motioned for Remy to hang fire; hooking the hose on the van door as he reached into his back pocket and fired off a couple of messages to Alex.

Once he had his reply a minute or so later, he caught the other man's eye; lifting his phone to indicate the brief conversation that had just transpired. 'Speaking of, she wants us to bring her indiscretion over there,' he said, jerking his head toward the mid-flow shifter, partially hidden behind Remy's truck.

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