Epaphroditus and the Big Bad Wolf
It is astounding how little your seemingly glamorous life seems to matter when your older brother, the Big Bad Wolf, comes to visit. There I was, contemplating if I was going to going use "atrocious" or "flagitious" to describe the snake painters exhibition when there was a knock on my door. Seeing as how I'm too important to be bothered by anything less than a sale on Armani, I answered.
Only to be greeted by my brother leaping across the threshold and ripping into the soft skin on my neck in a barbaric display the Old Ways. Shocked, I didn't roll to my back and expose my belly or stretch my neck as was expected by mongrels like my brother. Looking back, I'm sure we were something out a bad porno. The well dressed upper class white wolf tumbled under the rough looking beast. Urgh.
"Epaphroditus, you are the omega. Do you accept your rank?" he snarled into my neck, never releasing me. I didn't answer seeing as I had other things to worry about; the idiot was not only stepping on the end of my tail but suffered from severe halitosis. He bit my neck again, apparently expecting me to respond to his third world customs.
"Call me Eppa, darling" I didn't have time to contemplate how his breath could get worse from one moment to the next as he was intent on crushing my windpipe. As my vision started to blur, I idly wondered how he expected me to answer without any air. Stupid throwback. Finally he eased back, and I noticed a few specks of blood on his foreword canines, 'wonderful, I'm going have to wear turtlenecks in June' I thought as he growled something at me. After a moment of silence I realized that I should say something before he actually killed me. Which would be bad.
"Fine, but I refuse to sniff your ass". Its hard to drawl with half a windpipe, but I did my best. He took a firm grip on my neck and shook until I couldn't put one before two for that. When I finally staggered upright, all four legs instead of my usual two, I realized I was in a puddle of… nature. The filthy mongrel had tracked mud and twigs into my house! I looked through bleary eyes around my elegant living room, but only found muddy paw prints leading into the kitchen. I should have known. Looking down at my once pristine purple silk vest, very striking against my white fur, I felt anger stir in my belly.
I knew, intellectually, that I was the runt, the omega, but walking to the kitchen, my hackles were raised my gums were curled up, exposing my teeth. I didn't give a damn. He ruined my vest. Before I could begin to dig my grave I was startled into a pause at the sight of him. His brown and black coat was matted and stretched thin over his ribs, and yes as he half buried himself in my fridge, mud and what looked like blood was flaking off onto my Spanish tile. The scent of carrion floated into my nose and I whined despite myself.
"Bartholomew? Was it really necessary to ruin my vest in the process of re-living the glory days no one but you remembers or even cares about?" he ignored me and continued rummaging around my fridge, no doubt creating hours of clean up. I blamed the lack of response on my lack of drawl; if he hadn't crushed my bloody windpipe I would have gotten a response.
He really was a mess though. Almost emaciated, to the point where I could count his ribs and see him breathe, no a speck of clothing to speak of and a patchy thin coat that no wolf in his right mind would have tolerated. But then again, this is the Big Bad Wolf I'm speaking of. He was never right, even when we were living in that den in the forest. Before I could come up with another scathing remark, because that’s what I do, he turned, a piece of meat in his mouth and kicked the fridge closed, leaving a muddy paw print.
"Bartholomew, that is a filet mignon. Please tell you're going to at least season it?" I knew I was whining but I could never stand to see good food ruined.
"Quiet brother" I snorted and laid down, settling my tail gracefully around my hindquarters as I warily watched him gnaw almost desperately at the poor piece of meat.
"So are you here for fashion tips? Because for starters, wearing clothes and grooming would help tremendously". He snarled, spittle and blood from the steak flying, and charged at me, yellow stained canines gleaming under my kitchen lights. Somehow, I held my ground.
"You are the omega. You never speak to me this way. Never!" I lowered my head, protecting my neck, and met his eyes.
"You are dying relic from a bygone era no one remembers. And you smell fucking disgusting. So go over and finish your meat like a good house guest." I growled and made sure that he knew my teeth were just a sharp as his. I stared into his eyes, they were almost all white, crazed with rage and hunger, and prayed he didn't call my bluff. He didn't. Not that he bared his belly and whined either, but he backed away and began tearing at the meat again.
After a while, after my heart stopped trying to beat its way out of my chest, I gathered my courage.
"So why are you here?" He paused, beady puss yellow eyes boring into mine. Sizing me up.
"Some pigs moved into the reservation outside your city". I resisted the urge to shout: "so what?" The reservation was where some animals lived when city life became too much for them and they wanted to get in touch with their roots, or they simply couldn't afford the rent. A few pigs moving into the reservation was so totally not cause for the stupid mongrel to ruin my silk vest.
"Um…" I mumbled. He growled around the meat and I resisted the urge shrink back. Be the strong purple silk vest wearing, art critic Eppa!
"They are three brothers, thrown out by their mother."
Three brother pigs, thrown out by their mother to fend for themselves… I knew I had heard that somewhere. Wait… Oh my god.
"You cannot be serious Bartholomew. This is not the "good old days" or whatever the hell you throwbacks call it. Killing another sentient creature is an instant death sentence." He just looked at me, blood running down his mouth.
"But I am the Big Bad Wolf"
#
The red wine was lush and bitter on my tongue, the scent of it filling my nose and calming me as I sat and contemplated the true meaning of "blood is thicker than water". Curled on my sofa, imported leather from the wild-lands, one of my many extravagancies, I had to be careful not to crush the delicate crystal wine glass cradled in my paws. Over the last few weeks, Bartholomew had continued blow down my carefully ordered world of carefully pruned twigs. But then, that’s what Bartholomew did best.
As I stared at my coffee table, endangered wishing tree stained purple, more accurately stared at the Sunday paper sitting in the middle of it, I came to conclusion that I no idea what the fuck that phrase meant.
Only to be greeted by my brother leaping across the threshold and ripping into the soft skin on my neck in a barbaric display the Old Ways. Shocked, I didn't roll to my back and expose my belly or stretch my neck as was expected by mongrels like my brother. Looking back, I'm sure we were something out a bad porno. The well dressed upper class white wolf tumbled under the rough looking beast. Urgh.
"Epaphroditus, you are the omega. Do you accept your rank?" he snarled into my neck, never releasing me. I didn't answer seeing as I had other things to worry about; the idiot was not only stepping on the end of my tail but suffered from severe halitosis. He bit my neck again, apparently expecting me to respond to his third world customs.
"Call me Eppa, darling" I didn't have time to contemplate how his breath could get worse from one moment to the next as he was intent on crushing my windpipe. As my vision started to blur, I idly wondered how he expected me to answer without any air. Stupid throwback. Finally he eased back, and I noticed a few specks of blood on his foreword canines, 'wonderful, I'm going have to wear turtlenecks in June' I thought as he growled something at me. After a moment of silence I realized that I should say something before he actually killed me. Which would be bad.
"Fine, but I refuse to sniff your ass". Its hard to drawl with half a windpipe, but I did my best. He took a firm grip on my neck and shook until I couldn't put one before two for that. When I finally staggered upright, all four legs instead of my usual two, I realized I was in a puddle of… nature. The filthy mongrel had tracked mud and twigs into my house! I looked through bleary eyes around my elegant living room, but only found muddy paw prints leading into the kitchen. I should have known. Looking down at my once pristine purple silk vest, very striking against my white fur, I felt anger stir in my belly.
I knew, intellectually, that I was the runt, the omega, but walking to the kitchen, my hackles were raised my gums were curled up, exposing my teeth. I didn't give a damn. He ruined my vest. Before I could begin to dig my grave I was startled into a pause at the sight of him. His brown and black coat was matted and stretched thin over his ribs, and yes as he half buried himself in my fridge, mud and what looked like blood was flaking off onto my Spanish tile. The scent of carrion floated into my nose and I whined despite myself.
"Bartholomew? Was it really necessary to ruin my vest in the process of re-living the glory days no one but you remembers or even cares about?" he ignored me and continued rummaging around my fridge, no doubt creating hours of clean up. I blamed the lack of response on my lack of drawl; if he hadn't crushed my bloody windpipe I would have gotten a response.
He really was a mess though. Almost emaciated, to the point where I could count his ribs and see him breathe, no a speck of clothing to speak of and a patchy thin coat that no wolf in his right mind would have tolerated. But then again, this is the Big Bad Wolf I'm speaking of. He was never right, even when we were living in that den in the forest. Before I could come up with another scathing remark, because that’s what I do, he turned, a piece of meat in his mouth and kicked the fridge closed, leaving a muddy paw print.
"Bartholomew, that is a filet mignon. Please tell you're going to at least season it?" I knew I was whining but I could never stand to see good food ruined.
"Quiet brother" I snorted and laid down, settling my tail gracefully around my hindquarters as I warily watched him gnaw almost desperately at the poor piece of meat.
"So are you here for fashion tips? Because for starters, wearing clothes and grooming would help tremendously". He snarled, spittle and blood from the steak flying, and charged at me, yellow stained canines gleaming under my kitchen lights. Somehow, I held my ground.
"You are the omega. You never speak to me this way. Never!" I lowered my head, protecting my neck, and met his eyes.
"You are dying relic from a bygone era no one remembers. And you smell fucking disgusting. So go over and finish your meat like a good house guest." I growled and made sure that he knew my teeth were just a sharp as his. I stared into his eyes, they were almost all white, crazed with rage and hunger, and prayed he didn't call my bluff. He didn't. Not that he bared his belly and whined either, but he backed away and began tearing at the meat again.
After a while, after my heart stopped trying to beat its way out of my chest, I gathered my courage.
"So why are you here?" He paused, beady puss yellow eyes boring into mine. Sizing me up.
"Some pigs moved into the reservation outside your city". I resisted the urge to shout: "so what?" The reservation was where some animals lived when city life became too much for them and they wanted to get in touch with their roots, or they simply couldn't afford the rent. A few pigs moving into the reservation was so totally not cause for the stupid mongrel to ruin my silk vest.
"Um…" I mumbled. He growled around the meat and I resisted the urge shrink back. Be the strong purple silk vest wearing, art critic Eppa!
"They are three brothers, thrown out by their mother."
Three brother pigs, thrown out by their mother to fend for themselves… I knew I had heard that somewhere. Wait… Oh my god.
"You cannot be serious Bartholomew. This is not the "good old days" or whatever the hell you throwbacks call it. Killing another sentient creature is an instant death sentence." He just looked at me, blood running down his mouth.
"But I am the Big Bad Wolf"
#
The red wine was lush and bitter on my tongue, the scent of it filling my nose and calming me as I sat and contemplated the true meaning of "blood is thicker than water". Curled on my sofa, imported leather from the wild-lands, one of my many extravagancies, I had to be careful not to crush the delicate crystal wine glass cradled in my paws. Over the last few weeks, Bartholomew had continued blow down my carefully ordered world of carefully pruned twigs. But then, that’s what Bartholomew did best.
As I stared at my coffee table, endangered wishing tree stained purple, more accurately stared at the Sunday paper sitting in the middle of it, I came to conclusion that I no idea what the fuck that phrase meant.
