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Chapter Text

1

It all started with a coincidence. Oliver had decided to treat himself and his da- Mr. Dickens to a semi-okay meal in Downtown Dialtown. You know, the cool side of Dialtown.

Oliver and Mr.Dickens weren’t really celebrating anything, unless you counted the end of summer vacation and Little Billy’s return to school (Oliver certainly did). The two men were walking past the alleyway beside Bunny’s Burgers when a woman with a large trash bag stepped out of the restaurant only to be greeted by the garbage bin’s lid being loudly flung open.

Neither Oliver nor his dad-no, his boss could look away as a man, as skinny as pulled taffy and as scruffy as a stray dog, hauled himself out of the large bin with one bandaged hand, the other reaching desperately for the woman and her precious trash bag. Said woman did not look at all surprised as the mess of limbs tumbled out of its former hidey-hole and landed face first at her feet. All she did was drop her garbage onto the man’s splayed out torso, turned, and walked back into the presumed kitchen.

No one did anything until Mr. Dickens sucked a breath through his teeth and clapped his hands with a “Righty-o” as he too entered Bunny’s, just through the front door this time. Oliver, though, stood transfixed as he watched the man(?) finally jump, or roll, into action as he frantically tore open the bag at near inhuman speed and started rifling through its contents like a tapeworm rifling through your guts. After several minutes of this, the man(creature?) sat back from the strewn trash, threw his head back, and screamed.

The sound started like an angry “uhg” but very quickly turned into an ear splitting howl that ended with an honest to god growl. Only as the creature(man?) dropped his head to his chest did Oliver recognise the guy. A large nose, covered in pale scars, a pair of circular glasses, one lens cracked beyond being able to help with sight, and greasy black hair, far longer than when Oliver had last seen it. Sitting in a pile of trash and having just finished yelling like his soul gave him divorce papers was Randy Jade, a classmate Oliver hadn’t thought of, let alone seen, in 2 years. And Randy had gotten hot.

2

Oliver was obsessed. The sight of the scruffy man looting through garbage had been haunting his every waking moment for the past week. He had barely said a word for the rest of that day, no matter how much Mr. Dickens tried to make conversation and he was constantly distracted at work, like he was now.

It had been cloudy all day and soft rumbles of thunder could be heard in the distance. Each one was quickly followed in Oliver’s mind by the growl Randy had let loose when he was done wallowing in trash.

As Oliver continued to daydream about the near feral sound Mr. Dickens continued trying to get his so- employee’s attention. It had started out small, calling his name over and over, toying with the tassel of his fez, throwing popcorn at him, but it had slowly escalated to knocking all of the candy in the display case to the floor, regrettably saying “cowabummer”, and even taking a page out of Little Billy’s book and screaminging into Oliver’s ear albeit without a megaphone. Now, Mr. Dickens was incessantly hitting the soda machine so that it sprayed various liquids and small body parts at the back of the boy’s head but still, Oliver stared into the middle distance, his head resting comfortably on his hand.

Mr. Dickens was contemplating updating the theater’s medical insurance so he could take his son- no, Oliver to the Dialtown clinic but that would mean dealing with insurance companies, which would mean dealing with taxes, which would mean dealing with the mayor. Just as that thought flew through Mr. Dickens’ head a crack of thunder sounded outside the theater, and with that it began to rain cats and dogs. Well, not actual cats and dogs, the raindrops just had mammalian clip art superimposed on them. Needless to say, it was a big storm.

With a sigh, Mr. Dickens began to clean up his mess, working around the seemingly catatonic Oliver. He swept the popcorn up off of the floor, put the boxes of sweets back in the display, and grabbed some mysteriously and unfortunately moist napkins from the counter to at least try to salvage Oliver’s hair. It was as he was whipping the congealed “soda” from Oliver’s head that the door of the theater opened with a bang, a disheveled man rushing in from the rain.

The effect was instantaneous. Immediately Oliver was reanimated, smiling wide and walking around the counter, arms outstretched as if for a hug. Stunned, Mr. Dickens could only stand by and watch as Oliver broadcasted to the entire world (or at least the theater and its ghosts) that he had a crush.

“Randy! My man, I haven’t seen you since highschool!” He lied, like a lying liar. “How have you been, can I do anything for you!” To the outside world, Randy included, this just looked like someone trying to catch up with an old chum, but Mr. Dickens had practically raised that boy since he was 16, and had seen that golden retriever energy only once before, and it was for the AT&D Monster Manual. Oliver was down bad, and while Mr. Dickens has only seen this guy twice before, he did not approve. He couldn’t allow his adult emplo- his adult son to date a man who ate garbage in the back alleys of Downtown Dialtown!

Mr. Dickens shook himself out of his thoughts, about to tell Randy that they were closed, when the soda machine whirled to life. Mr. Dickens watched in abject horror as the guy he was just about to kick out looked into his(hopefully paid for) cup of “soda” as a chunk of tongue and a few teeth floated on the top. Randy mumbled something about “needing the extra calories” before downing the whole thing.

He was disgusted, he was appalled, he was sickened. Oh dear phone-lord, Randy was chewing! Muffled, but audible crunching sounds rang out alongside the sound of Mr. Dickens hurling and gagging over a trash can. Peaking over the rim of the poor trash can, Mr. Dickens caught a glance at Oliver’s expression. There were practically stars in his eyes as he watched the other man spit a particularly grisly piece of tongue in the palm of his bandaged hand and throw it away in a nearby bin, thankfully not the one occupied by Mr. Dickens.

Recovering himself a little bit, Mr. Dickens stood on unsteady legs as he decided to put an end to this. “Okay my boy, you and your-hurk-your friend are going to have to head out, I’m closing up early. Oliver, there’s an umbre-uhg-an umbrella beside the door for you.”

“Gee, thanks Mr. Dickens” Oliver began “Hey Randy-” before he was swiftly cut off.

“Young man, Randy is it? I'd like to apologize for not having a spare umbrella for you. Here, take some popcorn, on the house as long as you leave immediately.” Mr. Dickens would usually feel guilty about cutting Oliver off and he loathed giving freebies, but if it got this disgusting Randy character out of his cinema then so be it. With all the speed of a vaguely terrified fifty something Mr. Dickens shoved some popcorn into Randy's bandaged hands before shoving him out the door of the cinema, Oliver standing stunned through the whole thing.

Chapter Text

3

Randy was having a pants shittingly bad day.

He had woken up to his possum roommate eating his good shoe(yes, singular shoe) and as he left the dumpster he tripped over the legs of an office chair, scraping his chin on the moist asphalt of the alleyway.

God laughed at him. No, literally, God himself found amusement in Randy’s suffering.

Yeah, I bet you thought this segment was gonna be from Randy’s 3rd person pov, but nO! We’re here, yes we, with God. God, say hello to the readers!

“Hallo! You all can just call me Hobo tho.”

Thanks Hobo. Now that the fourth wall has been established as non-existent and it has been revealed that I’ve been talking to you, yes you, I know your IP address, specifically this whole time we can get back to the story.

Hobo decided to follow Randy to work, crying for spare change and half eaten tacos got boring every once in a while and walking in general is a good way to get airflow into his fursuit head. That thing got stuffy.

The day was nice, the park was as beautiful as ever which is to say absolutely disgusting. Atleast no one was fucking on the picknick tables today.

Hobo was leasurly reclining on a particularly sex-free bench, watching Randy getting beat up by swans when God’s favorite social experiment showed up. Oh, this day just went from good to great, now Oliver was here!

And just in time to!

Randy suddenly screamed, crawling out of the murky pond as a snake necked devil bird mercilessly beat him with its powerful wings and bit him with its serrated beak, trying to take advantage of the injury on Randy’s chin. Honestly, it looked a bit like a make out session.

God wished he had a phone, this shit was golden! He watched, thoroughly entertained as Randy, seeming fed up with his generally terrible existence, reared up and grabbed the swan by the back of its head.

Then he did something that Hobo had only seen in one other universe, the one where Randy caused the Dialup.

Randy bit the swan. Randy was biting a swan, its neck held firmly between his teeth, honestly not helping the makeout imagery. Hobo was overjoyed, this was the best entertainment he’d had in several millennia!

Oh! And there goes Oliver, tripping over himself, practically drooling as Randy began to shake the swan like a dog would a chew toy! There was blood on his mouth now, and Hobo approached Oliver, holding two nickels in his hands.

“Fifty cents says the swan makes a comeback and wins,” God said, showing Oliver the incorrect coins stupidly. “Hey, that’s rude!” Shut up, God. “Okay”

“One, that's ten cents. Two, I’m not betting with you, you’re God. Three, do you and Gingi share the same internal voice? I’ve asked her what her’s sounds like and she just said ‘heeeerrrrrgh wild eboy bug type pokemon’ what ever the fuck that means.” Oliver replied as Randy was tag teamed in the background, another swan tapping out the other and taking its place in Randy’s now very bloody jaws.

Hobo nodded understandingly.``Yeah, eboy bug, I’ve heard him but I also hear bullhead looser and lamp fool,” he responded as the first swan, neck still bleeding, started shredding the sleeve of Randy’s jacket.

With that non-explanation, both men went back to watching the fight. Randy fought rather competently, quite similar in fack to the fighting style of possums and racoons, a lot of rolling around, kicking, grabbing and biting. It wasn’t long though before Randy collapsed, exhausted, as the two swans kept up their attack, ripping out chunks of his long dark hair and getting their blood all over him.

It didn’t take long for Oliver to run up to them, kicking the swans away like he wished he could to Little Billy. “You know,” Oliver began, panting slightly and not even trying to help Randy struggle to his feet “Swans don’t really go into the woods, maybe we could go for a walk together sometime.”

“Wow eboy bug catcher, do you even know how to write dialogue?” Stinky smelly Hobo said, like a bitch. Of course I know how to write dialogue, I write dialogue all the time! “Really? Cause most of your writing is songs and purple prose like you’re some kind of educated bridge troll” Please shut up.

Randy shook his head “I’ll get lost,” he grumbled, having made it to his feet while Hobo was being disrespectful and questioning me like a jerk.

“Please,” Oliver begged cause if there's one thing Oliver is, it’s ‘willing to do anything to get his way but usually going with the niceties first but he may or may not have shoved an old woman down an escalator to get his favorite plaid shirt but miraculously the mall security cameras aren't working in front of that particular store and they were never able to prove it in a court of law’. Or he’s just God’s social experiment I guess. “I’m sure I can figure out something!”

“Are you sure you even want to hang out with me?” Randy questioned.

“Of course! C’mon, lets go to the mall, there’s this one groovy shop that’s bound to have something to keep us from getting seperated in the woods” Oliver replied.

Oh, God’s entertaining day just went from great to magnificent!

4

Tuna Can was having a tail bittingly bad month.

It all started when Emergency Rations had crawled out of their home to get some food, only to return with nothing after yowling like a wounded dog for a while, and it only got worse from there.

About a week later Emergency Rations had pathetically crawled through the top of their metal burrow, a bag of soggy popped corn cradled in his arms and smelling very faintly of the disgusting den that reminded Tuna Can of being in the womb.

And now, here they are this morning.

Tuna Can’s meal ticket had come home later than he usually did. Tuna Can hadn't thought much of it as they had eaten their roommate's paw cover, but immediately changed their mind when they noticed that Emergency Rations came home smelling like someone else’s awkward desperation, which was unusual because he had only ever smelt of his own awkward desperation. But even worse and more appalling was that he, Tuna Can’s roommate and future meal if Saturday brunch leftovers were slim, had come home smelling of swan blood.

This was unacceptable! Emergency Rations had always shown up smelling like swans, some days more than others, but Tuna Can never minded because the scent would leave as soon as the pathetic meal did. But swan blood? The smell would rub off and permeate the air of their very much enclosed home!

As soon as the meal ticket passed out that night, Tuna Can got straight to work fixing the offensive scent that he had tracked in.

Step one was the easiest. Tuna Can pissed on Emergency Rations’ legs. Not only did this significantly help with the smell, it also ensured that no other possums, or god forbid raccoons, decided to take Emergency Rations as their own meal ticket.

Step two would be more difficult. Tuna Can was a twelve pound North American Opossum, and while he was proud to be a Didelphis Virginiana he was under no illusion that it would be easy to clean a hundred and thirty pound meat bag, but it would simply have to be done. If it wasn't then he would just have to keep peeing on Emergency Rations and that would be a waste of resources, so without further adieu he got to work.

Starting on Emergency Rations’ face, Tuna Can worked diligently at cleaning the swan blood from around the food source’s mouth and glasses, unfortunately having to pry his mouth open to clean the teeth. This process continued on to the meat bag’s wrapper and grabbing paws. Cleaning him took nearly an hour, but the marsupial would rather do this than live with even a whiff of the cloying blood of the pond devils.

When at last Tuna Can was satisfied, he deemed everything ready to move on to step three.

With not an insignificant amount of effort, Tuna Can hauled himself up and over the lip of his metal den before dropping wetly to the pavement of the alleyway. Just as he was about to make his way to a nearby puddle to clean himself a figure blocked his path. The features of the meat bag, he didn’t recognise. But the sent? It was still fresh in his mind. Awkward desperation.

The meat bag was shorter than Tuna Can’s, and since Emergency Rations was so well behaved and submissive, Tuna Can felt no fear when faced with this smaller creature. With a small hiss towards it, as is custom for his people, Tuna Can continued toward the puddle.

At least, he would have continued towards the puddle.

If the new meat bag hadden’t walked into his alleyway

But it HAD.

It was all starting to make sense to the possum! Emergency Rations coming home late, the surprise visit of a meat bag that wasn’t holding food, the cloying smell of awkward desperation.

This meat bag was here to kill and eat Emergency Rations.

Tuna Can could feel his saliva starting to foam and froth as he ground his sharp teeth and lashed his tongue. Oh no! Not on his watch, that was his food supply, not some one eyed red and yellow meat bag’s! Tuna Can, as always, knew what he had to do!

With a furious hiss, which was also a custom for his people, he leapt onto the intruder’s back, clawing and biting at cloth. The blonde creature was jumping around and shouting, waving its arms in the air. He had just succeeded in creating a large hole in the oddly patterned fabric when he was suddenly struck by something metal.

He stopped.

The blonde meat bag stopped.

Slowly, Tuna Can looked around, spotting an empty, crumpled string bean can. String Bean. A good name for offspring but a bad move on Emergency Rations’ part. Just as slowly, Tuna Can faced his assailant, still perched on the back of the intruder. It was time. This was an emergency. His meat bag’s time had come. He drew his lips back and, in a fashion that was customary to his people, he let out a low, slow hiss.

And something extraordinary happened.

Tuna Can was astounded.

Emergency Rations was hissing at him. Not chattering at him, as he usually did, but hissing.

Specifically, his hiss was customary for a possum kit to give their father, meaning “Father you blithering fool, you tiring lay about, can you not see that we children of yours are safe, alighted on our mother’s back, what right do you have to show yourself to us in such a manner,” and while there was no mother possum nor any kits around, Tuna Can understood what he meant perfectly.

As gently as he could, Tuna Can jumped off of the blonde meat bag’s back, all the while Emergency Rations hissed at him, no longer making sense but ultimately he had gotten his point across. By the time he had made it to the ground a new smell was swirling around the alleyway. It was still awkward desperation, just a different kind.

Tuna Can gagged. So that was what was going on here. Well, it was gross but atleast the blonde one wasn’t a cannibal.

He watched as Emergency Rations crawled out of their den, frantically chattering at the starstruck meat bag as he went. Tuna Can knew when he wasn’t needed, so he returned to step three. He still needed to wash himself off, afterall.
And, as he rolled around in the puddle, he watched as Emergency Rations-no- he watched as String Bean walked down the sidewalk, his Blonde Mate in tow.