Chapter Text
The door creaked open. With heavy feet, Tunner, the supposed sheriff of the town (or that's what the others have always called him) stepped inside, his mud soaked boots staining the wooden floorboards of his home.
He took in the familiar sight. It wasn't much — just a small farmhouse — but it was what he considered homely. It was also where he spent all his lonely nights, where he drank all the stress away every now and then. And tonight was no different.
As much as he disliked smoking, Tunner wasn't one to drink. Not usually. Shots of whiskey were saved for particularly bad days, where the edge of every responsibility he'd take on wouldn't seem to wear off. But lately he'd felt his hand subconsciously reach for a bottle as if it were muscle memory. The farmer would always tell his friends he could quit whenever he wanted. It wouldn't become an addiction. He knew that.
The door shut behind him with a soft click as Tunner stepped further inside, the sound of cicadas chirping outside accompanying every creak of the floorboards supporting his weight as he walked. Instead of heading to bed as he should've given how late it was — Tunner brought himself to the kitchen.
The farmer's gaze stilled on the sink, before it slowly drifted up to one of the cabinets above it. All 4 ears on either side of his head lay flat. Tunner froze. Should he really do this? Or should he just cry himself to sleep and try to forget about it in the morning?
"..Damn it."
Without further hesitation, he reached up and curled his fingers around the handle of the cabinet before pulling it open. Inside it were a handful of bottles lined up neatly, ranging from cheap booze he'd buy out of impulse to more expensive wine, for when the other sprunks would come over for dinner.
But Tunner's focus was entirely on the bottle of whiskey conveniently placed in the middle.
Right. Just drink and forget... easy.
With a heavy sigh, he popped the cap off. The sound echoed through the walls of the empty farmhouse. He raised the bottle to eye level, staring directly into the amber liquid that shimmered in the moonlight streaming through the windows of his dimly lit kitchen. Still, he wondered if he should do it or not. Wouldn't this lead to an addiction? Whatever, the farmer thought. He brought the rim of the bottle up to his lips and tilted his head back, downing almost half of it.
The liquid burned down his throat the more he chugged, but the echoes of his earlier conversation with a certain white sprunk burned even more.
"You really think you can just play sheriff, Tunner? Is that it?"
Tunner closed his eyes. The memory of Wenda's piercing gaze was unbearable to think about. Even with his eyes closed he could still see her form, standing in the abundance of sun his fields provided with her arms crossed.
"And what happens when you fail, huh? We all die. Big responsibility."
His grip around the bottle of whiskey tightened. God, she was right. It was a huge responsibility. The farmer was always one to help around, especially when it came to his friends. Protecting them was only a part of it.
With another large swig, Tunner slammed the bottle on the counter out of a burst of pent-up frustration. The glass met the wood with a loud thud that sent reverberation throughout the silent kitchen. He panted, staring out into the window placed above the sink.
"You think protecting the town is just riding around on a horse with a silly badge on? You can't even save yourself. I'm surprised they still call you sheriff, knowing how much of a coward you really are.."
"That.. bitch!" Tunner growled beneath his gritted teeth, even though he knew Wenda's words were probably true. What good was he? It's true he did provide protection, making sure the townsfolk were out of trouble to his abilities, but he couldn't shake off the feeling that it wasn't really enough.
A shaky breath escaped his lips as he leaned heavily against the wooden counter. The memories of nights spent staring up at the ceiling, sleepless and wracked with guilt flashed through his mind. How many times has he failed them?
Without turning, Tunner reached for the half-empty bottle of whiskey with the purpose of finishing the rest of it. He threw his head back again, causing the hat that had been sitting askew on top of his head to slip off a little.
With one final swig, he downed the last drops of liquid left in that glass bottle. The whiskey had hints of spice, maybe even cinnamon. The flavor had softened edges of his self doubt albeit only a little.
The farmer slammed the bottle on the counter again, only this time softer. It was probably due to the alcohol taking effect.
A pleasant heat surged through his body, and it felt like the world around him had blurred for a moment. Tunner stared down into the sink, watching his face reflected from a puddle of water that didn't go down the drain. His gaze lingered.
"Ahm useless, ain't I..?" Tunner mumbled drunkenly to himself. He was practically using the counter as a lifeline now, as letting go would surely cause him to collapse and start sobbing against the kitchen floor. "Useless... stupid, stupid hick..." he added, a bitter laugh punctuating his near-incoherent babbling.
The dumb grin on his face quickly turned into a pout.
"Yeah.. yeah, I am." he huffed.
Tunner pushed himself off of the counter. In an attempt to make his way to the living room, he tripped on his own tail, causing him to fall onto the floorboards with a loud thud. "Shit!" he gave out a groan of pain, which quickly turned his hisses into whimpers of pain as he tried to soothe the ache in his leg.
Effects of the whiskey seemed to heighten over time, and Tunner felt himself getting increasingly more exhausted. His eyes were notably heavier, and he didn't have the strength nor the will to get up. The floor was very comfortable right now, anyway.
Wenda's nagging continued to replay over and over in his head, though it was reduced to a dull humming at the back of his mind. At the current moment he just felt like sleeping. But there was another feeling clawing at his tear ducts. A feeling he hadn't felt in ages.
His eyes began to well up, and eventually a tear rolled down his tan cheeks, dampening his fur. More tears followed, and soon — the confident, stoic farmer slash sheriff was reduced to a sniffling mess.
Slight creaking of the floorboards were heard as Tunner shifted into a fetal position. His arms were wrapped around his knees, pressed against his chest.
His vision blurred from both the whiskey and the amount of tears streaming down. It stung similarly to the words he had heard earlier during the day from the very sprunk he had considered a good friend. Tunner felt.. pathetic. Small. Vulnerable. He wasn't supposed to be crying like this, he wasn't. He was supposed to be patrolling, taking care of the town, but yet he was choking back tears like a child. And god knows crying won't change a thing.
Thoughts of inadequacy flooded into his brain, his intoxicated mind passing every notion as the truth. "..Why am I like this?" he muttered in between sobs and hiccups, the words slurring heavily. "Goddamnit."
His calloused, unsteady fingers reached up to tug at the badge that was pinned to he brim of his hat, before yanking it off. It felt cold to the touch. For a moment Tunner held it in his palm, clutching it tightly before finally letting it fall onto the wooden floor.
Tunner lay there, rubbing the warm tears out of his face, in a desperate attempt to calm himself down.
With a grunt, the farmer pulled himself up from the floor. His hat didn't follow, revealing the hair that was usually hidden underneath. He ran his hand through it and sighed.
"Just one more drink.."