#astralvulpine

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54. My muse says they hate yours

Wolf was on the wrong side of the board in a losing game of chess. He always was--it was as though every time the fallen lupine would pick himself back up, he would change alliances and find himself playing for the losing team once again. Perpetual, it was an endless streak of failure for the captain of Star Wolf and he can’t help the grumble he gives while he sits on a cold, metal stool in that filthy, half-empty dive bar, hovered over an untouched pint of whisky as he gathers his thoughts. These were the closing days of a long, bloody war that he had given up everything for.

And of course, the lupine was condemned to it: taking aim and making bad shots for a cause that was damned from the start. Just like always. Doomed to scratch the losing markers off of every lottery ticket. Just like always. Fated to buying the one drink that would get stuck in a vending machine. Just like always. The gray wolf’s ears bend flat as he depresses himself by thinking of all of life’s unpleasant experiences that he could compare his existence to. 

A clawed hand finally reaches for the drink he had long since been served and he takes a sizable gulp. The burn of his spirits seemed to crawl slowly down his throat before nestling warmly in the pit of his stomach. He can’t help the hiss that whistles through his yellowing teeth as he breathes through it, eye shut tightly as he tortures himself with another sizable drink.

It would be during this time that a familiar vulpine enters the room. Of course, he’d initially go unseen by Wolf, whose only sense of vision was taken from him for the moment. He would only alert Wolf to his presence by choosing to actually sit next to the lupine. It’s a quick glance to the fox that brings him to make a quick decision: a third swallow, albeit one that was much easier would be what would help Wolf with what was surely to come.

Fox was going to gloat, right? 

He had it--he had won. Every last line of Andross’s defenses were down, the mad scientist’s fleet was almost completely wiped out. And where did one of the few remaining people on the supporting side of Venom find himself at this moment in time? Sitting next to the very man he was losing the battle to in some dinky little bar floating mindlessly through space. Every day, Wolf would see fewer and fewer familiar faces; less and less men he had fought alongside to defend a heartless maniac from the long arm of the law--from justice. 

And it churned his stomach to be physically right next to the man who had single-handedly done it. The grip on his whisky glass was tightened, his sharp and unruly claws giving a tap against the glass as his fingers wrap around it. 

“Figured you’d be halfway to Venom right now...” Wolf begins in the lowest voice he could possibly muster. Those who knew the wolf well enough could recognize the slight slur in his voice. The lupine had been self-medicating for a while, it was shocking he wasn’t more drunk than he already was. Both ears pull back in anger, the moving muscle in his ear causes the strap of his eyepatch to shift -- something that always frustrated Wolf more, just like always.

"Why the hell are you here?” He barks sharply, fully turning his body to face Lylat’s hero. “--No, course you’d be here. Of course you’d take a fuckin’ drink while standing in the face of the last fuckin’ hurrah. It’s all so easy fer you, why would I expect otherwise? This whole thing has all been one fuckin’ game to you -- you couldn’t take none’a this seriously, even if you fuckin’ tried. I mean, every fuckin’ victory was practically handed to yer spoiled ass. Everybody’s been pamperin’ yer ass because you lost yer dad n’all this -- shouldn’t expect Junior to not reward himself fer all his hard work during such a hard fuckin’ time -- that would be selfish of me! N’who am I to take away James Junior’s happiness!? After everything the poor kid’s gone through! S’not like he hasn’t had his his hand held through all’a this ‘er nothin’ while the rest of us ‘er left alone to grin and fuckin’ bear it. Oh. wait.”

The glass is raised to his lips and two large swallows of its contained spirits are taken. Sharp breaths shoot through his nostrils as the anesthetizing alcohol burns through his insides. “How come when I’m forced to face somethin’ ugly, I gotta do it alone? But when Corneria’s fuckin’ Golden Boy stubs his goddamn toe, everybody’s gotta stop what they’re fuckin’ doin’ and kiss it better? S’it cuz your daddy was killed? Cuz mine fuckin’ walked out b’fore I was even born, and I ain’t got a consolation prize ‘er nothin’.” His hand rises and he rubs at his good eye, his palm sweeping against his socket and he gives a long, outward sigh. 

“V’always wanted to be you, Fox. V’always wanted to have yer life, be yer father’s son, meet the people you get to meet n’see the places you get to see; you get to have the freedom of doing whatever you want, like fly to dive bars outside Venom airspace just so you can harass the person whose soul you’ve crushed into the ground time after time again... But the worst fuckin’ thing about it, Fox, is you can’t do nothin’ but complain about all of it.”

“I’ve always coveted the name Fox McCloud. But now--now when I hear yer name, it makes me sick, makes me wanna drive my fuckin’ claws into yer throat and tear out yer goddamn esophagus. Yer absolutely fuckin’ terrible, McCloud, yer sarcastic, and pessimistic, entitled and fuckin’ annoying as shit...and I still want to be you! I want what you have and I hate it! I hate it -- I hate you! I fuckin’ hate you, Fox!”

“ Well, I hope that someday, buddy. We have peace in our lives, together or apart. Alone or with our wives, and we can stop our whoring, and pull the smiles inside, and light it up forever, and never go to sleep. --

           My best unbeaten brother, This isn't all I see! ”

INDIE ASK // RP BLOGS

ASTRALVULPINE AS FOX MCCLOUD  AND ICANTLOSE AS  WOLF O’DONNELL

               penned by Coyote and Rusty

[The OFFICE || ACCEPTING ]

“C’mon, that’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it?”

He couldn’t hide the smile in his voice, or the lilt of teasing it wrought. He simply couldn’t resist.

It was a losing game of chess and O’Donnell was on the wrong side of the board. He always was, it seemed like. It was as though every time the fallen lupine would pick himself back up, he would switch strategies, change alliances and still find himself playing for the losing side once. This streak of failure was perpetual for the captain of Star Wolf and such a reality earns an annoyed grumble from the half-sober lupine while he sits on his favorite stool on the far side of the bar, hunched over an untouched pint of whiskey as he gathers his thoughts. These were the closing days of a long, bloody war that he had given everything up to fight in. 

And this is what he had to show for it. 

O’Donnell was seemingly condemned to this habit: taking aim and making bad shots for a cause that was damned from the start--just like always. Forever doomed to scratch the losing markers off of every lottery ticket--just like always. Fated to buying the one drink that would of course get stuck inside the vending machine--just like always. The gray wolf’s ears bend flat as he sinks within his depression, lingering to all of life’s unpleasant inconveniences that he could compare his existence to.

A clawed hand finally reaches for the drink that Maggie--his friend and the owner of the currently half-empty bar--had long since served the captain, and he regrettably takes a sizable gulp of the now room temperature whiskey. The burn of his spirits seems to crawl slowly down his throat before nestling warmly within the pit of his stomach. He can’t help the hiss that whistles through his yellowing teeth as he breathes through the alcoholic heat, crimson eye shut tightly as he tortures himself with yet another large drink.

It’s during this moment that a familiar vulpine dares to enter the bar. Of course, he’d initially go unseen by Wolf, whose only sense of vision had been taken from him for the moment. His presence would only be alerted to the lupine through his choice to actually sit next to Wolf. It’s a quick glance to the fox that earns O’Donnell a third and final swallow: albeit one that was much easier to get down and one that would certainly assist Wolf with enduring what was most likely going to come next.

Fox was going to gloat, right?

After all, he had it--he had won. Every last line of Andross’s defenses were down, the mad scientists’s fleet was almost completely wiped out. And where did one of the few remaining people on the supporting side of Venom find themselves in this moment in time? Certainly not scrambling in a panic to find a way to avoid this inevitability like some more loyal to Andross would be doing. No--Wolf prefers to watch the flaming ship sink from afar, sitting next to the very man he lost the battle to in some dinky little bar floating effortlessly through a deep, lonely corner of space. 

Every day, Wolf saw fewer and fewer familiar faces; less and less men he had fought alongside to defend a heartless maniac from the long arm of the law--from justice. And it churns the lupine’s stomach to be physically sitting next to the one man who was single-handedly responsible for all of it. 

The grip on his whiskey glass tightens, his sharp and unruly claws giving a tap against the glass as his fingers wrap around it. “Figured ya’d be halfway to Venom right now...” Wolf begins in the lowest rumble he could possibly muster. Those who knew the lupine well enough could instantly recognize the slight slur in his voice. O’Donnell had been self-medicating for a while, but it was shocking that he wasn’t more drunk than he already was. 

Both ears pull back in anger, the moving muscle in his ear causes the strap of his eyepatch to shift, something that frustrated Wolf more--just like always.

“--Why the hell are you here?!” He barks sharply in a voice that contrasted his previous volume. Quickly, he turns his body to fully face Lylat’s hero and behold the vulpine for what he was. “--No, of course ya’d be here. Of course ya’d take a fuckin’ drink while standin’ in the face of the last fuckin’ hurrah. This has all been so easy for you -- why the hell would I expect otherwise?”

The glass is raised to his lips and two selfish swallows of its contained spirits are taken. Sharp breaths shoot through the wolf’s nostrils as the anesthetizing alcohol burns through his insides. His hand rises to rub at his good eye, his palm sweeping against his socket in a fruitless attempt to pull the exhaustion out from within him. “Y’know, Fox--the only reason I’m about to tell ya this is because I’ve been drinkin’ and I pray to god I don’t gotta remember this tomorrow.” The lupine’s tone is low and calm once again, the slur in his voice much more apparent than before. O’Donnell takes this pause as a chance to finish the last of his whiskey, offering a dramatic gasp upon swallowing the last drop. 

He carefully slides the empty whiskey tumbler across the bar counter before reluctantly drawing his attention back to the vulpine. “--V’always wanted to be you, Fox. I always wanted to have your life, to be your father’s son. I’ve wanted to meet the people ya get to meet n’see the places ya get to see; ya get to have the freedom of doin’ whatever ya want, like, say, fly to empty dive bars just to harass the person whose soul ya practically fuckin’ crushed into the ground... But the worst fuckin’ thing about ya, Fox, is ya don’t do a damn thing but complain about all of it.” 

“Your daddy used to be my hero and I used to lay in my bed at night and stare up at my ceilin’ and get lost in what it would be like to live your life and to have your opportunities. I always coveted the name Fox McCloud, y’know?  But now... Now, when I hear your name or see your ugly fuckin’ mug, it makes me sick. It makes me wanna drive my claws into your throat and tear out your goddamn esophagus. You’re fuckin’ terrible, McCloud! Ya got everything ya could ever want: ya fly some of the coolest spacecrafts I’ve ever seen, ya got access to some of the most advanced technology Lylat has got to offer, ya got the entirety of Corneria and General Pepper himself practically kissin’ your ass, ya get to go anywhere ya want at any time ya fuckin’ please -- and despite all that, ya have the fuckin’ audacity to be as sarcastic and pessimistic and hate-filled and horrible as ya are. Practically every person in this galaxy views ya as some kind of super hero and somehow ya still dare to find a reason to complain. And the worst part is -- the absolutely worst part of it all is I still want to be you!”

“Somehow, despite how fuckin’ godawful you are, I still--I still want what ya have, Fox! I would love to be so highly regarded that I could spit in the faces of people who love me and still be seen as a fuckin’ hero! I’d love to be able to complain about bein’ beloved by everyone. I want...” the lupine trails off and he finds himself glancing away from Fox, instead drawing his attention to his lap as he musters the false courage to continue his sentence.

“...I want... I want people to look my tragedy the same ways they see yours. I don’t like bein’ villainized for the losses I’ve sustained. I want the empathy and sympathy you receive; people still love ya even after ya act like a total butthole... Not all of us can get away with that.” 

Elbows to the bar counter, each hand grips his skull tightly as he buries his face in both of his arms. Why was Fox here? What did he want from Wolf, so close to his victory? The drunk lupine’s world was spinning, the alcoholic burn in his stomach had long been replaced by the fire of anxiety and the blaze of resentment. “...I fuckin’ hate you, Fox.” He rumbles in a tired tone, his voice muffled by his arms. 

fox vc: respond pussy