Pros And Cons A Zentharian Entry

*Shit, fuck, shit, fuck, shit, fuck,*

I nearly face planted as I sprinted across the room, damn near tripping over the piles of laundry that I had been neglecting in my rush to grab the mica powder from my other-other craft table.

I snatched up the little jar and leapt across the room with all the grace of a rhino on roller-skates. I literally skidded to a halt, my tail acting as a counter-balance to keep me from toppling over, then opened the dark emerald green bottle and adding a bit into the container on the scale.

*2.1, 2.2. Just a bit more, 2.4, 2.5 grams!*

Slightly wondering if that was kinda what a drug dealer felt like, I dumped the small amount of mica powder into the solution and started shaking the bottle violently. I had at least remembered to close the lid before doing so this time.

After the solution was mixed, I opened the lid and poured it into the airbrush, praying to God or Zeus or the Flying Spaghetti Monster or whatever that I had been fast enough.

*Please don't leave a seam, I really don't want to unfuck this,*

I pushed the facemask on haphazardly, my white fox-esque ear getting pinned under the strap uncomfortably, and slowly applied the next layer of paint onto the foam.

It blended smoothly, the previous layer just wet enough to let it do so.

"Oh thank your fucking meat balls, Senior Spaghett," I said out loud.

*Really Vicky? That was too fucking close,*

*Shut the fuck up, me,*

*Bitch,*

*Bitch,*

It took me a second to remember that my ear was being flattened by the strap and was starting to hurt. Now that I wasn't in crisis mode, I adjusted the strap and freed my ear, immediately returning to the foam armor piece.

This fucking project was going to kill me, but I was apparently a whore because I kept working on it, proud with my work and also seeing dollar signs. The client had paid half up front for this project because of the detail he had requested. I liked money and was very passionate about not starving to death, so I was going to finish what I had started.

I had been working on this project for about two weeks, the initial idea having come from the client, but I had been the one who had made the design. This guy was going to be wearing it as part of a costume, a character of his own design. He was even going to be doing some cosplay events with it. I had been smart enough to keep a contract where I get credit in any photo that he posts of the work, but otherwise I didn't really care.

I liked making the stuff, and cons were fun and all, but I wasn't really the cosplayer type. Humans really liked that stuff, and most Zenthari did as well, but I had had my tail tugged a few too many dozen times to really like going.

*Cosplay does not equal consent,* I thought.

*Yea, but riding someone while cosplaying could be fun,* my brain countered. *Whole new meaning to 'Hulk Smash!'*

*Okay, brain, first off, ew. Second off, what the fuck?*

My brain, the traitorous little bastard, didn't reply.

*Bitch,* I grumbled.

I went back to work, the sound of the airbrush soothing.

I finally finished the layer of paint and turned off the compressor, letting out a deep breath. I may or may not have forgotten to breathe during that time. Fuck it, oxygen, shmoxygen.

Just another few pieces and I'd be done.

I picked up my phone and checked the time.

*Oh,*

*Oops,*

I decided that I should probably call it a night. Or morning, technically. The fact that it was past 3am would probably explain why my eyes were so tired.

I grabbed the foam pieces and stuck them back on the mannequin to dry, then headed back to my desk and started cleaning up.

*Damn, I need a shower,*

*Later, sleep now. Not like you're going anywhere,*

*But I'm gross and really need a shower,*

*I know, but it's all the way over there,* I moaned internally. *No, food first, then sleep, then shower,*

I knew that the order of events was definitely wrong, but I really didn't want to argue, either. I really couldn't, since, you know, it was my own thoughts. I hadn't gone full schizoid yet.

*Bitch, is that a challenge?*

*Fuck off, me,*

I stumbled into my kitchenette, my feet moving me to the fridge without me actually directing them.

*Thank you, auto-pilot,*

*Don't mention it,*

*Bitch,*

*Slob,*

*Touché,*

I pulled out one of those healthyish microwavable meals and threw it in, listening to the hum as I grabbed an ice tea from the fridge, cracking the can open and draining half of it.

*You should probably drink, you know, water?*

*Probably,*

I kept drinking the ice tea. At least it didn't have any sugar. I may not be the most elegant of foxkin, but I did somewhat care about making sure I stayed thin. It wasn't out of a fear of getting obese, but purely because I didn't want to replace my wardrobe.

Okay, a little of it was scared of getting obese, already having been through that stage when I was a fat kid. It didn't matter how many people told you to be happy with your body when you were surrounded by children.

No, I was happy with my 115 pounds. I didn't need to be fit or muscular or razor fucking thin, I was happy with who I was now.

The microwave had a chance to give half a beep before I opened the door and snatched the food out.

"Fuuuuuuuuck, hot, hot, hot, hot, hot,"

I was a master at not dropping the steaming hot tray and was proud of myself.

I walked back to the living room, taking another big gulp of the ice tea.

*I really shouldn't eat while drinking,*

*You really shouldn't do a lot of things,*

*Better than drinking and driving,*

*You don't drink,*

I put the food on the counter and tore open the top, digging into it with the second to last clean fork.

That was usually my sign to clean. Once I got down to last fork or last clean panties, I want on a military campaign style attack and turned my little studio apartment into a a crystal clean becon of high society.

Then I didn't touch it again for a month or so.

My mind drifted as I ate, thinking about the last date I had had, or rather, the last bad date I had had.

I had thought this one had been going well. He was cute, nice, and had seemed genuinely cute. Then, he had started voicing his opinions on... Certain types of people.

I had seen red flags. By the second sentence into that subject, the guy was a communist rally. I had no idea what ever disabled ex had done to him, but he had clearly been fucked up by him.

I had called a rides hare and left before he had finished his salad at the restaurant, then blocked him on Whiskr. And every other platform that I could find.

That was actually a good way to describe my dating life. A series of red flags and blocked contacts. I wasn't against guys just looking for hookups, they do they, but at the very least don't open the convo with a dick pic, and if you do, at least don't make it one of those where your pushing down on your nuts to try to make it look bigger with your harry ass legs in the background.

The date before that had been better. We had just gotten dinner, went and saw a movie, and had a nice night. Nothing had clicked, we hadn't made out or anything, but he was nice, and he promptly ghosted me.

Then the date before that was an absolute disaster. This guy had been super weird and creepy, like, 'should have been in prison and possibly in a mental institution with men in white coats with nets on standby ' level of weird and creepy.

He kept asking me if I liked fur coats, if I thought they were murder or had an issue with them since I was a Zentharian.

Yea, after that, I had gotten peppers pray. And a knife. And new locks. And even thought about a security system in a concrete bunker with a big "No Boys or Psycos allowed" sign.

I threw my fork into the sink, knowing I'd be going on a rampage later to clean everything, and meandered back to my den. I flopped down on my nest, and pulled out my phone, pulling up Whiskr.

'238 Potential matches! Subscribe to see who's sniffin around!'

*Yea, no, fuck you,* I dismissed the ad and scrolled through, not daring to look at my messages. I had gotten use to seeing that number of potential matches being astronomically high. Not out of vanity, but because I was an arctic foxkin.

Foxkin already had a reputation for being nymphos, a reputation that they had honestly earned, and I was also seen as exotic.

*Maybe if I took a picture of how I looked now, it would desuade the more desperate ones,*

*Or it'll backfire and you'll get ones who are into that shit,*

I scrolled through the suggested profiles, both men and women, trying, and probably failing, not to judge off looks alone.

I wasn't necessary interested in women, but I wasn't disinterested, either. After Mr 'It puts the lotion on its skin or it gets the hose again', I figured I might want to change up my potential dating pool.

I had dated a girl once, and only for a few weeks, but it hadn't really gone anywhere. She and I just didn't click, but it was nice to experiment with her. She was super nice and patient with me, even when we didn't technically go so the way.

*At what point is lesbian sex, sex? Like with a guy, is when the meat-rod goes into the happy-hole, right? Does fingering count? Or is it only when they bump uglies?*

I kept looking through the profiles, not fully paying attention to my own thoughts.

*Cute, but the picture looks super doctored,*

*Not bad, but... Not really my type,*

*Oh, an actual gym rat. Being a ratkin bodybuilder must suuuuuck,*

*I'm sorry, but having your main pic on a dating app being you holding a fish... Questionable judgment...*

*Oh, she's cute, her smile is nice, beautiful eyes... Oh, she doesn't believe in deodorant,*

*I am 100% certain that you are not a chuwhawa, either post a picture of yourself or take the app away from your dog,*

At this point, I was just doom scrolling. I didn't care at this point, but it was something to do. I wasn't tired enough to actually fall asleep, and the project was still drying, so I wasn't about to get any more work done. I mainly just needed my brain to turn off.

I opened the messages tab, scrolling passed all the ones making that they had sent an image. I swear, I had seen more dicks in my messages then a porn site hosted. Essentially, if they sent a photo, I ignored it.

Yea, I was that kind of 'bitch'.

I saw a message that the teaser text caught my eye. Curious, I opened it.

'I recognize your name from somewhere, I think it was at a con or something. Did you have a panel or something?'

I didn't have a panel or anything, but I did go to a lot of cons. It was a great place to promote my business and sell some of the more simple cosplays, like t-shirts. I didn't know how this guy could recognize me, though.

I typed a quick response, but hesitated before sending. I deleted it, then clicked on his profile.

*Okay, no red flags so far...* I thought. His main pic was kinda generic, just him taking a selfie while being at an area that looked like a concert. I couldn't tell. I scrolled down and looked over his profile.

'Sam 26

Just got out of a long term relationship and I forgot how to date. I like cats, music, and chasing the ADHD dopamine. I have about two thousand projects and no end in sight. Before you ask, the cats name is Tax Evasion,'

I snickered. The guy wasn't bad, not at all. Actually, he was pretty cute. I looked through his other pictures, which were mostly of his cat and himself, and he did have a nice smile. And they're were none that were just of the cat.

*Is he using his cat to pick up chicks?* I thought. The cat was cute and all, but it wasn't found it for me. What caught my attention was how much the cat actually seemed okay with the pictures. It didn't look angry like most cats did.

*He's a pussy whisperer,*

*Oh, for fucks sake, brain,*

I opened the messages and typed a reply.

'I don't do panels, but I do a lot of cosplay for others. Maybe you saw some of my work. Are you a cosplayer or just a nerd in general?'

I sent the message and waited. I didn't expect an answer right away. It was almost 4 am, after all.

As though to illustrate that point, my phone buzzed, telling me that I read was down to less than 15%. Taking that as the sign that it was, I plugged in my phone and curled up in my nest.

*Fuck, I stink,*

*Sleep now, shower later,*

My brain didn't fight me, so I was out within minutes.

When I woke up, it was 1pm. I had slept longer than I had meant to, but my body had been needing it.

*Well fuck, there goes half the day,*

I grabbed my phone, checking my messages, and saw that the guy had replied. And not that long ago either.

*At least he doesn't live on the app,* I thought, opening the message, realizing to late that it also said the dreaded notice.

*'Image Received'*

'Just a nerd, artistic skills of a drugged up chicken. I went though pics of my last con and I found where I saw you, here,'

I saw the picture. It was of the guy, Sam, posing with a cosplayer. In the background was, sure enough, my booth, complete with my stupid name that I had picked before.

'Vickys Tail Tales'.

Hind sight was 20/20, but it had gotten a bit of a following and I didn't want to start all over.

*Wait, isn't it supposed to be creepy that this guy has a picture of you?*

Normally, that wouldn't be so much as a red flag as it would be a nuclear strike, but this picture looked older, maybe a year or so ago. And I technically wasn't in the photo, just my booth, and it was in the background, not the subject.

A bit serendipitous, but not unbelievable.

'Lol, yea, that's my booth. Got kinda shocked when you sent a pic of my booth, ngl, just glad it isn't creepy lol'

The little text bubble that told me he was typing appeared and disappeared a few times before he finally responded.

'Lol, I'm sorry, that was probably really weird. I was actually going through my phone a while back during the great Pic Purge and I my brain just kinda saved the details. If it makes you feel any better, I got lots of other booths in backgrounds too lol.'

I felt myself relax, not really aware that I had even tensed.

'Lol, well, it's nice to know that the booth didn't die in a purge, lol'

I started scrolling through more profiles. It wasn't that I didn't want to talk to him, I just had nothing else to say.

*And you're not ready to talk to a guy until you can verify that it's not another fur coat mother fucker,*

*No, I'm just horny and need a guy who isn't creepy,*

*That's that the dildo is for. Much less likely to stalk you than most,*

The message dinged again, and I looked back at the message.

'Yea. Hey, just to be blunt, I'm bad at this and I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I didn't even think about it until I saw your response,'

*Okay, he's either really smooth or really socially inept,*

*Or both,*

I felt the urge to be honest with him.

'It's okay, haha, it was just a little weird. I'm bad at this stuff too,'

'Okay, good, lol. It's been a while and I forgot how to flirt lol. Would you like to grab ramen sometime? Your bio said you like it and I know a good Korean restaurant in the city where they make it all fresh,'

*Oh, smooth,*

I didn't want to admit it, but the idea of ramen did sound really good. And this guy seemed nice, and not overly forward.

*And not a comment on my ears or tail yet,*

*Wow, the fact that that is the bar... Fuck, I really should get off this app,*

*Yea. Shower, ramen, delete. Even if it goes bad, you get ramen,*

*Fuck it,*

'Sure, that sounds good! Mind if you send me a Pic with you holding up three fingers and your tongue out so I know you're not a fur collector?'

I had hoped the humor would mask the fact that I wasn't entirely joking.

'Lol, sure thing. Just to be safe, can you hold up two fingers and have a thumbs up for me? You are about sixteen steps out of my league and I don't want to be catfished lol I kinda feel like a little league team going up against the Yankees'

*Oh, baseball reference,*

*I really hope he's not a sports head,*

*Hehe, he likes balls,*

I snapped a picture as he requested and sent it. It wasn't until...

'lol don't sell urself short, I'm the short one lol,' I typed.

*Uh, hey Vicky?*

*Yes brain?*

*You may have wanted to shower and get cleaned up before you sent that photo...*

I looked at the photo I had sent.

*Oh. Oops,*

I was a mess, hair tangled with bedhead, ear fur poking up in all directions, no makeup, and I think I could even see a bit of dried drool on my cheek.

*Well, I don't think I could be more anti-catfish than that,*

'You aren't short, you are vertically challenged. Thanks for the pic btw, nice to know your aren't a bot lol. Is tonight at six ok? Here's my pic,'

A second later, I got the notification of his image. It was exactly as I asked, sticking his tongue out and all. He had gone the extra mile and even crossed his eyes, looking silly.

I had the sneaking suspicion that he did that to try to make my photo seem not that bad by comparison.

'Sure, six is good. Where are we meeting?'

'I'll send you the address, see you tonight!'

I didn't have any other plans, so I had all the time to prepare.

And so I did the smart thing, and made sure to spend the entire time dedicated to getting ready...

No, that's a lie. I forgot that I had slept in so late and ended up running around my apartment like a dog with the zoomies in the last hour.

I climbed into the shower, stripping off my pajamas, yes I was still wearing them, and turned on the water.

"Cold!" I squealed. I just used it to get my body wet enough to start washing, rubbing the shampoo into my hair, the specialized fur shampoo into my tail, and lathering up my body to the point I was covered in enough suds that it was probably cartoonish.

*If only this was a porno,*

*Brain, not now,*

I looked between my legs, then grabbed my razer. Just in case. He was cute.

*Oh, you bitch about the stereotype, but your shaving, just in case?*

*Yes. Now quiet,*

I took a bit longer than I probably should have making sure that I was trimmed, then a lot longer then I should have washing my tail, even adding the conditioner and brushing it in.

Thankfully, getting dressed was easy. I was a basic bitch and the vast majority of my clothes were either tank tops or t shirts and jeans or shorts. It only took slightly under an eternity to find the right combo.

*It's a ramen place, not a 5 star restaurant,*

*Shut up, brain,*

*Oh, what about a skirt, so when you flash him you can at least be in a 'wardrobe malfunction' and not 'skank'?*

*Brain!*

*And easy access, just drop the panties to the knees-*

*BRAIN!*

*Yea, you're right. Bring a pad or something, that way after you don't leak down your thighs after-*

I didn't know it was possible to slap ones hand over a brains mouth, but somehow I mentally did it as I rushed out the door.

The address that Sam had given me was pretty close to my apartment, thankfully, and only took about a 10 minute bus ride and a few minutes walking to get to.

It wasn't a super busy place, and it didn't seem like a tourist trap. A mom and pop business, which was always a plus.

I arrived just a few minutes before six, my heart pounding. Frankly, I think I should've gotten an award or something, fastest clean up from what disaster I had been to something that actually looked decent.

*From ferial to fennic, a foxkin transformation,* I mused.

*I'm an arctic,*

*Yea, but the alliteration sounds better,*

I opened the door, the bell ringing. There were a few patrons, all of whom were sitting in the small restaurant. There were a few booths and a few tables. They looked a bit worn, but clean.