Fluffybutt Prose Poems

[L. Jay Echoes]

The following are poems that I have written about other furs I have met. Some of these I have met in person, some through telegram. Each character belongs to their individual owner, so if you want to use them in a story, you'll have to contact them.

These are modeled after the blurbs of the chapters in Victoria Schmidt's 45 Master Characters. After reading them, I wanted to create my own "Mythic Models." Let me know what you think.

[L. Jay Echoes]

Look in any bottle of your medical inventory. Do you see a rolaid or an aspiring staring back? No, you see a vulpine witch doctor peddling whatever psychosis will free you from your social obligations. Meds deals in meds from a secluded hut on an uncharted island. His clients are those eager to explore the world through the eyes of our neurotic population. Rumors abound surrounding this mystifying fox, mainly that he's struck a bargain with the legendary tooth furry, and that her microbial warthogs patrol his teeth on a nightly basis, devouring overlooked sardine bits and grapefruit pulp that didn't  come out in the floss.

[L. Jay Echoes]

All around Zipper's bedroom lie the anatomy of myriad other species; muzzles, beaks, trunks, wings, hooves, shells, and even antennae can be found. Determined to cross the barriers of all cliques and classes, she adopts the guise of those she aims to meet. She will unzip her own paw to replace it with a flipper. When butterfly wings suit her purpose, they are only a zipper-pull away. Lest she forget her own Beagle parts, the spiderfairies that sewed and inhabit her interchangeable parts remind her. Without the labor of sewing up new skins, the fairies would be out of a job, so Zipper is sure to pay them in expensive orderves from her mother's catering business.

[L. Jay Echoes]

On every birthday's eve, Jen, the Lady Cat of cake frosting, enters the bakery and signals her flock of U.F. Snows to rain. Frosting and sprinkles blanket the confectionary within. She sits among the Olympian Weather Guild, having weathered more than one negative vote against her wares constituting weather. Her political rivals conspire that she holds a seat due to affirmative action, a claim she will not speak publicly about. Her ode is the fabled "Raindrop Jingle," although lemon drops and gum drops have yet to join her repertoire. Perhaps, one day, when she upgrades her snowflock, we will all see drops of all flavors diving alongside the frosting.

[L. Jay Echoes]

Once the blanket for the cottage of a lonely boy, Vladmir Cherkovsky now only watches him through his mystic Pearl. Every noodle dragon in the frosted mountains of Qinqong is assigned a child to comfort and protect, to curl around and warm, but a macrocardiac curse got in the way of Vladmir's guidance. The warmth felt through floofs and cuddles expands his heart, and it would seem that the cure would be heartache. Other noodles pay him a visit. He can be found coiling around the stalagtites in his cave and doing sit-ups to keep the blood flowing. They have to turn to stone before the introductory noodle-wrap, though, lest they cause his heart further damage.

[L. Jay Echoes]

A trail of watermelon seeds stretch across the savannah as Cocoa rolls along in his rind, leaving behind vines and patches, awaiting the sight of his six brethren. "Flavors of the Seed," he calls them, each one, through the underground meerkat network, having escaped the elephant raid that ruined the grove they called home. Cocoa the Hyena has devoted his entire life to reuniting his bretheren, sewing watermelon patches in his wake, signalling to the likes of Cinammon Lion or Nutmeg Hornbill the trail he blazes. Elephants may trample the gardens he leaves behind, but his melonprints remain for his brethren to follow.

[L. Jay Echoes]

Nomadic as a wandering troubadour, Beth the Fortune Fennec drives her moose-drawn caravan from village to village, offering in exchange for jewelry mystical revelations and lemonade, although the latter is more often chosen. A shame, considering her travels are not bound to the Earth but to celestial bodies across the universe, where her glittery logo marks her visit. Every place she has been, either in body or soul, she leaves a citrus ladybird as a point of astral projection. Trees, mountains, and fences bear this shimmering creature, although stiff park rangers have been known to remove it. Those who find them may speak to her telepathically and ask for a cool, tart beverage.

[L. Jay Echoes]

As little known the act of universe-hopping is to mankind, angel dragons have made unfathomable leaps, inspiring some of them to consider it a duty. Determined to restore hope to his human companion Henry, Vesrynn navigates the bleak, foggy abyss holding Henry's grandfather captive. It is a deadly quest; mere visits there are forbidden by the Dragon Council, yet nothing drives Vesrynn moreso than the wishes of Henry. Precious keepsakes light the way, for only such valued objects could penetrate the surrounding dark, not to mention ward off fallen angel dragons. It is a cavernous, mazical dungeon, but Vesrynn will search it through until he rescues Henry's grandfather.

[L. Jay Echoes]

Look, a blustery streak of steam in the sky; it is the flight of Arya, soaring from one cloud factory to the next. Like the dandelion seed discovered by Horton, each cloud leads to a distant civilization, just on the margins of human access. Arya blasts her jet at full-steam towards each cloud. The citizens within, more familiar with thunder and lightening-based beings, marvel at the visiting vixen. Her travels have cost her more than a few jets; rumor has it that her crash landings and parachuted evacuations thrill her more than the flights themselves. Less thrilled are her parents. Though wealthy, their funds are directed less towards replacing jets than supporting their salvaging company, however much Arya manages to retract from her crashed jets.

[L. Jay Echoes]

Take a dip in the Shynimeron sea, and chances are, you'll encounter Hugo, a shark not so much interested in munching on intruders than partying all summer long with his fellow inflatable friends. Beach balls fly and surfboards sail when the Shynimeron fish come out to party. Winters are spent at the depths of the ocean, hibernating to restore a functional level of air, although a bit of scuffle occurs over territory. In general, the deeper they go, the quicker they inflate, and the puffer fish typically hoard the deepest ravines. Sleep too long, and they tend to awaken to punctures in their skin, which requires stitches and a prolonged sleep. Hugo himself prefers to be the last to retire yet the first to awake,  making him the longest to party.

[L. Jay Echoes]

Did you ever wonder if the afterlife had its own nursery? It does, under the supervision of Bugz. She is the gaurdian of fledgeling spirits, as appointed by the guild of Angel Dragons. Among the realm of humans, there is a myth that the afterlife is a safe, sovereign place where the redeemed and the damned are eternally separate. Such is not the case; just as many spirits as humans have harmful intentions. Bugz splits her duties between protecting and educating her nest and investigating dubious souls. Unbeknownst to the other dragons, she further splits her detective duties further into that of inquisitor and correctional officer, yearning for a world where even the damned can find redemption.

[L. Jay Echoes]

When it comes to career cred, Shep holds the monopoly on it. The "dog of duty," as he is known (quite literally) among his colleagues, is the lead recruiting officer behind the army of his home country Sheperdinia, the estate broker who designed the metropolitan hot spot Berowski, and the resource manager at a recycling plant in Rexicon. Professional prowess costs more than cold hard effort, though. A mere walk around the neighborhood, and Shep comes face to face with a world of artistic loonies. In his alone time, he wonders whether he will meet anyone who believes so strongly in stewardship. Nevertheless, his professional drive is indefatigable. His reputation precedes him. 

[L. Jay Echoes]

He comes from a long line of mafia goons. He fights for the justice of his home country's citizen. He boxes blindfolded in representation of his ancestors' missing moral compass. He is Midnight, the boxer fox. "You can't put out the lights when they're already off," he proclaims before tearing fist-first into combat as dark as his name. Opponents either underestimate his non-visual senses or try to tear off his blindfold. Both are dire mistakes, as he has preset defensive moves to deflect both strikes. Outside of the ring, he weathers the storm of his tidy but felonious family. The fox mob has a considerable body count on their resumé, but Midnight himself sheds no blood, he only serves bruises.

[L. Jay Echoes]

Little is ever seen of Peppermint, but the fruit of her labor can be seen in the sparkling, glistening trees of Candaroo valley. Elusive as a fox, this husky watches the responses to her sugarplum trees from the safety of a thicket. Delighted children sample and share, she wiggles her paws and plants anew. Scrutinous gourmets pick and scorn, she blushes and retreats. Rumor has it that her mood can be tasted through the fruit itself, but no one's ever made it close enough to find out. She doesn't stay in any one area for long; She inspires the children who taste her fruit to search her out in their adulthood. Encounters are rare, but when they happen, they make a joyous tale to be shared far and wide.

[L. Jay Echoes]

She bursts from a pillar of ice, the slopes and curves of her turning form mesmerizing those who catch sight of her. Tamzin, the glorious fruit of a passionate dragon and a zealous hyena, dances at the summit of Yenaden mountain to stir her perfumes in the air. These perfumes are concocted to entice the snowglows, tiny butterflies that illuminate the mountain with the plummeting nocturnal temperature. Men and women alike come to witness the spectacle. They often fall into a deep slumber, only to awaken to a sky filled with snowglows of all hibernal hues -- violet, azure, and dairy. The experience is so wonderous and awe-inspiring that the villagers at the foot of the mountain have declaired a festival in honor of it.