I said I'd be active here, so I really ought to hold myself to it. So, here's part of a short story I'm writing! In the interests of transparency and full disclosure, it is not nearly done and I haven't really edited it yet. This is just raw brainspew for now. I figure by postin' WIPs and finished stuff here, I could get feedback and tips on my writing (yes from all three of you).
One of the things that's intrigued me since I started furry was the day to day life of anthropomorphic beings. One of the sillier things I thought about was what exactly horse anthros would do about their hooves. Humans have nails to clip, horses have hooves that need tending to. In our world, we have farriers. In the world of anthro horses, well, they have Ravshan. He's ostensibly a farrier for his fellow equine, and the kind Cossack has been taking care of hooves since the Great October Revolution. The story's setting and time frame is intentionally fuzzy, meant to reflect the early 20th century in a sleepy town, somewhere. I also ran into a block with where to go from, plot wise.
Let it be known that Rhaen DOES NOT LIKE first person. Not one bit. However, it seemed relevant for our purposes here. Also let it be known that I know fuck all about tending to horse's hooves. My description of Ravshan's work is basically my preconception about how hooves are tended to. I'm sure![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
altivo will wretch and writhe at my exposition of hoof-care, and he'd be quite justified. Anyway, read on and enjoy the rough draft.
Two-bits
I awoke to the sticky heat of the summer's mid-morning, the sheets wrapped 'round my hooves. My lips were dry, and I wiped dried drool from my chin as I sat up, blinking to clear the fog from my head. Today was the day of the interview, scheduled for this evening. It was the dream job, and I intended to look my best. I showered slowly, making sure to scrub the dust and chaff from my stiff fur, ignoring my mane but for now. As I dressed, my shoddy and dry hooves scraped the fabric of my pants: I'd need to see the farrier today. Mental note filed away, I dressed casually and ate my brunch- sweetened oats, malted barley. My city is small enough that one could enjoy but a brief walk into town, leg's reach from just about anything a Houynymn could need, including my tailor and farrier. The latter would be my first stop, and hastening across the dusty street, I opened the heavy oak door.
The farrier emerged from the back, offering a whicker and kind smile as I stepped in. Ravshan was a tall, quite stocky Shire from the eastern worlds with knurled, calloused hands used to their work. "Rhaen, it's been far too long." That it had, embarassingly so. "It happens. The usual, yeah?" I changed the subject, plopping heavily into a firm oak chair. The leather upholstery squeaked as I settled in, cradling my Clydesdale hooves into low stirrups. Ravshan knealt beside my left hoof, wasting little time as he drew tools from a leather apron. Ravshan knows that I'm not one for small talk, and he worked silently as he began by scraping dirt, mud and cartilage from the frog of my hoof. The scraping is.. hard to describe. It's certainly not pleasant, but of adult age there is little pain. Having dug the packed dirt from my left, Ravshan moved to my right, similarly prying free the debris.
He slid his picks and hooks back into his apron, removing coarse and fine files to tend to the hoof itself. Starting with the coarse file, he drew the blade over the edges of my split and overgrown toe, grinding the dead tissue free. This is my least favorite part, as each stroke of the file grates every nerve in my body. "This has to be done, you know. You go far too long without seeing me, Rhaen." "You just like to see me squirm, Ravshan. Did you see that Aristide has those new home models? They're electrical, and they have hoof buffer-" Ravshad snorted and sat back, tightening his fists in a mock show of aggression. "You are trying to put me out of business then, I see? And what happens when your fancy machine gives out, what then?" My ears lowered in embarassment, and I shut my trap. He resumed his work, and after what seemed to take far too long, he was detailing the hooves with his fine file. The rough, sharp cartilage was all but gone, replaced by crisp, smart edges.
My feathering is long and thick, and he gently brushed aside the long hairs, tucking them into the stirrup. Ravshan drew a tin of polish and a well-used rag, dabbing the tacky polish onto my hooves before rubbing it into the dark enamel. The smelly, oily stuff brings out the natural shine of our hooves, offering a layer of protection. His work finished, the Shire stood and clapped me on the back, allowing me to stand. I avoided the mounds of dust, dirt and tissue as I stood, clomping unsteadily to the counter. Ravshan is an expert at keeping one's hoove's level, but they're always a bit slippery thanks to the polish. I paid Ravshan his flat fee, tipping against his custom. I nudged the heavy door open with my shoulder, heading into the midsummer's heat.
There's that! Again I must offer the caveats of this being horribly unfinished and something I banged out in an afternoon, but hope to continue. I'd like to have a series of short stories that act as biopics into the every day life an anthropomorphic being!
One of the things that's intrigued me since I started furry was the day to day life of anthropomorphic beings. One of the sillier things I thought about was what exactly horse anthros would do about their hooves. Humans have nails to clip, horses have hooves that need tending to. In our world, we have farriers. In the world of anthro horses, well, they have Ravshan. He's ostensibly a farrier for his fellow equine, and the kind Cossack has been taking care of hooves since the Great October Revolution. The story's setting and time frame is intentionally fuzzy, meant to reflect the early 20th century in a sleepy town, somewhere. I also ran into a block with where to go from, plot wise.
Let it be known that Rhaen DOES NOT LIKE first person. Not one bit. However, it seemed relevant for our purposes here. Also let it be known that I know fuck all about tending to horse's hooves. My description of Ravshan's work is basically my preconception about how hooves are tended to. I'm sure
altivo will wretch and writhe at my exposition of hoof-care, and he'd be quite justified. Anyway, read on and enjoy the rough draft.Two-bits
I awoke to the sticky heat of the summer's mid-morning, the sheets wrapped 'round my hooves. My lips were dry, and I wiped dried drool from my chin as I sat up, blinking to clear the fog from my head. Today was the day of the interview, scheduled for this evening. It was the dream job, and I intended to look my best. I showered slowly, making sure to scrub the dust and chaff from my stiff fur, ignoring my mane but for now. As I dressed, my shoddy and dry hooves scraped the fabric of my pants: I'd need to see the farrier today. Mental note filed away, I dressed casually and ate my brunch- sweetened oats, malted barley. My city is small enough that one could enjoy but a brief walk into town, leg's reach from just about anything a Houynymn could need, including my tailor and farrier. The latter would be my first stop, and hastening across the dusty street, I opened the heavy oak door.
The farrier emerged from the back, offering a whicker and kind smile as I stepped in. Ravshan was a tall, quite stocky Shire from the eastern worlds with knurled, calloused hands used to their work. "Rhaen, it's been far too long." That it had, embarassingly so. "It happens. The usual, yeah?" I changed the subject, plopping heavily into a firm oak chair. The leather upholstery squeaked as I settled in, cradling my Clydesdale hooves into low stirrups. Ravshan knealt beside my left hoof, wasting little time as he drew tools from a leather apron. Ravshan knows that I'm not one for small talk, and he worked silently as he began by scraping dirt, mud and cartilage from the frog of my hoof. The scraping is.. hard to describe. It's certainly not pleasant, but of adult age there is little pain. Having dug the packed dirt from my left, Ravshan moved to my right, similarly prying free the debris.
He slid his picks and hooks back into his apron, removing coarse and fine files to tend to the hoof itself. Starting with the coarse file, he drew the blade over the edges of my split and overgrown toe, grinding the dead tissue free. This is my least favorite part, as each stroke of the file grates every nerve in my body. "This has to be done, you know. You go far too long without seeing me, Rhaen." "You just like to see me squirm, Ravshan. Did you see that Aristide has those new home models? They're electrical, and they have hoof buffer-" Ravshad snorted and sat back, tightening his fists in a mock show of aggression. "You are trying to put me out of business then, I see? And what happens when your fancy machine gives out, what then?" My ears lowered in embarassment, and I shut my trap. He resumed his work, and after what seemed to take far too long, he was detailing the hooves with his fine file. The rough, sharp cartilage was all but gone, replaced by crisp, smart edges.
My feathering is long and thick, and he gently brushed aside the long hairs, tucking them into the stirrup. Ravshan drew a tin of polish and a well-used rag, dabbing the tacky polish onto my hooves before rubbing it into the dark enamel. The smelly, oily stuff brings out the natural shine of our hooves, offering a layer of protection. His work finished, the Shire stood and clapped me on the back, allowing me to stand. I avoided the mounds of dust, dirt and tissue as I stood, clomping unsteadily to the counter. Ravshan is an expert at keeping one's hoove's level, but they're always a bit slippery thanks to the polish. I paid Ravshan his flat fee, tipping against his custom. I nudged the heavy door open with my shoulder, heading into the midsummer's heat.
There's that! Again I must offer the caveats of this being horribly unfinished and something I banged out in an afternoon, but hope to continue. I'd like to have a series of short stories that act as biopics into the every day life an anthropomorphic being!
