Just a little something I wrote based on one of Paws's ideas from this thread: http://sneezefurs.org/index.php?topic=2310.0
I'm busy and suffering from writer's block right now, but I hope to put up part 2 eventually.
Here's the prompt I started with:
-A pair of journalists -- female/female, male/male, male/female -- are invited to an exclusively private viewing of the latest and greatest show of some sort (be it opera, musical, movie, or something of a similarly intimate nature) in order to get information for the latest column they are writing. However, while Character A is faring well, Character B is in the throes of a bad head cold. Character A tries their best to keep them quiet -- offering them tissues, quietly shushing them, perhaps even teasing them about their situation -- while trying not to let the interruptions disrupt the show.
Please comment and let me know what you all think!Damn, it’s cold
, Ryan thought.
The raccoon did a better job of hiding his discomfort then most, though. While other city-dwellers shuffled through the streets and alleys grumpily, occasionally pausing to adjust scarves, mittens, tail socks, and jackets, Ryan moved at a faster pace, his hands in his pockets, sometimes whistling a few notes just to watch his breath condense in the icy air. Most people ignored him; others stole glances as he passed, clearly wondering if he was completely insane. None of this bothered Ryan, however. Not many young men go into journalism, and fewer still have known that they wanted to write for the newspaper since they were six years old. He was okay with being considered a bit of a wierdo by the general public; it was certainly nothing new. The raccoon barely gave most passerby a second thought, his mind focused on the task at hand. He came to the front of a typical apartment complex, stopped to glance around, and then proceeded up a flight of stairs, finally coming to rest as he rang the bell on a particular door.
“Damn this cold,” Lydia muttered.
At least, that’s what she wanted to say, but her heavily congested muzzle corrupted the words into something closer to “Dab dis gode.” She then proceeded to cough harshly several times, before being quite surprised by the sound of her doorbell ringing. The rather small and scrawny hyena-girl jumped at the sound, her little yelp of fear morphing into a surprised screech as she slid off of her comfortable place on the couch, accompanied by her wrap of blankets, pillow, and tissue box, hitting the floor with a dull thump. A second later she scrambled to her feet, kicked off a stubborn coil of blankets clinging to her leg, and half hopped, half fell the rest of the short distance from her sofa to the door. With a slight adjustment to her bathrobe, she undid the lock and partially opened the door, poking her head out through the crack.
“Hello, Lyd, are you ready to—oh my, are you all right?”
Ryan noticed his co-writer’s bright pink nose, matching the color of her fluffy bathrobe, almost immediately.
“I thought you would be ready to leave by now. We have to be at the theatre in an hour, remember?”
Lydia furrowed her eyebrows and frowned slightly, not breaking eye contact.
“We . . . have special tickets to the premiere of that new musical? I sent you a text message. Don’t tell me you forgot.”
“Ryad, I’b sigk. I dode thig I cad cub alog. Besides, I’b tode you a hudred tibes dad you hab to e-bail be.” Lydia sniffled, rubbing her itchy, running nose with a hand.
Normally, Ryan would take the opportunity presented to lightly tease his friend about her dislike of any technology that didn’t exist in the 20th century, but in this case he was more concerned with the first half of her statement.
“When did you get sick? Come on, Lydia, we’re a team. We write our column together. People read our work to see us bounce back and forth off of each other, and we can’t do that if only one of us sees this musical.”
“Baybe you could regord id for be ad I’d loog ad id lader?”, the hyena asked hopefully.
Ryan sighed. “That’s illegal.”
“Cad you jusd *sniff* brig a sigk bersod lige be indo the theader?”
The raccoon considered that for a moment. “Well, this is the special preliminary showing we’re going to. There should only be a few people there besides us. You’ll do just fine.” His voice became more desperate. “Please, Lydia. I need your help.”
The hyena did nothing but sniffle sharply, meeting his gaze.
Ryan decided that it was time to change tactics. Putting on a pleasant smile, he began.
“If I were sick, I know that a particular friend and co-worker of mine would still drag me off to wherever we needed to be, because I know that this individual has a great respect for the concept of deadlines and the importance of putting out a weekly column every week.”
Lydia rolled her eyes and sighed deeply. “Fide, I’ll cub with you, bud odly begause you asged dicely.” *sniff*
Ryan’s smile doubled in size. “Great! Why don’t you change into some clothes and while you’re doing that I’ll run down to the corner store and pick up some tissue packs for you, does that sound all right?”
The hyena merely nodded slowly, rubbing her nose again. This time, the tickle in her muzzle rose out of her control, and her body lurched forward with a sudden, loud “Hap’TISH!”
“Bless you!” Ryan called over his shoulder, already halfway down the first flight of stairs.
With another sigh, Lydia shut the door and began to change into her nice, dark blue dress, stopping to use a few more tissues and sneeze a couple more times.
She could feel herself growing sicker by the minute, but she reminded herself that her co-writer had a point and, in any case, a promise is a promise.