1. a rant about yiffs (brief, don't worry)
2. chapter 2 of Midra
You are welcome to suggest ideas for sketches (visual or written) after the proceedings.
Rant about yiffs
Okay, so I posted my biblical anthro on the devArt. John the Baptist. Some stretch of the imagination, but my logic followed decently. Anyway, I got a lot of good comments on it. Except this one from silverfoxx87:
I would liek to sleep with this catman! DADADA XDDDD FAILS IN PELTI ask you, is it too much to post an anthro picture without getting a comment from a yiff? There's only so much I can take... and it's John the Baptist, for crying out loud!!! And he's a wolf! It says so in the description! GAH!
/rant>
Chapter 2 of Midra
When her alarm sounded at six thirty, Midra did not rush to get out of bed. There were still two hours until her first class; she could lie there, listening to the oldies, for a good half-hour before breakfast.
Like most felines, especially those at St. Frank’s U, she detested Mondays. Monday meant that she got five hours of sleep the night before starting five full days of horrendously boring classes. It also meant the beginning of another demeaning week as a waitress at Rusty’s. “Rusty’s International Club,” she often told her friends, “is just an excuse for rich men to get completely smashed in exotic ways.” The hours were awful, the clientele was awful, and the uniforms, frankly, sucked, but the pay was excellent. One week of the night shift could pay for two weeks’ tuition, room, and board at St. Frank’s, so she stayed on in spite of herself.
“Get up, sleeping beauty,” said her feline roommate Chibin Mayberry, bashing her in the head with a feather pillow.
“Fine,” said Midra, rolling off her bed into a pile of outdated news and fashion periodicals. She pulled on a sea-green robe that clashed horribly with her soft gray fir and blood-red hair, and walked the familiar track through her messy domicile to the kitchen. Chibin was already buzzing around making breakfast for…three?
“Why is there an extra plate?” Midra asked Chibin, fearing the answer.
A square-faced canine jock, wrapped in a towel monogrammed “MEOW”, stumbled out of Chibin’s bedroom, holding his hand to his aching head. He sat down heavily in Midra’s accustomed place and painfully sipped the black coffee in front of him. The pained, hung-over, and stupid visage was all too familiar to Midra; this idiot sat behind her in Econ. Every Tuesday, he cat-called her (pun intended) as she sat down. He was also a regular customer at Rusty’s.
Midra picked up a pan and a spoon and snuck up quietly behind him. She leaned her muzzle sensuously close to his pointed ear and shouted, “I’M SORRY, BUT YOU’RE IN MY CHAIR!”
“What the f…”
“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE, DERROK!”
He got up and ran out of the kitchen, Midra chasing him all the way with her pot and spoon. As she turned back into the room, Chibin glared at her, arms akimbo.
“Why did you chase Derrok away?” she asked with an angry, yet ditzy pout.
“Because,” Midra replied, sitting in the vacated seat, “you have to stop bringing home every drunken idiot who propositions you at work. Derrok is a sleaze-bag, a low-down scoundrel with the libido of three teen-aged males and the force to physically hurt you.”
“Well, maybe you need a scoundrel of your own,” muttered Chibin, stabbing a fork through three pancakes and shaking them onto Midra’s plate.
“Excuse me?” said Midra, bristling the whiskers on her slightly-too-long muzzle.
“All I’m saying is, it wouldn’t hurt you to bring a boy home every once in a while. Loosen up! Have a little fun!” Chibin flipped her hair, tossed a pancake onto her own plate, and started smearing it with low-calorie spread.
“I hope you’re not referring to the incident with Mr. Robinson. He’s a married weasel, plus he was drunk off his…”
“Not just him! I get calls from dozens of cute guys every week, asking who that hot feline waitress is.” She paused for a second. “It’s you.”
“I know,” said Midra. “I just don’t want to spend my years at St. Frank’s in bed if I’m not seriously ill or injured, that’s all.”
“We’re in college, Mi. These are supposed to be the best years of our lives!”
“And which one of my nine is designated for a slow, painful demise?” asked Midra sarcastically, opening Chibin’s newest Modern Furre Female and wincing at the fashions of the day.
Chibin scoffed and tossed her long, silky black hair.
“Stop doing that,” said Midra. “It scares me.”
“I’m just practicing for tonight,” she replied.
“Oh God, what’s the theme?” asked Midra, crossing her fingers and screwing up her face in wishful agony.
“España!” said Chibin. “Break out your castanets, sweetheart.”
Midra slammed her head into the table, but then raised it again with a non-descript consenting look on her face. “Meh,” she said, sipping her herbal tea, “it could be worse."
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