“You gonna drink that?” asks Raleigh, pointing at the glass Big Al just set back on the bar.
Big Al waves it away.
Raleigh studies him for a moment, then slowly slides the glass towards himself, downs it quick and wipes his mouth.
“Thank you muchly.”
Cinnamon buns. I came in here for cinnamon buns.
The bartender pours something for Big Al, and it’s got the wheatiest scent so far.
“Extra wit for you, bro,” he says with a nod.
“Dude, that was like the best takedown I’ve ever seen!” exclaims Raleigh. “The Rock has got nothin on you!”
“The croc?” Big Al isn’t sure if he heard correctly. The volume from the band keeps going up, and they just started a new song, something about being addicted to your rush. The crowd goes wild.
“Dwayne Johnson, the Rock. Hey, you gonna drink that one?”
Big Al shakes his head. He looks towards the bartender.
“Sin…cin…cinna…”
“Man, you’re too kind,” says Raleigh, wistful. “I kinda owe ya for this. Matt’s been busting people for ages, and no one’s ever stood up to his crew. We needed ya.”
The scent coming off of Raleigh is that water-return smell, mixed with fear and lots of wit. He still smells like trick, but that’s just a droplet in the thundercloud of his aromas.
What does this human really want?
A group of people sweeps him up, scuttling him to the dance floor. The band is rocking out on a stage across from the bar, bass chords vibrating his body in ways he hasn’t felt since the airplane ride out of Stinkwater.
“Dance with me!” says one.
“Whoops!” says someone behind him. “Watch the fursuit tail yo! It’s heavy!”
I came in here for cinnamon buns. How did I get here, surrounded by humans?
But the human crowd has enfolded him, aromas thankfully dulled by the nose plugs. The scent of acceptance that works through is warm, cozy, and a little like bison stew. He stays inside this welcoming scent for a while. Soon, people begin to trickle out of the pub, the soup of scents slowly fading like a cloud.
Big Al finally makes it back to the bar, where the barkeep is putting things away. Raleigh is at the bar, settling up his tab.
“Man, usually when I share my tab with someone I owe more at the end of the night. But with you, I’m ahead! Anyways, Raleigh McNeil.” He extends a hand to Big Al. “I’m the manager for a restaurant called Hooks. If you ever make it into Ankerton, give me a call. We’re looking for someone like you.”
He hands a small piece of paper to Big Al. It has writing on it, and Big Al studies it. What was it that Raven had said? He needed to learn to read and write.
The human expects something, and he needs to reply.
“Rick,” he mimics. “Thank y-you m-muchly.”
“Anytime. Seriously, look me up. Now, I must be off.” He turns and security carefully helps him out the twisted door. They’ve worked it back into the frame, but have to carry the door to keep it from collapsing.
Big Al looks at the barkeep.
“Cinnamon buns?” he asks. “Do…you… have… cinnamon buns?”
“Aw shoot, the kitchen closed fifteen minutes ago. If you had come here even a few minutes earlier I could have nabbed something, but things are locked up and turned off now.”
He turns around and Big Al watches him scratch on a chalkboard, ‘Kitchen Closed.’
Big Al’s stomach rumbles and his belly beast flares. It subsides after moisturizer on his hands.
“That’s some onesie you’ve got there,” says the barkeep. “Respect for the commitment.”
“F-Food. I’m…hungry,” says Big Al. As delicious as they are, he doesn’t want to revisit a dumpster; last time he’d almost missed his truck and scared two kids.
The barkeep’s face twists into a frown, his returning-water scent strong. There’s also a tough, earthy smell that speaks of dams, fallen trees and boundaries.
“Let me see what I can do.” He pokes around under the bar. In a moment he produces a stashed bag of taco chips and a half-jar of salsa from the minifridge.
“It’s not much, but maybe it’ll get you to morning. Sorry bud. I know there isn’t much open out here at this time of the night.”
Salty, crispy corn with a plant-based salsa, it’s not what he wanted at all. But the action that came out of all those scents was unexpected.
He helped me blend.
“T-Thank you, m-muchly.”
The bag of chips crinkles in his grip, filled with air.
“Here, that suit looks really amorphous. Let me help.”
Big Al hands the bag back, the ‘Kitchen Closed’ sign catching his eye again. The writing seemed so casual, but it sends a new feeling into his thick, leathery skin. A shiver trills his bumpy back. This is what Raven had said to watch for.
Keys to the human world, right out in the open. Amazing.
While the barkeep empties the bag into a chip basket, Big Al reaches over to grab a pen. He pulls out the paper that Raleigh gave him, and glancing between the sign and the small business card, tries to copy what it says.
The first letter he thinks looks like two sticks, one with a broken part against the other. The ‘I’ makes him think of a heron’s legs. ‘T’ reminds him of a fence post and the wire across the top that the buffalo were inside. Ms. Fast’s ladle scoop was the ‘C’…
“Hey, woah. Don’t write on my bar dude.” The beaver dam scent is back, but the returning-water remains stronger.
“Uh. Hmm,” the barkeep scratches his head. “Here.”
The barkeep grabs a paper menu and flips it to the blank back.
“Here, scootch over and have your chips. But I do need you out of here in ten minutes, kay?”
Big Al slides to the left, munches on the chips and tries to copy ‘Kitchen Closed.’ Lemony and pungent, the barkeep’s cleaning spray makes Big Al’s eyes water.
“You know, if Raleigh asked you to check him out, he means that,” says the barkeep, rubbing the bar where Big Al wrote on it. “He’s got an opening that you would fit very well, stranger.”
Big Al finishes what he can of the chips, and gives the barkeep a smile with shimmering eyes.
“Th-thanks m-muchly,” he says. Remembering Ms Fast, he holds up the menu and pen, asking “M-may…I…t-take these?”
The barkeep blinks, then waves him off. “They’re yours buddy. Good luck. Stay weird.”
Big Al nods, and heads toward the door, where security waves him through.
“So what are we doing about the door?” Security asks the barkeep as he waddles back out to the parking lot.
There’s a line of faint purple light over the horizon as Big Al crawls into the back of the Molly’s Long Haul box truck. He falls asleep, human smiles and laughter circling inside his head.
🔍 Want to preview Chapter 11?
Subscribe and it’ll land in your inbox!🛡️ We respect inboxes. One story, one email. No spam.
Just one offer at the end — when the full book is ready!
Chapter 10 audio drops November 22
Chapter 11 text drops November 29
