It’s Tamashina Mina time. The big rain festival. And this year will be the best one yet because you have work. Your gran had gotten a job for the day at a very busy restaurant. There were very few of them, most people stuck to the market stalls. But this year she was able to wait tables at one of those rich people sit down restaurants. They even had running water and loads of electricity. Just to be expected in the big city.
And you get to help by washing dishes with all that expensive running water. You’d be inside where it’s stuffy but the pay would be good and you could sneak the leftovers from off the plates and into your own mouth.
The washroom is a small room with a huge sink and rolling carts full of dirty dishes and one for clean. But there’s a big window above the sink streaming sunshine down and the sound of people ducking down the alley behind the restaurant is fun to overhear. Everyone outside is happy and laughing.
The running water is amazing. You never have to leave to fetch from a far away well. The water is warm without boiling it. And your hands are fast and sure with cleaning. You don’t break a single plate or glass. Everything is shining and clean and you’re able to bring out a cart of washed and dried things so fast that the manager looks startled.
This is the day you get your first work bonus. And an invitation to return to continue working even after the festival.
When the day finally ends your gran is tired but beaming with pride. The manager gives you both a meal that’s freshly made and rich in flavor. He’s in a good mood because his daughter won at some sort of big game and become some sort of warrior. Whatever the case it does you well because the food is like nothing you had before.
Tamashina Mina is the best.
Even though you’re so tired and your nose hurts from all the smells of kitchen and cleaners and your hands even now are still an angry red from all the hot water. Tamashina Mina is absolutely the best. You even get a bagful of candies to take home with you.
You weren’t even caught. There was no proof you did anything wrong. But all the same this massive lion cop has you cornered in the alley, blocked in between wall and heaps of trash, making you feel small. Nobody likes this guy. You remember Shandy, handsome older Shandy with his bright grin and wild hair, coming home one day after a run in with this guy with his face swollen and hand broken and tail tucked. He had stayed in his home for days afterwards until the swelling went down. Some people said this cop had magic that made you weak and unable to fight back or run away.
This is the kind of guy who is a cop because he likes hurting people. You can tell from the smug expression, the glint in his eye, even his scent carries how pleased he is to batter a twelve year old.
You weren’t even caught. The thought sticks in your mind as a punch connects, snaps your head to the side, vision white for a moment as pain shoots through you. Then a hand is tight around your throat, squeezing. You can hear your own raspy gasp, loud as fireworks somehow, drowning in the sound like you’re drowning without water. And that expression on the lion widens into a toothy grin.
As your vision starts wavering you act. You open up your hands, shift to your left as hard as you can. And in unison the lion finds his hands opening, releasing you from his grasp. Sidestepping to the right as you move left.
The way is clear and you drop the spell and you’re off like a shot. You’ve never ran faster, you’re sure of it. It’s hard to breathe still but that doesn’t matter. Distance means safety. It was worth the use of magic, it was worth the blot. You’d swallow down blot in order to keep swallowing down air any day. Better the thing that kills you slowly than the death that comes now.
The cop doesn’t follow and you find yourself in familiar territory. An older girl of sixteen—tall and built with long hair and a fluffy tail and a sharp face—catches you in her arms. Sees your swollen face, hears your gasping—why can’t you BREATHE—and holds you close. Pets your hair.
Slowly you relax into the hold and your lungs are full. Runt that you are its easy for Mae to sweep you up into her strong arms to carry home where you can find words again.
There's a hyena of around ten. scrawny, worryingly scrawny probably. but he seems happy and excited and he's leaping towards an older hyena woman who walks in. she sweeps him up into her arms, an easy catch. then with one hand tosses him onto the raggedy couch in the center of the room. he howls with laughter, darting back for her again as she drops a bag to the floor. she tosses him a few more times, then finally hugs him proper and covers his face with kisses.
A televised match and the hyena zipping on his broom, snatching the disc with his magic repeatedly, is all the rage. Over the speakers he can distantly hear them call him the Disc Thief. It's barely audible with the wind whipping into his ears.
These big guys all looked down on him. He's small and thin and magically he ISN'T very powerful. The amount of magic he holds might be the weakest across both teams.
But that doesn't matter when you know how to use it. Doesn't matter when that scrawny body makes you faster than everyone else. Doesn't matter when your precision with that weak magic is perfect.
The hyena's a defense player. He stops goal after goal after goal. No big hurrah of sinking his own shot. But he doesn't need that. He passes the disc to the right spot every time. The team captain is always there waiting. He never misses.
That captain didn't step in earlier, when those rivals were sneering at you. Talking shit about hyenas--crude and plain beasts, aren't hyenas they said. He didn't do a thing. Except smirk.
Because he knew this moment would come and it'd be so much more delicious for them to suffer this loss. And he plays into it, making sure they hear him yell his approval and praises when this kid helps him achieve a goal. It's not because he's the kind of captain that heaps praise.
He's the kind that slams salt into the wounds of his enemies. And that suits this hyena just fine. Because it is delicious. It's perfect.
A runty little hyena, couldn't be more than seven. A very...small seven. Scrawny and short with tiny little hands and big big ears. And that little hyena is digging through a trashcan without shame. He's found his way into a more well off area during the work day, when most are away from home. A perfect time to look. And he finds a few odds and ends as he goes. He eats some discarded bones from food trash, takes a ripped shirt that he knows he can cut down into one for himself. Bits and bobs but nothing special.
Then he finds it.
Finds him.
Mr. Piggy.
A warthog piggybank that is hardly in poor condition at all. Just a little scuffed, nothing serious.
When the kid accidentally sets off the voice of it, causing it to sing a popular song, he laughs in delight. It's wonderful. And fun. And cute. And useful!! Its for holding MONEY! What could be more useful than THAT??? Its like a perfect best friend of an item!
When the pawn shop refuses to take it...for once he isn't disappointed by that. He's a little thrilled. This will be with him forever. A money friend that's always happy about the little hyena's hard work being rewarded.
Summary: Ruggie caused a stampede by topping off his Controlling People Magic with a potion from Azul which made it way stronger. But no one got hurt actually and they didn't harm the intended target so Leona just GIVES THE FUCK UP, starts insulting him, then attacks him with a spell that turns things to sand. It's painful to breathe, his body hurts
And the sharp feeling of betrayal runs deep, makes him cold, leaves him feeling lost and alone and utterly betrayed and. And he really should have known that a prince never actually cared much about helping a hyena.
He was just a pawn.
He always knew that on a logical level but feeling it so starkly so plainly is so painful.
So hungry you can’t think of anything except being hungry. Things have been rough with gran’s job and you don’t really get it. You don’t understand. Can’t they just give her money or food because she works so hard? But something was wrong. Something about being stiffed? What does that mean?
You’re so hungry. You did your chores. Even though you’re little you can do chores SO GOOD. Even a little cubby of four can fetch the well water and clean the home and do the laundry. Gran’s shirts are hanging up drying, a bigger kid helped you put them up. You did SO GOOD and SO FAST and you wanted to spend the rest of the day doing something helpful and good but then suddenly you got so dizzy. Your tummy hurts so bad even though you drank so much water to fill it.
Maybe just for today it’s okay to stay inside. Curled up in the tiny room you call your bedroom. It has no windows and is crowded with shelves. But there’s space on the floor for blankets and it’s dark and quiet.
It takes a long time to fall asleep with your tummy complaining. But eventually you do. You can apologize to Gran later for not helping more.
You look at the weird little envelope in your hand. It smells weird. Like it’s from somewhere far away. And it is weird—you never receive mail. No one in the slums does. But you slowly open it and even more slowly read it. You’ve never been the strongest reader but still, you can get it done.
Is this a mistake?
A letter inviting a hyena to magic school?
Sure, you do have magic. And for a hyena it’s pretty strong magic even. It’s sure strong enough to catch the eye of plenty of cops who want to give you a hard time. And a few criminals too who think it’d be pretty handy to have on their side. All the attention from both sides had been enough to keep you, for the most part, on the straight and narrow. Draw less attention to yourself, use magic only when it’s needed. Besides—you didn’t have a mage stone and Gran said you’d make yourself sick without one. You’ve been saving money to get one.
You sit on the battered couch that dominates the main room of your home. It’s a mess, covered with a patchwork blanket made of scraps. Years ago it had been dragged by you and a few friends from out of the front of some money’ed man’s home to your own home. It’s lumpy but it’s yours. Grounding right now while the letter makes you feel out of sorts.
There would be no tuition fee for you due to well. Your Circumstance. A charity case—a tax write off probably. Maybe they take a few like you every year to look good. But that charity only extends so far you realize as you look at the supply list. They’ll give you ceremonial robes and textbooks and a magic pen—a pen with a mage stone. The thing you NEED. But the other stuff…
Dorm uniform. School uniform. P.E. Uniform. Lab safety equipment and supplies. Notebooks. Pens. You’ll have to pay for your own food too—bought from the school cafeteria of course.
Of course it’s like that. Of course. Of course of course of course.
Your gran finds you still on that couch when she gets home an hour later when she finally gets home from work. She stinks of a kitchen that isn’t hers and she’s tired—she’s always tired. But when she sits next to you, takes the letter that’s still clutched in your hand, she smiles as she reads it.
“Cubby, I’m so proud of ya.”
Before you can protest, you’re tugged close into her side, her head nuzzling the top of yours like you’re still a baby. To her you are. Even at sixteen she’s still bigger than you. You kind of like that but you’ll never say it aloud.
“Yer goin’ to school. We’ll figure it out.”
And you know you both will. It won’t be perfect like everyone else has. But you’ll figure it out.
You don’t have enough for lunch again today. After a busy P.E. class you’re exhausted with a growling stomach but what else is new? Maybe you can have a student “offer” to give you their lunch with a little magical help? But if you do that too often they’ll catch on and you don’t want to show your hand within the first month of school. Let alone the first WEEK.
As it is you already stand out too much. You bought what you could. Notebooks and pens. A P.E. uniform. Borrowed the ceremonial robe from the school. Was gifted a magic pen as charity. But even with all that you couldn’t get it all. So you’re left strolling down the hall in the one button up white shirt you used for work and your nicest pair of pants. You’ve gotten in trouble already for being out of uniform but what can you do?
You ignore someone whispering about your lack of uniform as you walk down the hall—some Heartslabyul student with a dumb club drawn on one cheek. Asshole. You consider him briefly as your target, then you see him.
The lion housewarden of Savanaclaw. His eyes are darting to that Heartslabyul student with his judgements about you. And in that moment you strike.
Brush against him as you pass with the excuse of moving away from the gossip. The wallet is easily taken and slid into a pocket. Its worryingly heavy in your hand—how much does this guy carry?? Would he notice this much suddenly missing?
But as you look up at him, apology already coming out, he doesn’t look angry with you. No, the intensity of his gaze doesn’t hold any anger at all but it’s still piercing and heavy and you can’t help but notice the way one corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk. He’s amused. Maybe agreeing with that club boy’s assessment of you that’s continuing in a whisper to a friend of his, some frufru Pomp kid.
With a wide smile and a sweet apology you slip away, stomach now churning with excitement instead of hunger. You hit a jackpot today and you’ll eat a full lunch. Then later you can pretend to find the missing wallet or leave it in the dorm lounge area for the lion to find on his own.
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Tamashina Mina
And you get to help by washing dishes with all that expensive running water. You’d be inside where it’s stuffy but the pay would be good and you could sneak the leftovers from off the plates and into your own mouth.
The washroom is a small room with a huge sink and rolling carts full of dirty dishes and one for clean. But there’s a big window above the sink streaming sunshine down and the sound of people ducking down the alley behind the restaurant is fun to overhear. Everyone outside is happy and laughing.
The running water is amazing. You never have to leave to fetch from a far away well. The water is warm without boiling it. And your hands are fast and sure with cleaning. You don’t break a single plate or glass. Everything is shining and clean and you’re able to bring out a cart of washed and dried things so fast that the manager looks startled.
This is the day you get your first work bonus. And an invitation to return to continue working even after the festival.
When the day finally ends your gran is tired but beaming with pride. The manager gives you both a meal that’s freshly made and rich in flavor. He’s in a good mood because his daughter won at some sort of big game and become some sort of warrior. Whatever the case it does you well because the food is like nothing you had before.
Tamashina Mina is the best.
Even though you’re so tired and your nose hurts from all the smells of kitchen and cleaners and your hands even now are still an angry red from all the hot water. Tamashina Mina is absolutely the best. You even get a bagful of candies to take home with you.
Today’s the best day in a long time.
Laugh With Me
This is the kind of guy who is a cop because he likes hurting people. You can tell from the smug expression, the glint in his eye, even his scent carries how pleased he is to batter a twelve year old.
You weren’t even caught. The thought sticks in your mind as a punch connects, snaps your head to the side, vision white for a moment as pain shoots through you. Then a hand is tight around your throat, squeezing. You can hear your own raspy gasp, loud as fireworks somehow, drowning in the sound like you’re drowning without water. And that expression on the lion widens into a toothy grin.
As your vision starts wavering you act. You open up your hands, shift to your left as hard as you can. And in unison the lion finds his hands opening, releasing you from his grasp. Sidestepping to the right as you move left.
The way is clear and you drop the spell and you’re off like a shot. You’ve never ran faster, you’re sure of it. It’s hard to breathe still but that doesn’t matter. Distance means safety. It was worth the use of magic, it was worth the blot. You’d swallow down blot in order to keep swallowing down air any day. Better the thing that kills you slowly than the death that comes now.
The cop doesn’t follow and you find yourself in familiar territory. An older girl of sixteen—tall and built with long hair and a fluffy tail and a sharp face—catches you in her arms. Sees your swollen face, hears your gasping—why can’t you BREATHE—and holds you close. Pets your hair.
Slowly you relax into the hold and your lungs are full. Runt that you are its easy for Mae to sweep you up into her strong arms to carry home where you can find words again.
Playtime
they have the same wide toothy grin
S P O R T S
These big guys all looked down on him. He's small and thin and magically he ISN'T very powerful. The amount of magic he holds might be the weakest across both teams.
But that doesn't matter when you know how to use it. Doesn't matter when that scrawny body makes you faster than everyone else. Doesn't matter when your precision with that weak magic is perfect.
The hyena's a defense player. He stops goal after goal after goal. No big hurrah of sinking his own shot. But he doesn't need that. He passes the disc to the right spot every time. The team captain is always there waiting. He never misses.
That captain didn't step in earlier, when those rivals were sneering at you. Talking shit about hyenas--crude and plain beasts, aren't hyenas they said. He didn't do a thing. Except smirk.
Because he knew this moment would come and it'd be so much more delicious for them to suffer this loss. And he plays into it, making sure they hear him yell his approval and praises when this kid helps him achieve a goal. It's not because he's the kind of captain that heaps praise.
He's the kind that slams salt into the wounds of his enemies. And that suits this hyena just fine. Because it is delicious. It's perfect.
Piggy
Then he finds it.
Finds him.
Mr. Piggy.
A warthog piggybank that is hardly in poor condition at all. Just a little scuffed, nothing serious.
When the kid accidentally sets off the voice of it, causing it to sing a popular song, he laughs in delight. It's wonderful. And fun. And cute. And useful!! Its for holding MONEY! What could be more useful than THAT??? Its like a perfect best friend of an item!
When the pawn shop refuses to take it...for once he isn't disappointed by that. He's a little thrilled. This will be with him forever. A money friend that's always happy about the little hyena's hard work being rewarded.
Overblot Heartbreak
This too
And this
Summary: Ruggie caused a stampede by topping off his Controlling People Magic with a potion from Azul which made it way stronger. But no one got hurt actually and they didn't harm the intended target so Leona just GIVES THE FUCK UP, starts insulting him, then attacks him with a spell that turns things to sand. It's painful to breathe, his body hurts
And the sharp feeling of betrayal runs deep, makes him cold, leaves him feeling lost and alone and utterly betrayed and. And he really should have known that a prince never actually cared much about helping a hyena.
He was just a pawn.
He always knew that on a logical level but feeling it so starkly so plainly is so painful.
Hunger
So hungry you can’t think of anything except being hungry. Things have been rough with gran’s job and you don’t really get it. You don’t understand. Can’t they just give her money or food because she works so hard? But something was wrong. Something about being stiffed? What does that mean?
You’re so hungry. You did your chores. Even though you’re little you can do chores SO GOOD. Even a little cubby of four can fetch the well water and clean the home and do the laundry. Gran’s shirts are hanging up drying, a bigger kid helped you put them up. You did SO GOOD and SO FAST and you wanted to spend the rest of the day doing something helpful and good but then suddenly you got so dizzy. Your tummy hurts so bad even though you drank so much water to fill it.
Maybe just for today it’s okay to stay inside. Curled up in the tiny room you call your bedroom. It has no windows and is crowded with shelves. But there’s space on the floor for blankets and it’s dark and quiet.
It takes a long time to fall asleep with your tummy complaining. But eventually you do. You can apologize to Gran later for not helping more.
Invite
Is this a mistake?
A letter inviting a hyena to magic school?
Sure, you do have magic. And for a hyena it’s pretty strong magic even. It’s sure strong enough to catch the eye of plenty of cops who want to give you a hard time. And a few criminals too who think it’d be pretty handy to have on their side. All the attention from both sides had been enough to keep you, for the most part, on the straight and narrow. Draw less attention to yourself, use magic only when it’s needed. Besides—you didn’t have a mage stone and Gran said you’d make yourself sick without one. You’ve been saving money to get one.
You sit on the battered couch that dominates the main room of your home. It’s a mess, covered with a patchwork blanket made of scraps. Years ago it had been dragged by you and a few friends from out of the front of some money’ed man’s home to your own home. It’s lumpy but it’s yours. Grounding right now while the letter makes you feel out of sorts.
There would be no tuition fee for you due to well. Your Circumstance. A charity case—a tax write off probably. Maybe they take a few like you every year to look good. But that charity only extends so far you realize as you look at the supply list. They’ll give you ceremonial robes and textbooks and a magic pen—a pen with a mage stone. The thing you NEED. But the other stuff…
Dorm uniform. School uniform. P.E. Uniform. Lab safety equipment and supplies. Notebooks. Pens. You’ll have to pay for your own food too—bought from the school cafeteria of course.
Of course it’s like that. Of course. Of course of course of course.
Your gran finds you still on that couch when she gets home an hour later when she finally gets home from work. She stinks of a kitchen that isn’t hers and she’s tired—she’s always tired. But when she sits next to you, takes the letter that’s still clutched in your hand, she smiles as she reads it.
“Cubby, I’m so proud of ya.”
Before you can protest, you’re tugged close into her side, her head nuzzling the top of yours like you’re still a baby. To her you are. Even at sixteen she’s still bigger than you. You kind of like that but you’ll never say it aloud.
“Yer goin’ to school. We’ll figure it out.”
And you know you both will. It won’t be perfect like everyone else has. But you’ll figure it out.
Stealing Wallet
As it is you already stand out too much. You bought what you could. Notebooks and pens. A P.E. uniform. Borrowed the ceremonial robe from the school. Was gifted a magic pen as charity. But even with all that you couldn’t get it all. So you’re left strolling down the hall in the one button up white shirt you used for work and your nicest pair of pants. You’ve gotten in trouble already for being out of uniform but what can you do?
You ignore someone whispering about your lack of uniform as you walk down the hall—some Heartslabyul student with a dumb club drawn on one cheek. Asshole. You consider him briefly as your target, then you see him.
The lion housewarden of Savanaclaw. His eyes are darting to that Heartslabyul student with his judgements about you. And in that moment you strike.
Brush against him as you pass with the excuse of moving away from the gossip. The wallet is easily taken and slid into a pocket. Its worryingly heavy in your hand—how much does this guy carry?? Would he notice this much suddenly missing?
But as you look up at him, apology already coming out, he doesn’t look angry with you. No, the intensity of his gaze doesn’t hold any anger at all but it’s still piercing and heavy and you can’t help but notice the way one corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk. He’s amused. Maybe agreeing with that club boy’s assessment of you that’s continuing in a whisper to a friend of his, some frufru Pomp kid.
With a wide smile and a sweet apology you slip away, stomach now churning with excitement instead of hunger. You hit a jackpot today and you’ll eat a full lunch. Then later you can pretend to find the missing wallet or leave it in the dorm lounge area for the lion to find on his own.