Interlude 24.5

Tattered feet scurried down a slick alleyway. One boot was still intact. The other was supplemented by a footwrap that did little to keep out the cold of the wind and the puddles. Humans would have scoffed at such a display. Even the poorest of them still had that degree of privilege. Their shoes were still padded by the skinned hides of those beneath them.

Scurry she must. If she stopped for even a second, that could be all it took. Even with a headwrap and a sarashi around her waist, there was still only so much her garb could do to hide what she was. Under such wrappings, her tail could never stop from trying to sway or straighten at the slightest emotion. Her ears kept swiveling atop her head, instinctively trying to find any danger. It was a vestigial effort; she knew there was nothing but danger on this side of the rift. All the disguise did was keep the attentions away of the most careless of humans.

Only the poorest humans lived next to the rift: an open, barren stretch of land separating the majority of the human city from the small corner the foxfolk were permitted to live freely. Even then, the human slums were rich compared to their counterparts. They had actual supply lines connecting to the outside world. It was only at the worst of times that they ran out.

The foxfolk, though? There was never any certainty. They had no land to grow anything themselves. Their merchants would find themselves scammed out of their only source of food regularly, as there were no legal protections they were given. It wasn't an oversight, but rather a feature. Force the hapless furballs to steal to survive and you have an infinite number of reasons to treat them as you wish. After all, they're all guilty of something, probably. Nobody's going to care if they aren't.

Being caught on this side of the rift was worse than a death sentence for any foxfolk: it was a life sentence to whatever your captors decided you were good for. It often didn't last long. There was always another pair of shoes needing padding. This fox had only heard horror stories about the unlucky souls that survived the process. She always kept a penknife on her for if she was ever caught. It wasn't for her attackers.

"Thief," the humans would always call her as soon as they recognized what she was. This time, they would be right. She chanced upon a sack of loaves of bread. A whole baker's dozen! To say it was a lucky find was an understatement. Usually, she only took garbage bags already on their way out. Back home, they would stew the animal bones and other bits of wasted food to cleanse off some of the grime, in a dish they called it pagpag. It was one of a million reasons they were looked down upon, and yet they would still be treated as criminals all the same. So why not steal the better alternative of bread when it was sitting out in the open?

The millers may have added plaster and ground up bones to their sales of flour which made it harder on the stomach, but thankfully the bakers added alum to the mixture which balanced it out with a healthy degree of toxicity. Still, it tasted better than pagpag.

"Ey, over 'ere! I got's three whole bags already," a familiar voice called out to the foxfolk girl.

"Oh, fuck yer bags, Zhu! Lookit what I found!" she displayed her heavy sack of bread before her companion in a moment of glee before tying it back up and slinging it over her shoulder. "We've got a good week ahead'a us, I tells ya!"

"Oh, fuck me, Nikki! Whose rack did ya knock over t' get that?!" he chirped back in a hushed whisper.

"Get me arse home already an' I'll tell ye! Where's Chichi at?"

"Ran off. Said they'll meet us on th' other side o' the line."

"What fer?"

"Saw a good catch, they said. Told me to fuck off an' not slow 'em down. I'll trust it'll work out."

"Ha! They're gonna feel like a right moron with 'er catch when 'ey sees what I got."

"Or claw yer damn eyes out with jealousy. I'll call it 50-50."

She waved a hand dismissively at him before the two started to make their way to the rift. It was never a safe crossing. The stretch of land between the human slums and their own was completely barren, and even in the dark it was still easy to tell someone was moving out there. If humans were alert to any foxfolk activity, they'd always set up a watch near the rift to fire at any foxfolk crossing in either direction.

The violence wasn't only one-way; stray humans found crossing over would be attacked just the same by the foxfolk. In the rare circumstances where human constables or, gods forbid, military were to show up, the streets would become a ghost town until they finished whatever they wanted. It was like waiting for a storm to pass.

Tonight, the rift was its usual state of uneasy quiet. Nikita, or Nikki how she was usually called, had no complaints. She was proud as could be as she brought the sack over to her flat. Her friend wasn't so cocky. He squatted outside the door as she smacked him on the shoulder.

"Oi, come over and give me a spark, will ya?" She pantomimed clicking a lighter at him.

"Piss off. I've heard nothin' but dead air 'bout Chichi. I'm gettin' worried."

"Fuck ya worryin'. Ya know Chichi's gonna be poppin' through the shutter 'fore ya know it."

"They'd already've done that by now any other night! 's got me head in a warble that no one's seen hide nor hair'a them yet. I'm gonna keep watch over the rift fer a bit til they show up."

"Ye think starin' is gonna make 'em show up any faster? Ya daft sod! Least give me a spark 'afore ya waste yer own time. Ya know I can't do it myself, and the loaves are too solid to crack open cold!"

"Curse ye and yer damn bread! Fine, hope ya whole flat burns down from it!" he shouted back, relenting to her demands and using his fire magic to start a cooking fire for her.

As much as the distinction existed for humans, the foxfolk didn't hold as much credence to gender. True to their ancestral foxes, they were a remarkably androgynous race compared to humans. Generally of a smaller build overall, and any mammaries weren't of any notable size either. Even in terms of voices, there wasn't much distinction. Both male and female foxfolk appeared feminine to most humans, and even among themselves it was harder to tell the difference in the streets most of the time.

While most foxfolk didn't question anything about their own gender, their race's sway towards androgyny led to their preference to calling each other "they" more than anything else. There really was only usage of "he" or "she" within one's own immediate family, as uncommon as it was for them to stay together. It simply held too familiar a tone for them in most other cases. It's said that the kitsune of their ancestral lands things were different, but to the foxes of the Augeo Demense, malnutrition was the final push towards equalization.

Like humans to their own ancestors, the foxfolk lost most of their fur. They still kept some more vestigial bits, most obviously their tails. The ears atop their heads were also unmistakable. They were rarely seen as endearing things, though. To the foxfolk, it was a hindrance at the best of times having tails bigger than their own arms. They usually tried to keep them tied to some degree, but they couldn't be completely contained. It would simply hurt too much with how much the things loved to move around. To the humans, it was more a marker that the creature was a foxfolk and thus an acceptable target to treat as you wished. They were rarely seen as cute, in part due to the rough conditions giving their fox tails a mangy appearance, even when they weren't outright infected with mange. Their small size only made them appear as easier targets too, rather than being given any gentler treatment.

It was that knowledge of how they were treated that kept Zhu so anxious as he watched the rift. He kept his eyes peeled, when he finally saw a familiar silhouette bolting from the far side of the rift. Chichi must have had half a dozen bags on her as she sprinted for all she was worth.

"Zhu!" called out Nikita, approaching him with half a loaf in hand. She had a grin on her face. "Gotcha a roll so at least ya can—"

A single gunshot echoed through the night as Chichi slammed into the ground, midway through the rift. She tried to get up. Through some miracle of willpower managed to keep going, but no amount of willpower was going to let her outrun the pack of men after her, not after being floored once by such a shot.

"Chichi!" Nikita cried out. The loaf tumbled out of her hand as she covered her mouth.

The men quickly caught up to Chichi, pinning her to the ground with a single stomp as one of them began ripping the bags from the girl's hands. It looked like her clothes were coming off with it as they laughed and taunted her.

The foxfolk boy twitched in place as he watched the display

"Zhu...? Wait, Zhu! No, no, don't—!" Nikita screamed as she watched her friend immediately take off running towards the men. They looked up, then one casually tossed the girl a meter away towards the oncoming fox. Other than that, they only stood grinning until he got close, at which point he was shot with just as little care given.

"Got another one, boys!" the gunman laughed.

"No!" the boy shouted back in anguish, curled against Chichi's fallen form. "You're getting NOTHING!" He slammed his fist down, unleashing his fire magic for all he was worth. Him and Chichi screamed as the flames took them. The men made no attempt to put them out.

"Phaw... Fuck if I care. Serves ya both right!" one of the men shouted down at them in frustration.

"Ya get what ya bastards deserve!" called out another one tauntingly towards the fox quarters, before spitting on the burning duo and leaving them to their fate. After they left the median, nobody went in to retrieve the pair, not even long after their cinders faded to ash.

Nikita found herself being held back by an older foxfolk as she tried running in after them.

"They gave their life to spare the poor kit bein' dragged away. No need fer ya to throw yer own away too."

When the fight had left her, Nikita slumped to the ground, crying into her hands. The half-loaf had already been taken away while she wasn't looking. By the time she got back to her flat, the rest of the loaves were gone too. All she had left were three bags and two beds now left empty. It wasn't the first time. It never got any easier.