Stranger in Brown

9th Bit

Kit had never seen stone of the kind that made up the vagabond’s pipe. It was not made of jewel, but of a shining rock, marbled in tones of blue more intense than Kit would have ever expected to appear on a color wheel. Still, the stone of the thing was not as interesting as the pipe itself, etched with intricate design. Figures were delicately relieved in the material, depicted in all sorts of activities—everything from praying to yiffing to cooking (some of the figures Kit even thought he recognized). They were formed by swirls and spirals made hauntingly into shapes. The work was so fine and so smoothly done that had the sun not been at such a high angle, it would have been impossible to appreciate its details, as shadows were rare upon it. It was an amazing piece, but not really the object of Kit's attention.

He was troubled and confused by what Vaughan had just done—shying away like that. Kit did not know whether to feel pity, offence, or that simple default confusion he had come to associate with the coyote’s presents. The angst Kit felt as a result was dreary emotional confetti, a tension clearly unshared by his host, the coyote. Vaughan lent no clues to his own thoughts as he stood distantly with unparalleled composure, seeming supremely unconcerned at Kit's visible awkwardness. He simply bit the end of his brilliant pipe. Maybe he was waiting for something, but that appeared to universally and everlastingly be the case with him—or perhaps he was allowing his eyes to dry.

At first, Kit could not bring himself to cut the air (thin and abstruse as it may have been), but such is generally the case in situations where connected parties are aware of unpleasant things to which neither will give voice. But Kit’s curiosity is considerably stronger than his sense for discomfiture. So is his compassion.

"You’re.... Your phobic of touch, aren’t you?" Kit asked a bit timidly; concerned, but scared it might be hot-button.

Vaughan immediately made a high, sideways glance at Kit. He then averted his gaze, took a breath, and lifted his eyebrows, taking the pipe from his mouth whimsically, as if only happening to speak.

"No. I prefer the term aversion," he corrected brightly; "since phobias are typically considered irrational." He turned his head and faced Kit with a small, meaningful smile on his face. Kit looked almost like he didn’t understand for a moment; then, after the lines in his forehead started to smooth, somebody suddenly changed the light bulb behind his eyes.

"Of course!" grinned Kit, watching Vaughan’s reserved smiling grant him permission for excitement at his expense. "I understand now! Why you wear all those clothes, why you carry that cane, why you left Big One so suddenly: it all makes sense! But Vaughan, why—"

"Make no mistake, Kittredge," assured Vaughan sharply but brightly. "I have many characteristics, none of which characterize me." Kit stopped where he was interrupted and let out a breathy chuckle. Vaughan looked up at the clouds and, as Kit laughed, opened fully in his familiar smile. His eyes becoming bright blue stars once again, and it was like dawn to see those crystals light up.

"Okay. Okay," resigned Kit. "But why didn’t you tell us this before? It would’ve saved us so much grief!"

"I am uncertain as to what you mean by that, Kittredge, but relatedly, I do not believe it is my duty to divulge my every detail. And, O, how arrogant it would be of me to try! I am discovering new things about me nearly all of the time, and I can barely keep a running tally myself! Say… Did you know I enjoy ‘boinkberries’? Oh yes! It is objectively certain, and one of my more recent discoveries."

"Ha!" laughed Kit, massaging his brow. "Vaughan. You make no sense, sometimes—none at all.

"I am sure you are right, Kittredge," he stated precisely and then replaced his pipe into his mouth. He looked very satisfied.

Thinking to himself and chuckling, Kit was not quite being able to figure out whether Vaughan was, in essence, overly complicated or overly uncomplicated. Diverging this thought for a moment, he glanced back at the couple making love across the creek. Man, could they go! Three hours? They certainly showed no signs of stopping. Kit turned his head back to Vaughan and noticed how amazingly content he seemed: biting his pipe while watching those two where he stood. "He likes to watch," Kit thought, smiling. It was hands-down the most Kit had ever seen Vaughan react to any sort of yiffing: he just seemed content. But though Vaughn’s corduroy trousers were straight and very fitting, Kit could not notice any signs of arousal.

A sad thought, therefore, entered Kit's mind.

Kit wondered hesitantly what would cause a fur like Vaughan to become afraid of touch. What would attribute a phobia to someone who seemed so out of touch with superstition and prejudice and have it kept? There was only think thing Kit could think of, and it made him frighteningly sad.

"Vaughan?" Kit began almost timidly, like a big brother asking if his sibling to un-closet. "You don’t have to answer this, but…did somebody…hurt you? Is that why you’re—"

Vaughan raised his gloved hand and stopped him. The coyote looked slightly down for a second before he spoke, seeming, as always, to choose his words very carefully.

"All who touch me cause me pain, Kittredge, yes; but all who do not may cause equal suffering. Because of this, I have chosen to redefine your word." He reached to make sure his hat was on straight, causing his blazer to squeak a little. "No, I cannot touch others in the same ways you can, but I touch them in other ways. I am not without happiness."

Kit nodded and decided not push the subject any further. Still, and very conveniently for subject-changing, a considerable amount of curiosity was mounting behind another somewhat... burning question.

"Are you—ha—going to light that pipe?"

"Heavens no," responded Vaughan as if Kit were showing signs of mental instability. "The sun is still up, and I have no means, besides—flashlight or otherwise. If you mean, then, for me to do so aflame, I must protest!  It took me far to long to carve, and as it is made of stone, I would likely be at that end for a very long time—with laughable success, I would imagine. No. I simply enjoy the feeling of the stem between my teeth and of the bowl within my hand. I would suggest it for any who love thought. Still, to my chagrin, I have seen the how pipes are utilized conventionally, and each time, I must shudder. Not only does it seem wholly unproductive to breathe in dirty air for the express purpose of blowing it out again, but I was once told it is somewhat poor for the lungs. And I know it must sully the pipe. So, heavens, no. I do not plan it in any sense of the word. However, you seem like a fellow who loves thought." Vaughan then replaced its black wooden stem savoringly back into his mouth.

Kit could only chuckle at that and raise his eyebrows in conformation. Vaughan, it seemed, was always increasingly interesting and very thin in the assumptions he was willing to adopt. But as he spent time with the coyote, Kit felt like he was learning more and more about him—perhaps even starting to understand him. Maybe now it was safe to ask more general questions.

"Where are you fro—" Kit halted. If there was one thing he had learned over the past few days, it was that asking Vagabond Vaughan a question was a lot like rolling a die. To be rewarded with a real answer, he would have weight that die, perhaps by sharpening his wording. "I mean to say, where were you raised—no, I mean...where were you born and/or where did you spend your first years of life."

Vaughan raised an eyebrow. He relaxed his features and grabbed his pipe, opening up smilingly and, of course, in the strictest of matter-of-fact. "To answer the former portion of your latter question (presumably your final draft), I first would have to know the fact myself—which I do not. As to where I spent my first years of life, I must graciously decline from answering that question since a proper answer would be impossibly long as I view all my years as among my first, for I am happily unsure of which will be my last. I truly do appreciate your specificity, though." He bit the pipe again, his brown-gloved hand holding gently to its blue-stone bowl.

"Okay. Okay..." thought Kit playfully (he was going to have to do better). "Then where did you spend the first year you can remember."

Vaughan cocked his head and looked up to strok his dark goatee.

"Hmm..." thought Vaughan aloud. "During that particular year, I believe I resided in a foster home, along with many children with whom I did not well relate. I cannot recall the name of my foster town, let alone its country; but I believe we would both be in agreement that neither fact is terribly important. It was such an unpleasant place for me. My caretakers seemed unwaveringly bent to impose on me such amenities as their bathing me and tending to my wounds (I was not always the agile walker you see before you today). Please do not misunderstand; I certainly had no opposition to their love or concern; however, those sorts of events were to me measures of mentionable discomfort and considerable anxiety. As a result of my relatively low threshold, I was motivated to show unambiguously how able I was in performing my personal tasks myself, and yet my brand of autonomy seemed everlastingly a notion to which my dear caretakers—however understandably—would forever be averse. I had terrible times, Kittredge, under circumstances which many fonder souls will never be privileged enough to enjoy. However, you may rightly strike to my caretakers’ credit—and, believe me, I hold this deeply in their esteem—that they lent me of my tag of 'Vaughan'. I do not know at what age, for am unsure of mine currently, but it seems to me that I took my leave during that very year—as soon as I received my first brown hat." He ended his talk and replaced the pipe delicately back into his mouth.

Kit felt sadness and confusion and respect, having far more questions to that short tail than he knew he would ever receive answers for. One, however, Kit felt most compelled to ask of all.

"What about you're parents?"

"I am inclined to believe had some, yes."

"Do you know what happened to them?"

"I am unsure of what you mean by that, Kittredge," said Vaughan looking a bit put-off.

"I mean, do you know who they are? Where they are? Their names? Would you recognize them?"

"Hmm..." considered the vagabond. "If I knew their names, I would know my own; and if I knew their faces, I am certain I would love them no less."

"But haven’t you ever tried to find them?"

Vaughan smiled. "Dear Kittredge, I do not believe my past defines me, neither do I hold it particularly relevant to my present or the myth of the future. I would no sooner seek my parents than look for lost coins."

"What?" Kit just could not wrap his brain around that. "But you might have brothers or sisters! Don't you want to know your family?"

Vaughan just softened his eyes laughed a well-humored laugh. "All beings are my brothers, Kittredge. Even the females."

At that, Vaughan replaced his pipe into his blazer and strolled lightly away toward the evergreen that harbored his cane, where he quickly reacquired it. He looked very resolved, and Kit did not exactly know what he was doing. Then, he twirled around to face Kit, smiling brighter than ever.

"Ah, yes! Thank you! Thank you! I feel much better now. If you will please excuse me, however—I do not wish to be rude—I believe I have some amends to make." He grabbed that dirty sack beneath the evergreen and tipped his hat respectfully, replacing it and finally started to march into the woods. He moved so quickly, Kit never had a chance to feel like the conversation was ending.

"Wait! One more thing!" called Kit before Vaughan strode into treeful obscurity. "I’ve been wondering… if your favorite color is blue, why do you wear so much brown?"

Kit thought he heard a laugh. The coyote kept walking, but after a few seconds, Kit heard his bright voice call back.

"Brown is the color of the Earth, Kittredge. And blue is the color of the sky."  Vaughan disappeared before his words echoed away.

"Ha! Alright, Vaughan," chuckled Kit. "See you later." 

Though he could not exactly quantify what had been resolved in that time by the creek, Kit hoped he would remember it for a very long time.

--------------------------------

Finally, Kit returned to the place where he had left Kay some hours earlier. As he walked in sight on the former commotion, he immediately noticed that Popcorn was missing—a good sign, he took it. Matilda and Ralph were also out of site, along with nearly all of the furs who had bustled and dandered around here earlier. Only one of that congregation of sympathizers remained patiently lying on the green, waiting for him. He instantly forgot everything about what he was doing and where he was going or whatever else he was supposed to remember. Filled with intensity, he rushed to Kay and started yiffing her immediately!

"Ha!" Laughed Kay, smiling wide to see Kit in such a fine mood. "Hello to you, too! I guess your walk was a success!"

"Walk?" humped Kit. "You must be delirious."

"Oh, Kit!"

"Ha! I think you were right about Vaughan. I don't think he meant any real harm. It’s complicated, though. Let's talk about it later!"

"Okayyy!" hummed Kay. "OOOh! Wow! What did he feed you!"

He and Kay were laughing and having such a great time that neither of them could afford to notice their two buddies yiffing nearby. Kay may have simply forgotten.

"See that, Snowicet? Brainwash!" noted Squinx.

Kit turned his head, grinning. "Oh! Hey, fellas! Ha! Sorry, I didn't even notice."

"Just like I said. And just what did that "vagabond" have to say for himself?"

"Oh, Come now, Squinx." monitored Snowicet. "You shouldn’t be that way about our guest. Let Kit explain."

But Kit was not about to divide his attention for anything at the moment—not until he had given his wife (and, accordingly, himself) good orgasm-ing. It was only after the job was done that he started explaining himself. All four sat comfortably in the still dew-spackled grass.

"Well, let me see…" Kit started, putting a finger to his chin and trying to sieve through the conversation in his mind. "It’s actually pretty hard to strain actual relevance from all he told me. You know how he is."

Kay sat listening beside him. "Hehe, yeah."

"But I think we were missing some important information about Vaughan. See—" Kit halted. Something in him made him hold his tongue. It occurred to him that he did not know whether Vaughan would mind if he announced his condition or not. Vaughan never said not to, after all; but did he speak in confidence? He never really gave any reason to keep it a secret, but then why wouldn't he have told Popcorn? Kit continued waveringly. "He's got… 'an aversion'."

"An aversion?" asked Kay. "What does that mean?"

Kit just did not feel good about declaring it to everyone right now. "To tell you the truth, guys, I don't know if he wants me to say anything yet. But trust me: he had a pretty good, be it odd, reason to have done what he did. He’s not dangerous."

"Sounds completely like Vaughan to me," agreed Kay.

"What?" protested Squinx. "Yeah, I bet he doesn't want you to say! Aversion to peace, that's what he’s got! Come on, Kit. We have a right to know what happened!"

"Oh, I wouldn't say so, Squinx," came Snowicet in a velvet kind of voice. "This is really business between Vaughan and Popcorn, don't you think? Let them settle it. Especially if Kit says he’s got a good reason. I must admit, though, I'm curious myself."

"I can tell you this," Kit added confidently. "He was very, VERY sorry. He really regretted what happened, and he didn’t mean so much to come of it. He didn’t want to hurt her, and besides—" Kit looked down because he was not so confidant. "—I think he said something about making things right."

"I’ll reserve my judgment, then," said Squinx, cross-armed and smiling, sort of making fun of himself.

"Good," agreed Snowicet, hitting Squinx on the shoulder.

"So, what did Popcorn say about what happened?" asked Kit, interested.

"Weeellll…" rolled Kay, eyes widening. "I don’t know if she’d want me to saaaay…" Kay shot him a wink, and Kit dropped his head and chuckled.

"Ha! Fair enough, I guess."

"I’ll tell you when we get home, sweetie." She kissed him and laughed.

"So we ought to start in that direction?" asked Kit, looking at Kay with fond curiosity.

"Sounds good to me," she agreed.

"Okay then! We’ll see you two later." Snowicet waved as the two foxes stood up and started walking.

"I’ll be keeping my eye out for that ‘Vaughan’ character," added Squinx stretching open his eyelid as a demonstration.

"Oh, stop it," laughed Snowicet, humored to watch Squinx act squarely in the know. "You’ve still never seen him."

"Haven’t I… or haven’t I?" Squinx offered squarely.

"You haven’t," kissed his lover.