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The Subfursives (1980s Sci-Fi Non-Canon)

For non-canon Feila and non-Feila role-playing, the Twilight Zone offers a venue to experience all time and all settings. If you'd like to role-play in a time period that has no canon counterpart, or if you'd like to role-play on a world that is not Feila, then this is the place. Only original, user-created settings are allowed to be role-played here other than Feila's own setting. No fan fiction is permitted that doesn't pertain to Feila. All races are allowed, including humans.
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Joined: Thu Oct 25, 2007 4:31 am
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Location: East Berlin, Pennsyltuckia

Re: The Subfursives (1980s Sci-Fi Non-Canon)

Post by Larcen » Wed Jul 12, 2017 10:30 pm

Upon seeing Caldin waltz back out in semi-manly clothing, Spike shrugged, impressed. "That'll work. Especially with what I'm pretty sure my husband is thinking," she speculated, giving him a sideways glance.

Turnpike pressed the tip of his muzzle against a fist and pondered. "I like what you'nz are suggesting, honestly. Keep moving and they won't know where to look so easy. 'Course they didn't make her car, so that's in our favor, but it's a matter of time before someone in the parking lot mentions seeing you." Spike coughed and rubbed the back of her neck at that statement, remembering the incident with the SUV.

Her husband raised an eyebrow, but continued plotting. "Yeah. Let's go to your house, Mal. We'll take my car; I'm drivin'." He gave half a grin to Caldin--only half; Spike wasn't the jealous type, but she'd murder him if he looked at the vixen wrong. "And I'll explain how they work on the way. Let's move."

After changing into a very last-decade outfit featuring a grey pinstripe suit, pink shirt, gold chain and matching topaz pinky ring, Turnpike led the way back to the garage, where his black-and-midnight-purple 1970 Rebel Machine sat parked, its body raked forward, ever ready for a fight. "Babe, you're gonna have to take the back seat with Mal. Caldin's legs are a little too long for the back." Spike gruffed, not liking how that sounded.

"'Kay, I'll just slip in behind you, so I can like, throttle you if you take your paws off the gearshift," she growled playfully. Turnpike rolled his eyes, then pushed the seat forward so she could get in. "Hop in, guys. Mal, tell me where you live." He fired the Rebel up and her souped-up V8 rumbled to life, growling like a monster of Caldin's time. It ran like one too, taking off down the winding country roads, attacking them with control that felt like reckless abandon.

"So, here's the incredulous part, milady," he began. "Now all of this is just metal cranks and wheels moving around, but they're powered by that black liquid I mentioned before, extracted from the very bowels of the earth and even the bottom of the sea, then refined by alchemical processes into a clear-colored fire in a bottle. They produce thousands of tiny explosions every minute, triggered by bolts of lightning shorter than the fur on your eyelids. These explosions turn the crank at...well, right now the little needle on the front there says the cranks are turning over two thousand revolutions every minute. It goes up to 8, as you can see there, but if we go any higher than 7 or so--that's seven thousand, the machine breaks." He felt little claws tugging at the fur on the back of his neck. No flirting! Well as if, woman; he'd been burnt out on foxy floozies long before he was engaged. No offense.

"Where we goin', Mal, by the way?" he asked, briefly changing the subject.
"Outside of a dog, a book is a man's best friend. Inside of a dog, it's too dark to read." --Groucho Marx

You say 'fundamentalist' like it's a bad thing. X3


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Re: The Subfursives (1980s Sci-Fi Non-Canon)

Post by Asyriel » Fri Jul 14, 2017 8:09 pm

Malcom chuckled at Caldy's comment on his clothing. "Thank you." He said with a slight bow. He may not have agreed, but he wasn't about to scoff at a compliment. His expression was thoughtful for a few moments as Caldy returned in her new choice of clothing. It wasn't quite what he expected, but it definitely didn't look bad on her. "Hey now, that's quite the change for sure." He commented. "You look like a cute punk rocker." He said with a grin and a slight chuckle.

He nodded as Turnpike agreed that they should head for his place. "Alright. Sounds like a plan then." He said as he followed Turnpike out to the car. He glanced at Spike and raised an eyebrow a bit as it was suggested that Spike ride in back with him. He got in the car, and settled in behind Caldy's seat. It wasn't long before he was lost in thought, not really having any interest in the explanation of how the car worked.

Trunpike's question pulled him out of his contemplation, and he had to take a few moments to get his bearings. "Uh, let's see. You're going to want to take the next left, then it's probably about fifteen miles, driveway's on the right. You'll have to stop at the gate so I can put in the entry code though." He told Turnpike before he turned his attention to Caldy. "So, I've been thinking." He started. "I don't want to get your hopes up, but, I may know somebody that might be able to help you get home. Just keep in mind, it's a long shot. I don't even know if she's still alive at this point."

Eventually, Malcom's directions brought them to a piece of property a good distance out into the countryside that seemed to be mostly orchard. The property was surrounded by a tall heavy wrought iron fence that was closed off with a gate that opened from the outside with a pin code. Malcom debated attempting to put the code in himself, but decided against it since he was as far away as he could get from the number pad where he was sitting in the vehicle. He instead told the pin to Turnpike for the sake of expedience.

The gate opened onto a cobbled driveway that led further into the tree covered property and eventually to a historical chateau that looked like it had recently undergone a good bit of restoration.

"Well, here we are...home sweet home away from home." He announced as they reached the chateau.

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