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error 01 - error

Lukos!
error_01_-_error.doc
Keywords male 1108342, wolf 181344, male/male 113973, lynx 13005, dalmatian 9246, male male 8576, doberman 5305, violence 3991, abuse 3706, malexmale 2309, retriever 956, english sheepdog 8
chapter 1 – error
by Lukos

     “Get up!”

     It wasn’t so much the angry shout that woke him as it was the pounding on his bedroom door. It made his head throb and his body jump unwillingly into wakefulness. He hated being woken up this way, but it happened enough that he was used to it. He groaned, rubbing sleep from his eyes with unwilling paws before propping himself up on his elbows.

     “I’m up, I’m up,” he called back at his door. At this, he heard his mother’s high-heeled pawsteps clicking down the hallway, and a heavier, less graceful set of pawsteps making their way to his room. His door opened quickly without so much as a knock, and there stood his older half-brother, Marcus.

     Marcus was a handsome wolf with snow-white fur and emerald eyes. He was tall, athletic, and had a generally likeable air about him. He was proud of his body and enjoyed exercise and various sports, especially American football. He was on the football team at his school. However, bright he was not.

     “Hey, sleepy,” he grinned down at his brother.

     “Shut up and go away, Airhead,” snapped the younger wolf sleepily, rolling his eyes and flopping back onto his pillow. He knew what Marcus’ reaction would be, but he was too tired to really care.

     Sure enough, Marcus’ face soured, and he strode straight to the bed, grabbing the half-awake wolf by the scruff of his neck and hoisting him up out of bed. Anger was written on Marcus’ face now as he clenched his fist, reared back, and launched it straight into his little brother’s gut.

     The younger wolf wheezed as all the oxygen seemed to leave his body, and he doubled over in pain, gasping to regain it. Marcus released him, letting him slump back into the bed.

     “You know better than to talk to me like that,” snarled the bigger wolf. “Call me an airhead all you want. I’m still bigger, smarter, better looking, and just plain better than you. You’re just a stupid little Error.”

     The younger wolf, indeed named Error, opened his mouth to reply, but he could only cough as he recovered from the hit he’d taken.

     “Get up,” growled Marcus, “and get out to school.” With that, he stomped off, slamming Error’s door.

     Error was a wolf, like his brother. That, however, was where the similarities ended. He was two years younger at seventeen. He was a little below average height, well-exercised but not as athletic, he had grey fur, and his eyes were a cold, steely grey-blue. He didn’t look or feel all that likeable most of the time. Instead of sports, he loved music. In fact, it was one of very few things he could say he loved.

     The world hadn’t been very kind to Error. All he knew about his origin was that he was born to a father that had ditched him and never been seen again. His remaining family, his mother and half-brother, drilled into his head every day that he was a mistake, hence his name.

     For as long as he could remember, Marcus, who had supposedly been born to a different father than Error had, was always spoiled and loved and treated like royalty, while he, Error, would endure neglect and emotional and physical abuse. He would get enough care to stay relatively healthy, and that was it.

     Eventually, after many deep breaths, Error stretched out his body again, the wind back in his lungs. He rubbed his stomach, where Marcus had hit him. “Heck of a wake-up call,” he mumbled to himself irritably, sitting up on the edge of the bed. Now his head was really throbbing. He sighed and stood up softly, walking across his spacious, sparsely-furnished bedroom to his bed.

     Error didn’t have many clothes. There were a few pairs of jeans, several T-shirts, and a single pair of sneakers, which he only wore occasionally. This was less than nothing next to Marcus’ wardrobe. Error frequently wondered whether Marcus would look for specific outfits in the mornings or whether he just reached into his wardrobe and put on whatever his big paws closed around.

     A black pair of jeans and a somewhat wrinkled red T-shirt were tossed onto the bed as Error looked at himself in the mirror on the back of his bathroom door, running a paw through his messy black hair. It was relatively neat, but it was long enough to stick up at strange angles in places. He cut it occasionally because he didn’t like it too long, but it was still long enough to be annoying sometimes. No matter. He’d steal something to tame it from Marcus’ bathroom before he left.

     He stepped into his own bathroom. Like every other room in the house, the bathroom was beautiful, with dark granite countertops and a stainless steel sink, tan stone tiles and a shower with so many different settings it was a surprise it couldn’t turn someone into pure gold. His mom had been loaded for as long as he could remember, but he learned at a young age not to ask why. He figured it best he didn’t know anyway.

     A refreshing shower finally made Error feel awake. He loved showers, and he loved rain. On mornings like this, he would cool the water down and close his eyes for awhile, imagining he were standing in the middle of a thunderstorm. It was one of few things that could really soothe him.

     Eventually, he figured that he would be late for school if he didn’t leave soon. He walked back into his bedroom, got dressed, and then moved quietly over to a corner of the room. In that corner, he gently pulled up a few of the hardwood panels he had loosened one day while he was bored. Under those panels, he’d managed to cut into the underlayment, and in that thin space was his most valuable possession: his MP3 player.

     A few years ago, when his mother, despite her inexplicable wealth, started forcing Error to pay rent, he had gotten a crappy job as a cashier. He only had the job for a summer, but he had managed to save enough for a shiny new iPod. His mother had since given up on charging him rent, and he would sneak onto Marcus’ computer while he was away to fill it with music. It was his favorite thing, and he would never allow Marcus or his mother to know that he had it, or they would surely take it away from him.

     He tucked the device safely into his backpack before he put the hardwood panels back in place, double checking to make sure they blended in with the others. After a quick, silent trip to Marcus’ bathroom, he took his usual exit route out the window. On mornings when he didn’t feel up to seeing his mother and Marcus on his way out the front door—which was almost every morning—he would climb out the window onto the roof of the patio below, and descend down a tree to the ground. He neither knew nor cared whether or not his mother was aware of this.

     Error enjoyed school more than most other students. While he was at school, he wasn’t at home, and that was all he needed to like it. He could handle tests and homework assignments and the occasional bully if it meant he didn’t have to be at home. School meant freedom, where he didn’t really have to worry about being told that he was an error and nobody cared about him. He had heard that a million times and counting; he didn’t need to hear it anymore than he already had to.

     School meant that Error was left alone. Error wasn’t often bullied in school, nor was he a bully. He wasn’t a jock, or a nerd, nor was he popular. He was just himself, the dark and quiet guy in the back of the room, who never spoke unless he was spoken to or found it convenient for him. Most people wouldn’t bother him, and he wouldn’t bother anybody. Those that did were often regarded with complete indifference.

     In addition, school meant friends. He didn’t have many, just four. These four were the only ones he talked to and that talked to him. There was Arthur Kenspeckle, better known as Artie, Sleepy, or Specs, a narcoleptic English Sheepdog who, when he wasn’t sleeping, loved to talk about music and sports with Error. Artie also had cataplexy, and there was a time when Error got a kick out of watching him fall asleep at the most random times. One day, however, when a teacher was bullying Artie about his condition in class, Error found himself sticking up for him. This was very significant, because he rarely even spoke to anyone, let alone for someone.

     There was Lincoln Kenspeckle, Artie’s younger brother. Lincoln, better known as Link, was a Doberman, and he and Artie had been adopted by two gay Jack Russell terriers. Link, contrary to his shyer, quieter big brother Artie, was a bold and brash boy. He was gay himself, and open about it, but he was a guy that didn’t take any lip from anyone. He was actually rather popular on campus, or maybe a better term would be “respected.” He was who he was, and anyone who had a problem with it would answer to him about it or take a hike. Still, he was one of the friendliest guys one could hope to meet, and Artie loved him dearly.

     There was Sam Wildrin, a silver-coated lynx who worked in a nearby Italian restaurant that they all visited from time to time. Sam was generally quiet, but he could be pretty funny, as they discovered one day when he painted Ollie’s nose blue while he was sleeping. He had bright green eyes and was rarely seen without Ollie.

     Then there was Ollie. Error had known Ollie almost all his life. Error’s mother had sent him to preschool, probably just to get him away from her for awhile. When she dropped him off on the first day, he walked straight in and plonked himself down in front of the Dalmatian pup. Ollie stared at him, dropping the toy fire truck that was in his paw. Error stared back.

     After what seemed like ages of silent staring, Ollie finally piped up, “I’m Ollie.” Error jumped, as if he hadn’t expected Ollie to be able to talk, before saying, “I’m Error.”

     “Error?” asked Ollie, cocking his head to one side. “That’s a funny name.”

     “Yeah, well… that’s a funny nose,” Error replied. To his surprise, Ollie burst out laughing, and so did he. From that point in time, the two had been best friends.

     Ollie’s real name was Oliver Stanton, but anyone who called him that would quickly regret it. He had a mild punk style to him. He could frequently be seen riding a skateboard, and he had a streak of blue through his black, spiky hair. He had blue eyes and was very animated. He had dyed some of his Dalmatian spots blue in a swirl around his body, and he wore a blue piercing in one of his ears.

     Ollie was the one person in the world that Error remotely trusted. He had known Error the longest. He never judged him, and he always respected his wishes, although he could be rather pushy about how he figured things should be. When things got really bad, Ollie was always there to listen or to help. When Error learned he was gay, Ollie had learned the same thing about himself, and they became boyfriends for awhile. The others were decent to him as well, but none of them could get as close to Error as Ollie could. Error only knew them through Ollie to begin with. Still, bonding with Error was typically like glue trying to bond to water, so any bond they had with him at all was an accomplishment.

     These four people, and especially Ollie, were the only people that Error would consider referring to as friends. Ollie was waiting for him now at the intersection of Dogwood and Birch streets, where they met every day on their way to school, snacking on some cheese-flavored crackers, footpaw resting on his skateboard.

     “Master Error, I see you found your way out of the estate,” he joked, putting on the accent and tone of a British butler. Error’s home was large enough to warrant such a joke. In fact, all the homes in the community were. The area was composed mainly of large houses, green trees, and perfectly manicured lawns. Error was still rubbing Marcus’ gel through his messy hair, but he paused enough to clench a fist and punch Ollie lightly in the gut. He wordlessly continued up the bright white sidewalk, making Ollie chuckle. He stepped onto his skateboard and rolled after him. “Hey, wait up!”

     “What for? You’re on wheels,” Error pointed out.

     “Yeah, but we’re going uphill!” complained the Dalmatian.

     Error shoved his paws into his pockets and turned around to face Ollie. “Well just carry it then,” he said.

     Ollie sighed and stuffed his crackers into his backpack before leaning down to pick up his skateboard. “What’re you in such a hurry for anyway?” he asked. Error just shrugged and kept walking as Ollie caught up.

     “Have a rough night?”

     “Yeah,” replied Error. “You could say that. Didn’t get back until three in the morning.”

     “You could’ve come over,” Ollie offered, a note of concern in his voice. “If you don’t want to go home, you can always spend the night at my place. Better than roaming the streets until three in the morning.”

     Error’s only response was another shrug until they reached the top of the hill. “Go,” he said. “I’m not running after you though, so if you don’t wait up for me you’re walking the rest of the way alone.”

     “Oh, fine,” said Ollie. “Lazy bum.” He dodged another swipe from Error by hopping onto his skateboard and launching himself down the hill with a loud whoop. It was his favorite part of the walk to school. The clean pavement offered a nice, smooth surface, and curved gently to the left near the bottom of the hill. It was a nice ride. Error never wanted to ride down it with him or even run after him, however. He always said he didn’t feel like it, electing instead to walk down after him with his paws in his pockets, looking just as gloomy as ever.

     As the pair walked onto the campus of Latchbrook High, they were met with the usual bustle of students on their way to their various appointments. The campus was a wide open area with a restaurant style cafeteria to the left of the outdoor entrance and the gymnasium to the right, each with a covered outdoor walkway to the side entrances of the student center. The student center, preceded by pristine sidewalks that cut in a few directions by an open, green lawn, was a three-story, glassy building filled with hallways and lockers and classrooms, as well as a large auditorium for a basement. From above, the building looked like a gargantuan triangle pointing toward the entrance of the campus. Alternatively, one could walk straight forward into the student center’s wide-arched main entrance, but this was less desirable in inclement weather. The gymnasium’s covered walkway continued as an indoor hallway through the building, then continued beyond to the back of the building, where there were several courts and fields for sports.

     A few people greeted Ollie as he and Error walked down the clean, brightly-lit halls toward their lockers. Error opened the one to the left of Ollie’s and opened his backpack, pulling his iPod out and putting it into his pocket.

     “So,” said Ollie. Error glanced over at him. “There’s supposed to be a new student here today.”

     This news meant nothing to Error. He shrugged and put his math textbook into his backpack. “So?”

     “Well the rumor is that he got kicked out of a few schools. You know, the type that you look for on America’s Most Wanted in ten years?”

     “So… he’s a criminal?”

     “Who knows? I don’t want to treat him like one until he acts like one.”

     Error raised an eyebrow critically. “You sound like a teenage girl in a high school sitcom.”

     “You watch high school sitcoms?”

     “Marcus does.”

     Ollie chuckled to himself. “That doesn’t surprise me. For someone who thinks he’s so awesome, he’s such a dork.”

     Artie was already in their math classroom, completely out cold, his glasses askew over his face. Ollie sat next to him, shaking him awake, but Error took his usual spot in the back of the classroom, in the corner closest to the window. The other guys in the back were already talking and chucking balls of paper at each other until the instructor came in. This was a new instructor; thankfully, the instructor that picked on Artie had been fired.

     Error was actually a good student. He listened to the teacher’s lessons, so the work was easy to him. The lessons themselves were typically rather boring, but he saw no reason not to pay attention. At least he could say he was smarter than Marcus.

     A few of these classes led to lunch. Seniors had classes in the morning with the juniors, and freshmen and sophomores had afternoon classes. Such a schedule was intended to lighten the load on the teachers and lessen class sizes. As upperclassmen, Error, Ollie, Sam, Artie, and Lincoln were free after lunch.

     Error sauntered into the busy cafeteria, picking up a tray for himself. This cafeteria was nicer than some of the ones he had seen on Marcus’ TV shows. The floors were hardwood, the walls painted with alternating sections of green, silver, and blue, Latchbrook High’s school colors, and the lighting warm and not too bright. The food was decent as well.

     He quietly approached the group’s usual table, near one of the floor-to-ceiling windows of the cafeteria. He munched quietly on his fries as he gazed past a few students eating lunch outside at the shaded numerous shaded tables that spanned the length of the cafeteria, and the couples picnicking on the lawn, vaguely hearing Sam recalling a rude customer’s hilarious exit from the restaurant where he worked. He knew the lynx was snuggling up to Ollie as he spoke, and Ollie was probably swiping a few of his fries. Artie and Link would be listening with interest for the funny parts, and Link would be making sure his big brother didn’t fall asleep and miss them.

     An unfamiliar voice behind him interrupted the normal flow of things, however, making Sam stop mid-sentence and Error’s ears perk toward the sound.

     “Yo, we wanna sit here,” it said.

     Error turned to meet a yellow Labrador retriever with an unfriendly look on his face, flanked on either side by a ram and a husky, both long-time students and notorious jerks. Error remembered Ollie mentioning an unfriendly new student, figuring this must be him.

     “Sure,” Ollie said pleasantly. “Pull up some chairs, we can make room for ya.”

     The Lab smirked. “Yeah, you can make room somewhere else. Beat it. We’re sitting here. You jokes aren’t. Got it? Now move.”
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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by 12
First in pool
Last in pool
What's up, everyone? I'm excited to post my very first story series as my new fursona, Lukos! This concept comes from two RPs with good friends of mine. All characters are original. Sam belongs to Exil Kani. Artie belongs to Ray. (I'll get their links up soon, I promise!) This is chapter one, an intro. The series as a whole may contain gay yiff (when it makes sense in the story). There will likely be some violent scenes as well. Tell me what you think; I'm open to suggestions!

A young wolf named Error is raised in an abusive home.

Keywords
male 1,108,342, wolf 181,344, male/male 113,973, lynx 13,005, dalmatian 9,246, male male 8,576, doberman 5,305, violence 3,991, abuse 3,706, malexmale 2,309, retriever 956, english sheepdog 8
Details
Type: Writing - Document
Published: 11 years, 10 months ago
Rating: General

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