The Story After Briberg

1: Little Beastie

July 2nd, 2031

Rampo hadn't slept since the will reading.

They had walked out halfway through, eyes stinging with hot tears, Mieka's rings heavy in their pocket. Xeno didn't try and stop them.

Rampo wandered aimlessly, thoughts twisting in their brain like a typhoon. 
How similar were the townsfolk's cries and a mother's sorrow? 
Did they weep as she did when you murdered their families? Destroyed their nation? 
They will never see you the same.

Rampo will never see themself the same.

How stupid had they been, to destroy the sanctity of a nation for the love of an imposter? To scar their nephew's young face - the one they had known for years, who they helped to raise, the face they had seen smile, laugh, sob, snarl - all because they couldn't accept what they'd done, they always rejected consequences. Rampo lived their life toeing the line between good and unacceptable, they had no soft words to share, no gentle, loving touch. It was always gnashing tongue and teeth and claw, breaking or tearing any nice thing.

They had been so desperate, and so fucking stupid.

Rampo tried to swallow down their sobs, stumbling through the forest they found themself in.

Overstimulation swept their legs out from under them, and they practically crumbled to the forest floor in their attempt to sit.

The sun shining from between the canopy of leaves overhead seemed too bright to their sensitive eyes, and their body flashed between hot and cold, causing Rampo to tear off their coat and beanie hastily while they attempted to calm the breath in their constricting lungs. Their chest felt heavy, like their ribcage was collapsing in on itself. They pulled their legs up to their chest, burying their face in their knees.

The forest was silent except for the blood pounding in their ears, and they sat there, sniveling like a child.

Something soft brushed against Rampo's bare arms.

They accidentally slammed their head into the tree behind them when they jumped. RJ rubbed the dry tear tracks from under their eyes, looking at the fluffy little beast before them.

It was a fox, sitting fearlessly before them. Its red and silver fur was a little ruffled but surprisingly clean, and its round green eyes stared unblinking daggers through them. Rampo stuck their foot out, nudging the beast's small chest with the tip of their combat boot and pushing it away in an attempt to scare it. It flopped onto its back, rolling around a little before popping back up and letting out a soft yipping noise.

"You're a weird little beastie, aren't you?" They thought as the fox attempted to tug off their boot. When that motion failed, Rampo watched as it bit into their pantleg, pulling hard with the fur on its back puffed up. They just nudged it again and giggled as it fell once more. Having calmed down at this point - and realizing that being hunched over for several minutes had left a crick in their neck - they stood up, stretching and flinching slightly at the overly loud pop of their back. Rampo started picking up their stuff, dusting off their clothing, and putting their beanie back on, watching the fox bounce around in the corner of their sight.

It was only when they properly looked down that they realized the fox had been slowly pulling their trench coat away from them.

They both paused, gazes locked in a standoff.

The fox blinked its green eyes.

And started running.

In a flash, the fox bolted in the opposite direction, Rampo's prized coat dragging across the forest floor. They made an offended noise in the back of their throat and quickly followed after it.