deer hunter, how i became a skinwalker in a world of animal people.

( will revise this ) imposter syndrome part 3

The human, who had been called "Buck" more times than he'd like to count, adjusted the straps on his bag, trying to keep a steady breath as he moved through the dusty old shop. Every creak underfoot made him more anxious, like it was a dead giveaway that he didn't belong. Sure, he had the hooves, the antlers, and the fur now, but in the back of his mind, he still felt like an imposter. He kept running through his story, the backstory he'd pieced together to sell to these deer girls: a wandering buck, new to town, looking to get by. Simple, believable. Hopefully.

As he rifled through a shelf of old cans, the faded labels barely legible, he tried to focus on what was in front of him. Most of it was garbage—stuff that had probably been sitting there for years, untouched. A couple of cans rolled off the shelf as his hooves nudged them aside, clattering to the floor. He froze for a moment, his ears twitching as the noise echoed through the empty shop. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice.

He caught a glimpse of Iris out of the corner of his eye, bent over a pile of tangled wires. She wasn't paying much attention to him, engrossed in whatever she was trying to salvage. He exhaled slowly, wiping the sweat from his brow. Blending in wasn't easy, especially when the group you were trying to blend into were scavengers, living off the land and the ruins of a crumbling society. He still wasn't sure how he'd ended up tagging along with them, but here he was.

He tried to focus on the task at hand, running his hooves over the shelves. The remnants of a once-thriving electronics shop surrounded them—old radios, broken microwaves, a few cracked TV screens. He crouched down and poked at a dusty box filled with tangled cables and broken computer parts. Nothing useful. At least, not to him.

Iris straightened up, wiping her hands on her pants, and made her way over to him. "Find anything good, Buck?"

He shook his head. "Mostly junk. Couple of cans, but I doubt they're any good."

She sighed, placing a hand on her hip. "Figures. Place has been picked clean. We're not the first ones through here." She gave him a sidelong glance, her eyes scanning him in that way that always made him uneasy. Like she could see right through him, see past the fur and the antlers. "You sure you're new to this? You seem pretty nervous."

He forced a smile. "First time looting with a crew like this. I usually keep to myself."

"Ah, the lone buck routine," she said with a grin. "Makes sense. You don't strike me as the 'team player' type."

He chuckled awkwardly. "Yeah, guess I'm still getting used to it."

Iris shrugged and leaned in a little closer, her voice dropping to a low, teasing tone. "You better get used to it quick. Out here, it's the crew that keeps you alive."

His heart raced as her words hit a little too close to home. He wasn't just worried about keeping alive—he was worried about maintaining his cover. Every word, every movement, had to be perfect. These girls might not be the sharpest, but they weren't idiots either. One slip, one wrong detail, and they'd start asking questions he couldn't answer.

As they scavenged, Iris shot him a sideways glance. "So, Buck," she began casually, "what's your type?"

He blinked, caught off guard by the sudden question. "Uh, my type?"

"Yeah, you know," she smirked. "What kinda girls are you into?"

He hesitated, trying to deflect. "I... uh, haven't really thought about it, to be honest."

Iris rolled her eyes playfully. "Come on, Buck. Everyone's got a type. Don't be shy."

He scratched the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze. "What about you? What's your type?"