Bear and Lonely

End of April howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

The year is speeding by like a runaway train. Who can keep up?

Anyhoo, riding on Serena, Solara and Pat's flash-scene coattails, and Mayor Gil's rise to Elvis-impersonating stardom, here's how our favorite were-squirrel's impromptu performance affects one lonely bear shifter.
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Bear and Lonely

The moment his eyes popped open from a deep slumber that began with a pattering rainshower, Drolun barked a roar. In his Grizzly Bear form, he rolled off the makeshift waterbed, gained his paws, then shook the sleep from his body. In a satisfying manner his thick fur moved in great waves from his neck to his short tail.

With another shake of his massive head, Drolun snorted a small roar, then lumbered toward the pail he kept just outside the comfy dry cave. After a long, thirst-quenching drink, he noticed the plastic baggy with a thumbdrive inside, and a note in Ralph's distinctive scrawl.

Motivated by his buddy, movie critic for the G & B Gazette, Drolun shifted fast. Cool drafts of morning air slapped against his bare human skin. He retrieved the baggy quick, and retreated inside the cave's natural warmth.

Still sluggish, Drolun set the coffee on to brew... thank the Bear Goddess, Ursula, he'd been able to set up one helluva of a solar system. He'd camouflaged the panels hiding the extensive system from prying eyes, but not from the sun's rays. 

After donning jeans and a logger's plaid shirt, Drolun poured the thick joe in his overlarge mug, took a bracing gulp, and headed for his laptop. Several years ago, he and Ralph had connected on a movie set where Drolun had managed to be both bear trainer and trained bear.

Thumbdrive and Ralph's note in hand, Drolun moved into an area he kept extra dry. He plugged in, and slipped in the device.  On good days he could intercept wi-fi or satellite broadcasts. But that didn't matter now.

Again, his eyes popped wide and his mouth stretched into a wide grin as he watched Mayor Gil -- obviously drunk as a skunk, although he was a were-squirrel -- gyrate with abandon while singing the Elvis Presley tune, "Heartbreak Hotel".

"Damn good," Drolun growly muttered. Once upon a time, for a short while, he'd worked Vegas as a Tom Jones impersonator... the undies thrown at him from appreciate ladies had been a definite bonus, especially with his heightened olfactory senses.

But Vegas hadn't been to his liking, and a few mob run-ins had Drolun departing the neon-ostentatious city like a double-barrel shotgun rode his ass. Hell-grrrrs, he could have turned Grizzly and clawed the bastards into ground meat, then sold it to the mob-run restaurants. That wouldn't have solved the real problem though. Because corruption and crime ruled.

Watching the Taltube vid again, Drolun grunted a laugh. "Squirrel shifter and Elvis Impersonator. That'd sell Louie's joint bigtime."

On memory lane, Drolun recalled the enticing female smells when he'd performed, sweat rolling down his hip-gyrating body. Scat, now all he inhaled was coffee vapors. No mate to share his off-the-grid cave. "Yeah, you'll be so lonely you could die," he repeated.

Drolun felt his heart drop, then heard the lonely organ thump on the cave floor... okay, actually hit the thick wool rug he'd found in an abandoned house. Still, the pain felt like a swallowed fish hook.... the one he'd accidently swallowed as a cub when feasting on salmon.

He grimaced at the excruciating remembrance. Only quick action by his uncle, who'd learned the basics of surgery had saved him. That, and his uncle's shamanic healing potions.

With the caffeine kicking in, Drolun figured he'd decipher Ralph's scrawl. After a shake of his uncombed mop, and a swipe at his unshaven jaw, he set the mug down and picked up the note.

"Bud Grizz, this here King of Rock performance by our own esteemable mayor is burnin' like a fever virus through the Peak. How about doin' your celeb impersonations for that there Pleasure Club or a club in town? You could pay for trout dinners like a civilized mug, get some female company, instead of catchin' fish in that ice-cube stream. Got me? 'N you know I'd give you a good mention in the G&B. ~Da Bear, Ralph"

Visions of his Tom Jones' costumes, packed away in several trunks, flashed through Drolun's head. Something inside him immediately asked 'why not?' Although, he knew little about the Pleasure Club or Talbot's Peak for that matter. Of late -- the past year, in fact -- he'd been focused on survival, on building a livable environment for both man and beast.

Growls-maybe, it was time to do a sniff-about in the Peak, enjoy the liquid refreshments at Louie's, then make a foray to Dante's biker bar. Oh scat yeah, he could handle his fists with the best of them.

Inspiration struck, and Drolun seized his mug like a mike whipping out of his office chair. He spun around once, then swaggered to the center of his cave home imitating he way Tom Jones strode onto stage.

"It's not unusual to be loved by anyone," he belted out. Pausing, Drolun announced. "Still got the voice. Let's see if I still got the lung power."

Imagining throngs of panting women, Drolun sang...

"It's not unusual to have fun with anyone
but when I see you hanging about with anyone
It's not unusual to see me cry, oh I wanna' die..."

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Wishing you love and passion on the wild side ...

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~