Verdant Basin End of the world - The musical

Hello! French Fry is too shy to introduce himself in this post but @Big Mac can powerplay it for me if it is all right with her. ♥

Despite their conflicting inner clocks, French Fry felt something of a stirring unease whenever Big Mac was out of hock-gnawing distance. Having been around the inky behemoth since puppyhood, Fry felt like a pot without a lid when he was alone. Mac was the brains and the brawn of their unlikely duo; French Fry was...well, speed and confusion personified. Presently the Golden Retriever kicked and whined himself out of a dream of whose nature, upon waking, he had no recollection. Then, nose to the ground, still half-asleep, he went in search of Mac.

Heavy-lidded eyes were focused on the ground instead of Fry’s surroundings, so it wasn’t a surprise that with a solid thwack! he ran directly into a tree. Backpedaling furiously, having frightened himself with the sound alone, French Fry burst into a streamlined, almost graceful sprint. Now he could hear voices — Mac’s deep, ponderous voice comingled with two unfamiliar female voices. After taking a few minutes to puzzle out the situation, French Fry came to an honest conclusion: he’s outnumbered! The chubby golden dog put double the effort into running to try to get to his brother’s side in a timely manner.

He arrived shortly just after Spring rattled off a quick, polite reply to something Mac had said, offering her name. Ladies tended to make French Fry an awkward combination of giddy and embarrassed, and it reflected in his posture as he dropped into a sphinx-like position and began to worm his way forward on his stomach. Nobody in this strange place seemed to have a hat like he did, and while this had never troubled him in the past, in the past there had always been the Family to offer their Cowardly Lion love and reassurance. If Fry had been capable of it, he’d have blushed.

He scuttled over to Big Mac’s side in this fashion, peeking out from behind his big brother to regard the two females. They were both achingly beautiful — let’s face it, French Fry’s neuter was a very recent thing — and his eyes passed with nervous curiosity from Spring’s scarred but lovely muzzle to Ondine’s vividly marked face. They were like the “tough girls” in movies; the ones who led men around by their noses without batting an eyelash. It was fair to say that French Fry was terribly intimidated — and already smitten — with both the marshmallow fluff water witch and the chocolate and chestnut agouti pack wolf.