The duo of greasers drove through town.
Felix was just as good at changing things as his nephew was. Wherever these new anthros came from, any of them could do this. Of course, Felix had been perfectly happy to leave this suburb as-is until Asher came along. That was why things never really changed around the older badger. It was kind of the way Felix liked it. But if push came to shove, Felix would rather live somewhere knowing that he had made it HIS.
Now Asher had come along, and he was ruining everything in Felix’ neighborhood. To Felix, it was bad for a number of reasons. First of all, upper class Brits didn’t all up and move to a suburb in the US en masse. Trying to alter reality to make those things fit was tedious in many respects. More so that the constant reality shifts were going to destroy some people’s minds. Honestly, if his nephew loved the UK so much, why did he move over here in the first place?
Oh, yes, unbeknownst to Asher, there were serious drawbacks to warping reality. The more you had to twist someone, the more…unforeseen shifts could occur. Turning people into anthros was one thing, turning them into completely different people was another. If his nephew didn’t restrain himself, who knows what could happen?
Of course, Felix thought his changes were more interesting. They had conflict! Everyone thought the 50s was some era of conformity, but there was a lot of friction and change under the surface. Especially compared to Asher’s stuffy, posh, agreeable fantasies of the debutante lifestyle straight out of a period programme for old women.
Felix wasn’t interested in a posh, boring life. He wanted to see some excitement. He might as well provide some of that and get an outlet for his own fantasies at the same time. Some freakin’ DRAMA! Asher’s drama was whether the tea pot was empty or not. Felix’s drama was potent and primal.
“Who’s dat guy?” Jack asked, his accent growing heavier the more Felix shifted him.
Felix turned in time to see his posh badger nephew taking a stroll outside with his new boyfriend. He made Jack hit the breaks just in time. What luck! They didn’t notice him.
Felix craned his head and noticed the towering Victorian manor where Asher’s boyfriend’s house had been. That little shit!
But hey, there was his house, nice normal one-floor suburban house with a picket fence. At least the little putz hadn’t screwed up his vibe. Yet. Felix couldn’t help but notice the freakin’ swan pond out back.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Felix growled. “It’s too much!”
“The square, boss?”
“Yes, the square. My freakin’ Nephew, Asher!”
“HE’S your nephew? That posh Nancy-boy?” Jack snorted, his jowls wobbling. “Why’d ya let your nephew become such a fuckin’ square, Felix?”
“Let ‘im?” Felix rolled his eyes, “He came that way. Always goin’ on about how nice being some stuffy Brit would be. ‘Roight propa English’ as he’d say. It’s baloney.”
“Sounds like he just wants ta be rich.” Jack said. “It’s kinda sad, like a poser or somethin’.”
“Hmmm…” Felix said. “Poser?”
“Yeah, like, what if you was rich, daddy-o?” Jack continued. “ya’d probably buy a mechanics shop or something. Somethin’ real, ya dig? But this nephew of yours, he thinks to himself, ‘I wanna be like them other richers’. And the richest thing this guy can think of is oldie moldie Brits.”
“Hmm...” Felix put a hand around the bulldog’s withers. The skin there was loose and flappy. He squeezed it just the tiniest bit. “He may be a square, but he’s still my nephew. Don’t be a fink, dig? If you’re gonna say something about it, say it to his face like a man instead of gossiping like a bird.”
Jack gulped and nodded, his neck bulging with new muscles and veins. Felix nodded in approval.
“Good. Now hit da gas,” said the badger as he directed him towards a local 2-star restaurant. Maybe he could contain the little slice of England that was growing in his back yard if he played his cards right.
Maybe.
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Louis Brooks was having a kitchen nightmare. The past few years had been brutal for the restaurant industry, and restaurants already tended to have a short lifespan. It didn’t help that he had no interest or passion in this business. He had inherited the restaurant from his father, but he felt like he had inherited a burden. One that felt heavier and heavier with each passing day.
It was like a domino effect. Fewer diners and customers come in. Less money. Harder to keep up the payroll. Harder to keep the food fresh. Reviews had been slipping for years, and he was knee-deep in debt. He was going to close down in a few months, no doubt to be replaced by another short-lived restaurant.
Louis’ almost-empty establishment was soon graced by Felix and Jack. Without waiting for the concierge, the two seated themselves at a booth. They were some of the only customers that Louis had today, so he was going to let that breach in decorum slide.
The owner walked up to the pair of anthros. The bulldog seemed to be reading the menu. Or at least trying to. The badger was resting his elbows on the table and looking at him.
Louis gave them a professional smile and started his spiel. “Alright, so the soup of the day is…-“
“Hamburgers and tube steaks,” grumbled Felix.
“What?” Asked Louis as black and rust-mahogany hairs started to grow all over his face. Rusty around his cheeks, mouth, and the canine snout that was growing in. Black all over the rest of his face, besides his rusty eyebrows.
“We’re having burgers and hotdogs. With ALL the fixings,” Felix said, tapping his badger claws on the table.
As the badger touched the tablecloth, it withered away. Replaced by wood painted a garish red. The carpeted floor of the restaurant gave way to a black-and-white checker pattern made of linoleum.
Louis wavered from side to side. “This isn’t some greasy sp-“
“With two Strawberry malts and two baskets of fries,” continued Felix as he ordered for himself and Jack.
“A-Alright,” said Louis in a haze as he rubbed his temples. His ears moved to the top of his head before becoming coated with short, dark fur. The floppy ears framed his face and fell just past his eyes.
As Louis walked back to the kitchen, his footsteps grew heavier as his legs became stronger and stockier. The kind of heft legs have when they’ve been carrying a load for years.
Louis stepped out of his shoes as he stepped into the kitchen, revealing canine paws covered in “socks” of mahogany-red fur, the same hue as one his hands and around his mouth and eyebrows. He didn’t even notice that with each step, he started to jiggle. It started in his ass and underarms.
The owner scratched his widening, expanding butt as he stabbed the order though a spindle. His chefs got to work, and the hoity-toity scents from his kitchen started to shift to an oilier, greasier aroma. As he took in the scents of boiling franks and ground beef patties, his nose pushed out into a black, blunt, canine snout with jowls that drooped just past his jaws. His clothes developed faint damp marks of sweat from all the running back and forth from the hot kitchen to his customers.
Alois Von Burger adjusted his black slacks. The waistband was made of a stretchable fabric that could accommodate his growing heft. Fat that was softened by the black and rusty fur dancing across his body, weight concealing hard muscle underneath. He had a real musclegut now. After all, someone had to bring in the food and ingredients that were ordered in by the truckload. The hundreds of burgers and franks that were cooked every day.
A short tail just barely poked its way through a hole in Alois’ pants as he surveyed his restaurant. It wagged, the little nub barely peeking out of the top of a swelling rump that stretched his pants to the limits of their elasticity. Things had been rough the past couple of years, but he had adapted with the times. He had downsized his enormous menu to his most popular items, and, and used cheap, frozen food that kept prices low and kept customers returning.
The fattening rottweiler hustled around the kitchen, his pecs starting sag, first downwards and then to the sides as his thighs began to rub together. Alois wiped the sweat from his forehead, feeling more moisture bead on his developing fat folds. When had walking become so hard?
He scratched the fur on his neck, noticing it had more give than normal. But that was silly, his second chin always had that much give. Alois was more than a little sensitive about it and his overly puffy cheeks that gave his muzzle a round look. His body continued to jiggle as each fall of his paws made his thighs, ass and belly shake. Even the flesh of his neck, what little Alois had. Soon he wasn’t walking, he was waddling, trying to keep his thick thighs from rubbing together.
His belly started to jut out in front of him, forcing Alois to lean back. The obese canine pressed a paw against his newly developed belly and rubbed it, feeling his body jiggle. It surged forward, fully covering the dog’s crotch. Alois panted, the sweat stains on his clothes growing more pronounced. He’d gotten used to it. Getting fat happened when all you ate was burgers, fries and milkshakes. Besides, no one trusted a skinny chef!
And you know what? After all those lean years in East Berlin, he was never going to go back to that. He lived in America now, the land of plenty! He had his own car, his own restaurant, and everything that he could possibly ever want. He was living the American dream.
Alois adjusted his fat black tie and pushed back his black-rimmed glasses. His oiled black hair combed itself back. The rottweiler felt proud as he looked at his cutting-edge restaurant. He had cooking down to a science. Exact measurements. Exact portions. Food that was always warm and properly cooked. Food that even a teenager could make.
As his ex-felon head chef Eduardo handed him the plates of food, Alois’ snout pushed out into a slight overbite. He approached the bulldog and badger with a more relaxed sense of familiarity. The fat rottweiler no longer felt subconscious about his weight. He had a business to run, so he let it all hang out.
“Here ya go, guys,” smirked the rottie. “A buncha food for my boys!”
“You damn well know it,” chuckled Felix as he dipped a French fry into authentic ketchup with no high-fructose corn syrup. He gave a happy “mmm” sound before he wiped his oiled hands on his pants and got up.
The badger couldn’t eat without any music, and there was a perfectly good jukebox right next to him! Scanning the directory, Felix beamed as he saw one of his favorite songs, “Prisonhouse Rock”.
That’s the ticket!
With some oldie tunes blaring inside the hybrid-diner restaurant, the badger and bulldog dug in. Scarfing down Alois’ deliciously oily, salty, and greasy food. The fat, doofy dog hung out with them, oversized gut jiggling every time he laughed at the duo’s jokes.
Felix smiled as he looked over the dorky dog. Alois certainly seemed much happier in spite of the fat that stretched his outfit taut. Sure, he was heftier, but now his business was booming. Life had its tradeoffs.
There was the ring of a bell as a car pulled up.
“You boys have fun, I’ll be back,” Alois winked before waddling over to the drive through window and happily greeted the customer.
Jack stared hungrily after him.
“He’s nice, huh?” Felix grinned at the bulldog.
“What?” Jack blinked, shaking his head and setting his jowls a-wobbling. “Yeah, he’s real sweet. Busy guy.”
“You’re sweet,” Felix said, rubbing the dog’s leg affectionately.
Jack blushed and looked away. “Thanks bab-uh, er, I mean, thanks boss!”
Felix grinned and sipped his soda and looked out the window.
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The restaurant changed as Felix and Jack ate. The roof turned the same cherry-red as the wood on the tables and seats. Alois’ face in cartoon form-a fat, happy face-appeared on the doggy bags being handed out of the drive-through window.
A golden “V” manifested itself as a pseudo-pillar that held up a placard containing the establishment’s name.
VonBurger’s
HAMBURGERS
Speedee Service System
We Have Served Over 100 Thousand
A delicious aroma started to waft from the chimneys. Drivers and passersby breathed in that deep aroma of grease, salt, and cooking meat. Their mouths watered. More car lanes appeared, swiftly occupied by vehicles that increasingly looked like they belonged in the 50s.
The lunch rush had begun.