slug: furry
translates: furry
lang: en
title: The Otter’s Holt
description: "or, “Xanthe describes their fursonæ to you in prose, because they can’t draw”"
pageCreated: "2022-06-10"
pageUpdated: "2024-09-17"
extends ../../views/layout.pug
append cosmetics
link(href=qua("furry.css"), rel="stylesheet")
script(src=qua("switch.js"))
prepend container
form#gender-switch
input#they(checked, type="radio", name="gender-switch", onclick="pn.switch(`they`)")
label(for="they") ⚹
br
input#he(type="radio", name="gender-switch", onclick="pn.switch(`he`)")
label(for="he") ♂
br
input#she(type="radio", name="gender-switch", onclick="pn.switch(`she`)")
label(for="she") ♀
br
input#shi(type="radio", name="gender-switch", onclick="pn.switch(`shi`)")
label(for="shi") ☿
block header
h1 #{title}
small Or, Xanthe describes #[span.pn-pos their] fursonæ to#[br] you in prose, because #[span.pn-nom they] can’t draw
block content
ul.vital-stats
h2 Vital statistics
li
strong Name:
| Xanthe (/'zan.θi:/, #[em zanth]·ee) van Otterburn
li
strong Species:
| #[i Lutra lutra] × #[i Cervus elaphus] (European otter × Red deer)
li
strong Gender:
| #[span.theonym Herm­aphro­dite]
li
strong Height:
| 190 cm (6′ 3″) without antlers; 260 cm (8′ 6″) with them. Dislikes doors.
li
strong Weight:
| 120 kg (260 lbs), including tail and antlers
li
strong Smells like:
| Roses, wet dog, and cheap perfume
:rubric-unsafe
## About Xanthe
*Xanthe van Otterburn* was born thirty-summat years ago to the loving union of one Henk van Herten and an Olivia Otterburn, in the untamed wilderness of rural North­um­ber­land. (Mr van Herten got the short end of the stick when it came to picking their child’s name.) While {.pn-pos their} ancestry consists mostly of English otters and Dutch harts, {.pn-nom they} also happen{.pn-sg s} to be about one eighth goat on {.pn-pos their} father’s side — it doesn’t show to the un­ac­quain­ted observer, but if you know {.pn-acc them}, you can tell.
After {.pn-pos their} antlers prevented {.pn-acc them} from joining the family plumbing business, {.pn-nom they} found a fulfilling occupation as a writer of low-rent horror fiction — indeed, /Return of the Curse of the Book of the Night of the Weretaur/ is set to be adapted into a major motion picture this autumn. Keep your eyes peeled!
When {.pn-nom they}’{.pn-pl re}{.pn-sg s} not hammering away at {.pn-pos their} typewriter, {.pn-nom they} can be found collecting knick-knacks and tchotch­kes at nearby car boot sales, tending to {.pn-pos their} garden, or gathering with friends at the Faun’s Hoof. (The beer’s not great, but it was either there or the flat-roofed Werespoons on the other end of town.)
Physically, {.pn-pos their} fur is an even brown, with lighter patches on {.pn-pos their} chest and face. From the waist down, {.pn-nom they} sport{.pn-sg s} jagged, cervine legs and hooves — with the generously-sized asterisk of {.pn-pos their} large lutrine tail.
{.pn-upper.pn-pos Their} otherwise humanoid hands are bound by aqua­dy­namic webbing between four of {.pn-pos their} fingers, though {.pn-pos their} thumb is un­con­nec­ted and can move in­de­pend­ently. On {.pn-pos their} torso, {.pn-nom they} may be depicted either flat-chested or with a modest pair of breasts. It’s furry; i ain’t gotta explain shit.
Moving up to {.pn-pos their} head, it’s mostly lutrine in form — whiskers, booper, small ears, the usual — excepting the stonking massive antlers which jut out from the top, forever ruining {.pn-pos their} ability to wear hats. (Trust me. {.pn-nom.pn-upper They}’{.pn-upper.pn-pl ve}{.pn-sg s} tried.) {.pn-pos.pn-upper Their} wavy, mousey-blond hair falls down to just above {.pn-pos their} shoulders (think Jeff Bridges), accented with a dashing purple streak on one side of its parting. {.pn-nom.pn-upper They} sometimes also sport{.pn-sg s} a blonde goatee. (You didn’t think that eighth-goat thing would come back, would you?)
{.pn-upper.pn-pos Their} voice is gruff and andro­gyn­ous, like a chain-smoking Bea Arthur, with a strong Geordie accent.
Fashion-wise, you’ll usually find {.pn-acc them} in some sort of horribly clashing colourful outfit — a tie-dye dress; a leather jacket with a hot pink shirt underneath; a sparkly purple trenchcoat. The only thing you can be certain of is that, feminine or masculine, textile or in the buff (in the brown?), {.pn-nom they}’ll be wearing {.pn-pos their} trusty golden [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caduceus#/media/File:Caduceus.svg caduceus] necklace. (Two snakes, not one!)
ul.vital-stats
h2 Vital statistics
li
strong Name:
| Marsyas, born several centruries before the invention of surnames
li
strong Species:
| #[i Dæmon silenicus] (Satyr)
li
strong Gender:
| Jack Harkness
li
strong Height:
| 184 cm (6′)
li
strong Weight:
| Doesn’t own a scale
li
strong Smells like:
| Lavender, rosemary, and weed
:rubric-unsafe
## About Marcy
Born thousands upon thousands of years ago, *Marcy* the satyr is a priest in the [/phanes Cult of {.theonym Phanes}], an ancient group of time-travelling hippies who prevent suffering and spread {.theonym Bacchic} joy across space and time. Over the years, they’ve helped stop dozens of wars, organise the “spon­ta­ne­ous” ceasefires of 1914, and personally intervened in hundreds of future lives.
Marcy’s tangled, tatted locks of golden hair fall far down {.pn-pos their} back, nearly touching {.pn-pos their} tufted tail. From the front, it covers up {.pn-pos their} hazy, half-open blue eyes (partly drugs, partly time travel messing up {.pn-pos their} sleep schedule), and almost smothers the lavender blossom perched above {.pn-pos their} right ear.
Spots and scars from past rites and jobs dot {.pn-pos their} tanned white skin, one of {.pn-pos their} dark-furred legs even sporting a noticeable gash right along its calf. (Magic and medicine could fix it up, but {.pn-nom they}’{.pn-pl ve}{.pn-sg s} rather taken to the look.) {.pn-upper.pn-pos Their} more ani­mal­istic features come from a chimera of different ungulates: {.pn-pos their} ears are akin to those of a fawn; {.pn-pos their} messy mane is inter­rup­ted by the arcing horns of a ram, while a golden goatee drips from {.pn-pos their} chin.
Marcy isn’t par­tic­ul­arly flamboyant, and {.pn-pos their} deep voice makes no attempts at femininity. Like the Deity whence {.pn-pos their} cult takes its name (and, indeed, like most all of its members), {.pn-nom they} possess cha­rac­ter­ist­ics of both sexes, though you’d never know if {.pn-nom they} didn’t tell you. {.pn-nom.pn-upper They}’{.pn-pl re}{.pn-sg s} heavyset, but not unfit: {.pn-nom they}’{.pn-pl re}{.pn-sg s} no body­buil­der and {.pn-pos their} abs aren’t too chiselled, but a physician probably wouldn’t take much note.
{.pn-upper.pn-nom They}’{.pn-pl re}{.pn-sg s} no great fan of the cult’s official drab salamander-fur vest. It might have saved {.pn-pos their} skin from sabres and snipers more times than {.pn-nom they} can count, but it just cramps {.pn-pos their} style, man! When travelling to times of peace, {.pn-nom they}’ll ditch it the moment {.pn-nom they} arrive{.pn-sg s}, ::AD::-era puritans be damned. Despite the reputation of {.pn-pos their} species and {.pn-pos their} distaste for drab shirts, Marcy is by no means a //complete// naturist: attached to {.pn-pos their} belt hangs a leather loincloth, passed down the ge­ner­a­tions and decorated with la­by­rinth­ine patterns of meanders and knots.
The belt to which that cloth is attached holds all the things {.pn-nom they} might need while travelling forth in time. A blunted knife is used to intimidate (but never wound), lavender and other… //soothing// substances ease the mind, and what might seem like mis­cel­la­ne­ous scraps — gypsum, rosemary, hand sanitiser, a mysterious flask — are vital to a ritual if {.pn-nom they} ever want{.pn-sg s} to get back to the past.
{.pn-upper.pn-nom They} do{.pn-pl n’t}{.pn-sg esn’t} look a day over thirty, but an old soul sits behind that unwrinkled face. The same magic that lets the members of the cult travel through time also keeps {.pn-acc them} young and fresh; by Marcy’s estimation, {.pn-nom they} {.pn-ref themself} must be well into {.pn-pos their} seventies.
Marcy is slow to anger and quick to befriend, with a chill, convivial attitude and the most boisterous laugh you’ll ever hear. You’d think it’d be a good asset for the job, but the same talent that makes {.pn-acc them} so good at spreading peace and love also makes {.pn-acc them} liable to deviate terribly from the plan during missions, bunging off with whatever and whoever takes {.pn-pos their} fancy. (The record for how long {.pn-nom they} took before returning to the summoning circle currently stands at four weeks, two days.)
append footer
div#furry-code
h2 #[+sc('P.S.')] Here’s my #[a(href="http://captainpackrat.com/furry/furcode.htm") Furry Code].
code FMO3a/FX[satyr]2w A->++ C-- D H++ M- P++ R+ T+++ W Z- !⁠Sh R# a c++l d e- f h# iwf+++ j p-- s#