A/N
Much OoC. Such divergence. Wow.
Disclaimer: This is a work inspired by and based directly off of Beatrix Potter's The Tale of Jemima Puddle-Duck. I claim no rights to that work, but I would appreciate it if no one were to re-post this work of fan-fiction anywhere else, please and thank you!
Mr. Tod very openly disliked getting wet. He was naturally cautious in his ways, that is true, but this trait seemed exceptionally catlike to most, as he would only opt to set a footpaw near the water either when starvation was inevitable if he did not stoop to fishing, or when he desperately needed to bathe. There was absolutely, positively no in-between.
Once, during an entirely impromptu shower in the dog days of the Summer, he had ducked under a farmer's rickety old wood-shed in order to escape the battalions of water droplets cascading from the open sky. By doing so, he risked being discovered by the hound that lived on the premises, which would have been fairly unpleasant for the fox. Needless to say, the old fox went to great lengths in order to preserve his dry state of being.
Which is why he was royally pissed when rain started to pour down from the sorrowful heavens while he was out for a short stroll.
Jemima Puddle-Duck, on the other hand, adored the water. She would canter about in the shallow pools of it, and whole-heartedly enjoyed the puddles left behind by a good, long rain. When she wanted some time alone from her rambunctious children, she would simply paddle out into the deeper, more tranquil waters. To put it plainly, Jemima really did love water, and especially rain, because it signified even more water for her to cavort around in. An unexpected shower was refreshingly cool to her.
At present, Jemima is waddling along a long stretch of dark, dampened dirt. This, she realizes, is the path that she normally walks upon in order to return home. It's appearance had been so strikingly changed by the effects of the foul weather that she hardly recognized it. There are puddles everywhere, each with multitudes of ripples appearing on their surfaces with each passing moment from the heavy downpour.
As Jemima continues to appreciate her surroundings, she notices a slim figure hunched over by a small tree, seeking shelter from it's meager boughs. When she begins to make her way over to investigate, a suppressed grumbling reaches her ears. Pausing briefly, Jemima strains to make sense of it. However, it is warped by the rain, and is nothing more than an unrecognizable bastardization of language. Because of this, she is unable to tell who the mysterious person is until she is directly in front of them. Water drips around the two, having all too easily managed to slip through the lacking branches of the tree, and it does mar her vision somewhat. But there is no mistaking the handsome albeit sopping wet fox before her, and once she recognizes him, Missus Puddle-Duck is elated!
He is less enthusiastic if his returning glance is anything to go by. The fox does, to his credit, make a valiant attempt to school his expression so that it is not so much of a glower, but fails miserably. Jemima, despite this, is unfazed, and greets him jovially by waving one of her wings in the air haphazardly. He gives a greeting of his own, but it is left in the metaphorical dust by Jemima's much more cheery salutation. While he is normally partial to taking the lead in conversations, today does not seem to be one of those run-of-the-mill days.
"Yes, yes; Hello to you as well, Ms. Puddle-Duck," He says, snappishly, fur slicked down his face by the rainwater and sticking up in odd patches. My, does he not look simply dreadful? Jemima muses to herself. I wonder what has gotten his feathers ruffled!
So she asks him, as polite as can be.
"It's raining," He quips, obviously irked by her apparent inability to be bothered by such a thing as rain. His countenance has now been transfigured into something almost comical, teeth bared and his ears pressed flat against his skull. And his posture is rather laughable, too, even more so; Shoulders hunched but back ramrod straight somehow.
Jemima is still a tad confused — because what could possibly be better than a surprise rain shower?— but she still decides to pursue the matter, out of a potent sense of duty that comes with being close friends with another living soul. After conducting a short interrogation — in which Jemima would ask what ever is the matter and he would only answer her with curt replies —, Jemima comes to one simple conclusion: Mr. Tod does not enjoy the rain as she herself does! The sense of shock that closely accompanies this realization quickly fades, however, and is replaced by a unique fondness that is only shared between friends. The kind duck lady then begins to try and formulate a plan to help her dear friend out.
There are several paths for her to take, here. She could wait out the weather with Mr. Tod and keep him company until the storm passes, like an adequate friend would do. Or, she could just waddle on her way and go about her own business, like he very clearly wishes for her to do. Finally, the well meaning duck-lady comes to a decision that will no doubt be for the best.
With a few beats of her wings, Missus Jemima Puddle-Duck promptly flies up to alight on top of the gentleman's head, and then settles there with minimal protest from Mr. Tod, probably due to his slight horror. His upper lip pulls back into a half snarl along with the sudden jerking of his shoulders, whiskers drooping as droplets of water slide down his pointed muzzle. After a brief moment of standing in stiff silence, the fox realizes, to his bemused delight, that the rain is no longer battering his head directly, and a few heartbeats later that his shoulders are no longer being set upon by sheets of relentless rainfall.
Carefully, Mr. Tod straightens up before chancing a glance up at his new passenger, only for his passing glance to turn into a puzzled stare. Jemima is sitting atop his head, her white plumage ruffled a bit where it has come into contact with his ears, and her wings are spread out to keep the incoming raindrops from ruining his attire even more.
A small grin begins to spread across the fox's face, but he masks it quickly by pressing his nose against his shoulder, as if he were rubbing off the excess water. "Why, thank you, Jemima," The fox marvels, feeling immensely grateful towards the benevolent duck who is effectively squashing his ears with her weight. In response, she settles down a little more, and makes herself at home.
Almost all of the strangers that he happens to pass by on the trek homeward give him strange looks for his choice of headgear, but Mr. Tod can't quite seem to wipe that idiotic grin off of his face.