A/N: Why hello people of the world, I have finally gotten the chance to write something! I started this on the desktop so I wrote this expecting it to be a oneshot buuuut my monitor died without warning (and yes it IS DEAD, none of the cables are loose), and I'm on a laptop and finally out of view of my sister, so I can write without being judged!

Warning, this is an introduction and it is a bit boring as hell, sorry. And later on there WILL BE FOXYxMIKE. Why do I warn you of this? A) Lots of people dislike that pairing. B) They're both male, C) Foxy is an anthropomorphic fox while Mike is human, and D) Foxy is like 9 years Mike's senior. So yea.

Disclaimer: I own nothing!


He was born in 2407, on the hundredth year anniversary of the end of the war. His parents weren't rich, but they weren't poor either. Plus, they were rather well loved around the small port town of Myrland. He began school at the young age of four years old, like all other boys and girls in the town, and when he was old enough to work he would help his father in his clock making shop.

His black hair and pale skin wasn't very unique in the town, but his striking icy blue eyes caught attention. Even as a young child he was considered quite the mystery- the boy with the icy blue eyes. Nothing else about him, though, was very well known. He was a very reserved child growing up, never hesitating to help a soul in need but never going out of his way to talk to the other children.

His name was simply Michael Schmidt.

Mike Schmidt was loved by the adults in the town- Human and Animal. But the other children thought him… strange. He was such an oddity- so quiet, so smart, so… so mature. None of them really knew how to talk to him, so they never tried.

Michael Schmidt was a lonely child.

Then, one day when he was six years old, he was walking down the cobbled street near the docks, to deliver a baked gift from his mother to the vulpine family that had recently moved in downtown. When he came upon the large home in the downtown area, with a perfect view of the ocean, there was a crowd of children out front, and a teenage vulpine Animal was speaking with a strange accent.

Curiosity piqued, Mike approached, nervous though he was to be in a large crowd. Soon he was close enough to make out the words.

"An' then the dread pirate swooped down on ol' Cap'n Pinto, sword ready to stop 'is heart, but the ol' Cap'n wasn't givin' up so easily! He drew 'is own sword in the lick o' time ta stop Cap'n Scrawlbeard!"

For the first time in his short life, something had finally caught Mike's attention.


Mike came back every day after that to hear the stories the teen vulpine told, all harrowing tales of pirates. Even the heroes in the stories were pirates, something the adults disapproved of greatly- they were a port town, they had pirate attacks every now and then.

Everyone knew pirates were bad.

He didn't care, though. The teen, whose name turned out to be Foxy, narrated fantastic, fun, awe-inspiring tales of danger and adventure.

One morning, though, about a week and a half after the vulpine moved in, Mike trotted up to the house to find all of the children gone. Foxy sat on the porch, staring out at the sea. He looked so sad.

Instead of turning away, Mike approached.

"Mr. Foxy?" he asked softly, his voice barely carrying over the wind. Foxy turned to look at the child, apparently surprised.

"Sorry, kid," he started, looking back to the sea, "no stories today."

"That's okay," Mike said, "not every day has to be a story day. My dad says everyone needs some time to themselves."

Foxy's ears twitched and he looked at the child, brow furrowing. "How old are you?" he asked after a few seconds of silence.

"I'm six," Mike answered. "I'll be seven next month."

"Six?" Foxy looked like he didn't know whether to be surprised or not. He certainly looked six… but he didn't sound anything like a six year old.

No six year old should sound so mature and serious.

Mike nodded. "How old are you, Mr. Foxy?"

"Um… I turned fifteen about seven months back." The vulpine blinked. "What's your name?"

"Mike Schmidt."

"C'mere, Mikey," Foxy said, slipping into his storytelling pirate accent and patting the spot next to him. "Let ol' Foxy tell ye a story. Ye mind if I call you tha', Mikey?"


From that day on, Mike was right beside Foxy for every story. Once the story was over, he would stay behind to just talk. Both of their parents found it strange- and Mike's found it a little unnerving- but Mike was smiling more and Foxy seemed content to sit still for a while, so both accepted the friendship… albeit cautiously.

Mike's parents still kept in mind that Foxy was nine years older than their son, but Mike disregarded it. Foxy was fun to be around. He was there to help Mike forget about the other children who always ignored him, always there to help him when his older sister or younger brother hurt his feelings. He quickly became a constant in Mike's life.

Likewise, Foxy enjoyed talking to the kid, who had begun to loosen up and finally act like, well, a kid. He enjoyed telling Mikey about the seas and the good pirates that live on them. He enjoyed telling Mikey all about the dreams he himself had had when he was Mikey's age. He enjoyed having Mikey's support.

He enjoyed having someone believe in him.


The calm and happiness lasted until Mike's eighth birthday. Then the Sickness came to little Myrland. There was no cure, not even in the capital of Thonsborough, and port towns like Myrland were far more likely to fall to the Sickness.

The townspeople were getting hysterical, people were getting sick and dying everywhere all over town- and it wasn't a pretty death either. First their extremities began blackening, and then blood would begin seeping out of different orifices of the body. All the while the victim was conscious, usually heard screaming and crying for help, for the pain to stop… it was horrible to watch, and worse to experience.

No one survived the Sickness, so when Mike's mother was discovered to have the Sickness, he cried. He didn't remember the last time he cried, but as they took his mother away to quarantine, he cried harder than he had ever cried in his life.

Then he ran to Foxy.

Foxy was on his porch, as he usually was, overlooking the sea. It had been a few weeks since any children came to listen to his stories of adventure. Only Mike ever came around anymore. Mike was the only reason Foxy was still sticking around- that smile that lit up the world.

"Foxy!" he heard the familiar voice, but it sounded… different. Mike's voice was distressed- moreso than it had been before. Foxy turned to the steps as Mike ran up them. There was no usual smile, no hopeful glint in the boy's eyes, no happiness…

"Mikey? What's wrong?" Foxy asked, a bit alarmed, as he stood out of his seat to approach the sobbing child. "Mikey?"

"M-mama," the kid was able to choke out, "M-mama got the Sickness, Foxy. Mama got the Sickness and they think papa got it too."

Foxy knew something else the child didn't. If it turned out his parents had the Sickness, it would be assumed Mike and all of his siblings had it too… they would take Mike away, put him in quarantine with all of those ill children. They would take Mike away from Foxy, and Foxy knew there was nothing he could do to stop it.

After all, it was very likely if two people in Mike's household had the Sickness, Mike did too.

"Foxy?" Mike sniffled, watching the frozen fox. Foxy's eyes were wide, and he looked distraught. "Foxy what can I do?"

"I…" Foxy didn't know how to answer. His little Mikey could die any time within the next week if he had the Sickness, and any time in the next month even if he didn't have it- he'd get it while in quarantine. "Mikey…" He didn't want to see Mike die. He didn't want to hear Mike scream or bleed- he didn't want that. He wouldn't be able to stand it.

If Mike died, there was no reason for him to stay.

"Foxy…?"

"Mikey…" Foxy sighed and ran a hand through the fur on his head, ears flattened. "I… I'm sorry, Mikey."

He really was.


Three days later Mike and his three sibling were taken into quarantine. Foxy knew he would probably never see little Mikey again.

So Foxy left. Without a word to anyone, not to his parents, not to the townspeople, not to the children, he just upped and left in the middle of the night. Seventeen years old, he decided it was finally time to pursue his own dreams- and maybe, just maybe, forget all of what happened in Myrland.

He never forgot.