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The Trinket | Chapter Twenty-Seven [Comm]
🕑 Added 2025-12-05 14:00:13 +0000 UTCChapter Twenty-Seven
Bar ‘Crawl’
Hunter was not feeling too bad as he took a sip from his fourth Long Island of the evening, watching from his perch atop the tall-legged bar stool as Jack and Malissa belted out the lyrics to “Take On Me”. The three had been on their university bar crawl for only about an hour, but given their relief at getting through the first week of college their path to becoming shit-faced had been a steep and brief one. The otter’s cheeks were flushed red, the glasses perched on the tip of her nose as she took heavy breathes in preparation for the refrain. Jack appeared similarly enamored, his lips clumsy and heavy looking as he slurred his way through the song.
They were making fools of themselves without a care in the world, as having gotten through a week of prophetic academia to come the three had agreed upon making this weekend the official ending of their winter break. The three mammals were properly sloshed, with Hunter having ensured that his night would be uninterrupted by deliberately placing a booster pad on the surface of his changing table before the three had convened at the bottom stares of his apartment building.
Jack, not one to miss out on comedic opportunity, had commented in a sickly sweet tone whether the fox was ‘weady’ when he had descended down the stairs with a slight waddle. Malissa and Hunter had exchanged brief, stoic nods, before each picking a shoulder to punch the weasel on. Even now, on stage, the weasel would occasionally reach up and unconsciously rub at his bicep as he leaned into the microphone, the air escaping out of his nostrils eliciting a static response from the speakers behind them.
Hunter allowed himself a small smile, relaxing for the first time in a while as he felt the front of his padding blossom with a familiar warmth. He did not care, as he had managed to coax the ghostly paws into his regular pair of cartoon baby animal diapers. The fennec tried not to dwell on the fact that he now had a diaper brand that he could call his ‘usual’, as he raised a fist upwards towards his friends, yelling out encouragement as they reached the pinnacle of the verse.
“Twoooo-ooo-ooo-ooo!”
The two sang out, exchanging giddy grins as they leaned one one another, holding desperately onto the mic as they belted out the lyric. Hunter laughed at the spectacle, visibly drunk and oblivious to the fact that they were both very much out of tune. Combined together, however, it sounded almost like they had managed to hit the pitch just right with one going a little too flat and the other a bit too sharp.
Hunter hardly registered the fact that his stomach was rumbling, the bar food and drinks making their way quickly through his system. It was only towards the end of the song did he note that his tail had been flagging for quite some time. He shifted, his breath catching as he realized what had happened while he had been distracted. His voice muffled by the hubbub around him, he groaned in annoyance as he realized he was now sitting in a not-so-clean diaper.
This might be the reason why it's called early…
A voice inside of Hunter’s head told him his reluctance to be the reason that he and his friends had to take a breath from the fun weighing heavily on him. He knew that he should excuse himself and take care of his messy bottom before too long, lest he risk a rash that would undoubtedly bother him when he was supposed to be paying attention in class. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he could feel the brooch’s sway, lulling him back towards his apartment where the closest clean diaper awaited for him, resting neatly on a shelf just for him.
The fennec resisted, upset that his fun was being cut short by the cursed trinket’s influence once more. He would be fine, another few hours in his thick sweatpants and coat would be more than enough to conceal his accident. Almost as soon as his resolve solidified and he had risen out of his mucky seat to order another drink, he felt a distinct presence behind him.
The fennec fox glanced over his shoulder, suddenly feeling very small as he peered into the long face of a female mammoth. One of the oldest anthropomorphized cenozoic species, it was not too uncommon to see one or two of them on a day out to the city. Still, Hunter realized that he must have been pretty drunk not to have picked up on her presence earlier.
Something was off about her eyes, they appeared glassy and distant. A dreamy expression was plastered across her noble physique, her trunk almost floating through the air as it wrapped itself around his waist. Hunter’s eyes grew wide in a panic, as he felt the tip of her flexible appendage probing and patting the contained accident in the seat of his pants. Hunter barely noticed that the other bar attendees were completely oblivious to what was happening as the fennec received an unrequested diaper check.
“Let’s get you into something more comfortable.”
The large mammal’s voice was smooth and unaffected by the apparent stupor her subconscious was in, as Hunter felt himself being lifted up by the powerful trunk around his waist and laid gently down on an empty bar table. The fennec’s limbs flailed, the incredible weight and power of the drunk keeping him subdued as the mammoth moved her free hooves to rifle inside of her purse.
This had quickly grabbed the attention of the bar lady, as well as the other college students attending that evening. Malissa and Jack craned their necks to catch a glimpse of Hunter’s panicked expression as he desperately tried to push the mammoth’s trunk off of him.
“Hey! What’s the big idea!?”
The bar lady barked out, the rottweiler baring her teeth and crossing her tattoo covered arms, inky splotches on thin fur conveying to anyone who saw them that she meant business. The mammoth acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary, her trunk lazily trailing down the fennec’s torso until it caught on the lip of his sweatpants, pulling them down to reveal the saggy contents of his packed and padded back seat.
Even in the abruptness of the situation, Hunter knew what was happening. He had pulled too far away from the influence of the brooch and the diapers his changing table had provided him; he had given the trinket the impression that he was not nearly infantilized enough for its own liking.
From the mammoth’s purse, she produced a diaper with a single cygnet hieroglyph on its front. It was one of the two symbols remaining whose effects he was still clueless on, and it appeared like he was about to find out. The bartender was now visibly upset that she was being ignored. Her legs swinging over the edge of the bar, she deftly leapt over and marched straight up to the mammoth.
Tapping the mammoth on the shoulder, her voice rose in volume over the booming music as the mammoth began to untape the first of Hunter’s top tapes.
“And just what do you think you’re doing? You need to get out NOW!”
She yelled, emphasizing the end of her statement with a shove. She might as well have been addressing a cement wall, as Hunter doubted that even with the combined strength of everyone present in the room could anyone best her in a physical confrontation. That did not seem to be what she had in mind, however, as Hunter felt himself being wiped down with baby wipes that she had miraculously produced from her purse as well.
Several of the others had gathered round now, Malissa and Jack exchanging desperate looks as they both racked their brains as for what to do. Hunter had his paws over his muzzle, hiding his face as he silently endured the public diaper change. At last, he felt his tail being threaded through the tail hole of a new diaper, his equipment and buttocks positioned onto the soft, lush bed of a fresh hieroglyphic diaper. He felt a waft of cold air pass over his equipment as the front was raised, snuggly secured into place by large, surprisingly deft fingers that arranged his tapes in a symmetrical fashion.
Peeking through his fingers, the fennec glanced down at the diaper despite the hot flush that was coursing through his cheeks. The image of the cygnet stared back at him as he felt the mammoth’s trunk finally being taken off of him. Before he had a chance to scramble off the table, pull his sweatpants back up, and stumble his way out, the demeanor of the crowd seemed to shift.
Hunter looked around him, pushing himself up until he was leaning on his elbows as his eyes glanced from one expression to another. They all wore the same, glassy eyes and dream expression as the mammoth did now. Even the rottie, who looked like she was getting ready to bite a chunk out of the mammoth’s knotted coat, looked pacified for the moment. Malissa still looked somewhat alarmed, though a little more relaxed. Jack, on the other paw, was completely entranced. Out of the crowd, came a high-pitched, cheerful tone.
“D’aww, does that feel better sweetie? No more mucky yucky pamps for you!”
Another voice came from the crowd, Hunter noticing that it came from a particularly petit chinchilla holding onto a wine glass.
“All clean!”
The rottie nodded, as the crowd’s unified agenda appeared to ripple through them like a wave in a body of water.
“All better now, no more stinky bottoms!”
A few of the furs cheered, while others offered their own concerns and requests, their voices meshing together into a scattered cacophony of babying tones.
“Does someone want a baba now?”
“Hey little guy, where’s your plushie?”
“Do you need your binkie, honey?”
“Hey little kit, isn’t it way past your bedtime?”
“Hop up darling, you get to sit in my lap!”
The crowd then moved towards him like a throng of the undead in a horror film, causing Hunter to yelp. Out of the murmuring, sleepy furs came a voice shrill and distinct with authority.
“That’s my little one you’re talking to, thank you for taking care of him but he needs to go home now!”
Bodies turned and heads swiveled towards Malissa, who had one paw firmly clasped around Jack’s limp wrist as she pushed her way to the front of the crowd with the other. She was grimacing hard, as if she was trying to concentrate on a heavily weighted exam and had not prepared nearly enough for it. The furs moved out of way like molasses, until finally she had reached her friend.
The mammoth’s trunk halted her, slamming down on the table between them as her massive, wooly face turned to face off Malissa. Hunter could see the otter’s body stiffen at this confrontation, Jack emitting a small, faint squeal of pain as she squeezed his wrist a little too tightly. She looked up, facing the mammoth with as much bravery as she could muster in her tipsy state, her cleft lips pursed tightly as her whiskers quivered.
“Aren’t you forgetting something, dear?”
The otter waited, which the mammoth took for an answer. Reaching around, she deposited a pastel colored duffle bag on the table. Hunter had never seen it before, but recognized the characters stitched onto its side as belonging to those that had been on his now dirtied diaper. The brooch was picking up his preferences, that was for sure, but at least he could be relatively sure that these contained no ill enchantments. Relatively sure.
“His diaper bag!”
The mammoth enunciated slowly, beaming with deliberate and slow amusement. The crowd began to disperse, offering small, melodic goodbyes and good wishes as they returned to their seats. Malissa grabbed the bag, Jack still repeating over and over again in a sing-song tone.
“Bye-bye now! Bye-bye now! Bye-bye now!”
“Let’s get the hell out of here!”
Malissa hissed to the fennec underneath her breath, her words coming through a smile so tight he feared that she might start cracking her teeth. Hunter needed no further encouragement as he scrambled off of the table.
Momentarily forgetting that his pants were around his ankles in his haste to get away, he tripped and caught himself on his paws and knees. Crawling backwards a few steps to get himself out from underneath a table, he received a few affectionate pats on his diapered butt from the wine-sipping chinchilla on his way out. Inadvertently blushing as he crouched, stopped to grasp the bottoms of his sweatpants to pull them back up. Hunter tried not to think about the fact that he was pretty sure he had seen her in the back row of his Organic Chemistry class as he followed Malissa out of the bar and into the crisp, January night air. He was suddenly feeling very sober.
