FLAMBÉ the FOX

[Tangent]

FLAMBÉ
Yet another SI fic by Tangent
Hot off the grill with another sizzling entree in the Sonic setting!

O o O o O​

My first few days on Mobius were a blur of confusion and fire.

Seriously, way too much fire, not that any of the flames ever seemed to actually hurt me.

I mean, there I was, somehow a fox girl of indeterminate size and age, wandering around alone in the ruins of some abandoned village that only had running water because the damaged water tower somehow hadn't fallen over yet.

And I had to rely on that water to keep putting out the fires I somehow kept causing!

I mean, seriously, all I did was put some old firewood into that Franklin stove and had been trying to remember how to start campfires when the wood just spontaneously combusted with flames so hot the stove itself glowed cherry red for a bit!

That's not normal!

Of course, neither is waking up as some fox kid in an abandoned village, but the sudden fires were a bit much...

That wasn't the only such incident either.

Whenever I tried to start a fire - and by that, I mean legitimately set about preparing to start a fire with actual intent to follow through - the fire would just start all on its own.

Camp fires, stove fires, one candle that went from half melted to liquid wax with ashes for a wick in an instant...

The wax took forever to scrub out of my fur, by the way. Getting it splashed all over me as the candle exploded from the heat hadn't hurt at all, but it had splattered everywhere and felt weird until it was finally all out of my fur.

But that had pretty much settled it in my mind.

I was apparently either a pyromancer or a pyrokinetic.

I briefly considered calling myself Firefox, but ultimately settled on Flambé instead.

O o O o O​

The first attack came as a bit of a surprise, and I hadn't quite realized what was really going on right away.

Oh, I knew I was being attacked - that part was never in question.

It's just that my first thought upon hearing loud buzzing approaching rapidly more or less from behind me and turning around to see what appeared to be a small swarm of giant hornets wasn't "These are Buzzbombers!"

It was more: "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH! BEES!"

And fire.

So much fire.

By the time my panic attack subsided, half of the abandoned village was just gone and I was standing in a field of rapidly cooling molten glass.

The big scary bees were gone though, so I quickly left the still soft silicate before it hardened, and once I was off of the squishy material I made sure that none of it was sticking to my fur.

The wax disaster had been bad enough, I didn't need to try to figure out how to get glass off of me too.

As my breathing grew steadier and heartbeat slowed down to normal levels, I looked out over the glassy field and noted that there were, surprisingly, insectile husks half sunken into the cooling material.

Which honestly confused me because, given the other evidence, any chitinous carapace should have been reduced to ash and vapor by the temperatures I had inadvertently put out.

While I was waiting for the glass to cool down enough for me to not sink into it, I looked for a nice long stick or rod.

I was still poking at the half-melted, flashwelded remains of one of the destroyed Buzzbombers when a cyborg rabbit found me and called out to her friends who were also investigating the smoking ruins that were all that remained of my first home on Mobius…

O o O o O​

Bunnie Rabbot slowed her steps before she even reached the edge of the glassed-out field.

The air still carried heat - faint now, like a dying engine - but the ground told a louder story. What should have been broken earth and scattered rubble was instead a wide, smooth expanse of fused crystal rippling outward. It caught the light in dull, shifting colors, like the world had tried to become a mirror and given up halfway through.

Badnik parts were embedded in it. Half-melted Buzzbombers from the look of them.

Not intact. Not functional. Just… caught. Twisted metal silhouettes suspended in glass like insects in amber.

And a fox girl, younger than them but maybe a little older than Tails, was squatting near one and poking at it with a stick.

She wasn't wearing anything, but that didn't mean much these days. Clothes were hard to come by, and Bunnie herself had done without for years before Sonic had rescued her from that Bot-on-the-Spot and she ended up joining the Freedom Fighters in Knothole.

"Okay," she muttered under her breath. "That ain't normal."

Behind her, she could hear the others approaching—Rotor's careful, weighted steps; Antoine's more frantic pacing; Sally's steady rhythm that always meant she was already thinking three moves ahead. Sonic would be somewhere nearby too, checking the parameter for any remaining badnik forces.

Bunnie kept her eyes forward.

Because there was something else notable.

A set of footprints leading across the glass.

Sunk shallow, as if someone had been walking across thick mud or damp clay. An even pace, with no sign of hurrying or stumbling. Not staggered like a retreat under fire.

Just… walking. Casual. Almost wandering.

They led from the center of the destruction all the way out toward the edge of the glassy field.

Bunnie's eyes narrowed slightly. She rather strongly suspected that if she compared those footprints to the feet of the girl, they'd be an uncomfortably close match.

The girl hadn't noticed them yet. Or maybe she had and didn't care, but Bunnie was betting on the former rather than the later. No hostile posture. No weapons. No scanning for targets. No fear response that matched what the landscape suggested should be there.

Just confusion. And curiosity.

And something else Bunnie didn't like seeing in kids who looked that small in the middle of what looked like a battlefield:

The poor thing was shaking slightly.

Maybe a bit of it was part of an adrenalin crash, but Bunnie was pretty sure the girl had not eaten recently.

Those were hunger shakes.

The poor thing had not eaten recently. Not so long that her ribs were showing or anything, but long enough to matter.

The fox turned the stick slightly, scraping at the warped metal. It didn't move like a Badnik anymore. It barely moved like anything that had ever had a purpose.

Bunnie exhaled slowly.

"…Ain't no way she did this on purpose," she said quietly, mostly to herself.

Behind her, Antoine made a sound that was halfway between a gasp and a protest. "Mon dieu—! Bunnie, zat is zhe epicenter of—of—"

"Not now, 'Toine" Bunnie cut in, still watching the fox. "Get some rations and a canteen."

The coyote glanced at Bunnie, then took a closer look at the girl. "Ah, yes. I zhe it as well. I will be returning immediately with zhe rations."

Rotor had gone silent. That was never a good sign.

Sally's voice finally came, measured. "Bunnie. Thoughts?"

Bunnie didn't take her eyes off the fox.

The footprints made sense now. Not escape. Not pursuit.

Just… movement. After.

Like whoever had made them had been walking away from something they didn't understand.

Or trying to figure out what came next.

The fox shifted again, tilting her head slightly as she examined the wreckage. Still not looking at them. Still not reacting to the group at all.

Bunnie's shoulders eased a fraction.

"…That's a kid," she said simply.

...

Sonic's voice, finally, from somewhere off to the side. "You sure?"

Bunnie didn't answer right away.

She watched the way the fox held the stick. No tension. No readiness. Just idle motion. The way she sat didn't belong to someone who had claimed victory.

It belonged to someone who had run out of answers and stopped moving for a second.

Bunnie stepped forward, slow and deliberate, making sure her footsteps rang out clearly over the glass.

The fox didn't flinch.

Just turned enough to look at them, then tilted her head as if confused.

That, more than anything, settled it.

Bunnie lowered her voice. "Yeah. I'm sure."

...

Then, softer—almost to herself:

"…Just a kid sittin' in the middle of a whole lotta wrong."

Spoiler: Flambé the Fox

Flambé the Fox - once she gets something really really fire resistant to wear...

And yes, made with AI tools. Still came out pretty good though, even with the errors.

 

[Navrin]

Whenever I tried to start a fire - and by that, I mean legitimately set about preparing to start a fire with actual intent to follow through - the fire would just start all on it's own.

Click to shrink...

it's should be its. You want the possessive, not the contraction of it is/was.

Thank you for writing and sharing; looking forward to where this goes.