Character bio
Cranky
Cranky is a crotchety old man intent on
keeping anything off his property. Be it people or animals. However, he will
leave well enough alone as long as you do not trespass. He is voluntarily
isolated in his house because he is not very social. Nevertheless, that does
not mean he does not know the difference between being alone and being lonely.
He can be described as Caucasian, with very short, salt and pepper hair and
stubble. If one were to describe his default expression, women would compare it
to the 'resting bitch face', looking angry all the time. His hands are large
and calloused from years of carefully tending his small fields around his home.
He normally likes wearing flannels and jeans in mild days with a straw hat
providing some relief. Despite him happily displaying his gun outside, he has
never shot it at anyone. It is just for show, and for practice at the gun
range.
Characteristics:
Antisocial
Compassionate
Brooding
Moral
Stern
Angry
Lonely
Independent
Quiet
Stoic
Taciturn
Stubborn
Touchy
Upset
Conscientious
Crotchety
Decisive
Finicky
Haughty
Keen
The Storm
It was one of those rare nights. A freak
blizzard had blown into the small, forested town. This one was a doozy. You
could barely se your own hand in front of your face, and the temperature had
dropped to minus 15. Cranky had expected these sorts of conditions up north,
but in the middle of spring? Really?! The cold made his old bones sorer than
the arthritis did. Yet, with the wind howling Cranky heard company rapping at
his door.
"Who in their right mind would go out
in this weather?" Cranky grumbled. His legs shook slightly as he got up,
vehemently cursing the cold under his breath as he made his way to the front
door.
A loud "Hey neighbor!" greeted
him, and he immediately slammed the door shut. It was Mr. Thompson, his closest
neighbor who came over every so often just to bug him. "Aw c'mon Cranky, I
just wanted to know if you'd be interested in going out to dinner. What with
the blizzard and all, I figured you would like a hot meal."
Cranky paused, glaring at the door, and
that was all that Mr. Thompson needed. The door quickly opened again, Thompson
grabbing Cranky and pulling him out into the cold. Before the old geezer knew
it, he was in Thompson's car and speeding off to town.
Town was
miles away, and Cranky quickly grew tired of Thompson's incessant chattering.
The car's gears shifted in and out of gear, before the engine spluttered and
died. If looks could kill, Cranky's glare would have sent Thompson rolling to
the grave.
But the glare
faltered, sighing as Cranky relaxed himself back into his seat. There was no
time to be angry. They had to survive the night. In Thompson grabbing him,
Cranky only had a lighter and his winter coat with him. It was big, and combined
with Thompson’s own jacket, they should have enough warmth. “Want some gum?
Should take your mind off things.” Cranky took one of the last two pieces,
unwrapping it and throwing the wrapper in the ash tray. Cranky got an idea,
taking the trash from in the car, and throwing them in the ashtray. Taking his
lighter, he set it ablaze.
“What are you
doing?! Are you trying to choke us?” Thompson startled.
“Calm down.
It’s not enough.” Cranky grumbled.
Thompson
calmed, relaxing back into the car seat. He stared at the fire as something
crossed his mind. “What happened?” Cranky Gave him a side-glance. “I mean, you
used to be so happy. Are you really still so sore from Elise’s passing?” Cranky
dipped his head. “It’s been ten years. The guy is rotting in jail.”
Cranky
scoffed. “With a good meal, books to read and no cares given.”
“He’s nearly
due. You’ll get our justice.” Cranky only sighed. “You don’t have to be alone
you know. You don’t talk much, but my wife likes having you over. Even the kids
like you when you give in and play with them.”
It went on
like that throughout the night. They would throw in more trash to stoke their
small fire. Dawn approached and the wind had died down. “Looks like we can get
out now.” Thomas commented. They opened the car door and looked around, the
ground was blanketed in a couple inches of snow. As they looked around, they
noticed the very restaurant in which they had tried to have dinner. The car had
broken down right in front. As expected, the town had been dead silent because
no one in their right mind would go out in a blizzard. Cranky proceeded to
clock Thompson on the head.
Animation story
A fox sneaks around a chicken coop. She
enters one side, and the chickens inside are startled into fleeing the other.
The fox marvels at her work on the ramp up, and begins her chase. She zeroes in
on one, unaware of the company that had ran out of his farmhouse at the
commotion. Angry and snarling, he whips out a shotgun and shoots at the fox.
The fox is startled into fleeing.
It was not the first time the fox had come
onto Cranky's farm, and he was still trying to deter her from his property.
The next day, the fox comes back. All is
quiet. It looks peaceful, but there is an uneasy air around the farm, and the
scent of metal. She steps onto the property, sneaking toward the coop. Her paw
hits metal instead of the tall grass, and she jumps up in surprise. A bear trap
snaps up, nearly grazing her paw. Her quick movements had triggered not only
this one, but also a small cascade of the metal teeth across the property. She
worked to sprint across the grass to the coop. With every step she took, she
triggered more with the mere thump of her paws on the ground and the light wind
she created as she dashed across the grassy expanse. Once clear, she snags a
sleeping chicken and runs off with it. Cranky curses vehemently as he watches
the furry terror escape.
All was peaceful this morning. No sign of
traps. Today would be an easy day. Maybe the farmer had given up? She had
gotten close to the coop when the sound of barking hit her sensitive ears. She
looked toward the farmhouse, and a pack of hunting dogs barreled around from
the back of the house! She stood her ground against them, ready to take them
on. But they turned. She spotted a ball of brown fur dashing in front of them,
trying to escape. A rabbit had the misfortune of running into them. Some guard
dogs! She chuckled, and picked off yet another chicken.
Cranky decided it was time to pursue her
himself. Sure enough, the fox came back and took another chicken. But he was
prepared this time. He quietly followed the fox deep into the woods. As he hid
from sight, he watched her enter a den at the side of a cliff. But only shortly.
She dropped off the chicken and left again. His tracking had taken all day, and
he quickly set up a snare. Satisfied with his work, he settled in for the night
and waited in the shadows of the surrounding forest.
The whining of the fox woke him up the next
morning. She hung upside-down from the tree where he had set up the snare. He
took his time setting up his shotgun and took aim. Squeaking and whimpering
reached his ears as he was looking down the sights. Looking toward the bush
that hid the den, a couple kits stumbled out. They looked between their mother
and the farmer. Cranky slowly concedes. The fox was just doing her job taking
care of her kids. He couldn’t fault her for running on instinct. Cranky sighs
as he leans the gun against a tree.
He reaches for her and she flinches yipping
and wriggling in protest, thinking he was going to harm her. Cranky releases
her from the snare, and reunites her with her kits. Once her leg stops hurting,
she runs off. She looks back at Cranky before they disappear into the bush. He
gets up and walks out of the forest.
