A one shot from the world of Anon's Hairy Fox Hunt.  With a special guest...
> It was another beautiful day out in the Great British country side.  The sun was shining, barely a cloud marred the crystal clear blue sky and a gentle breeze brought all the scents of summer dancing across your senses.
> Today was a special day, today you would finally get to see her again.  It had been almost a month since you had last set eyes on her.  You had parted ways at the edge of the old forest, watching as she skipped through the trees to parts unknown, to a place you couldn't follow.
> After what felt like an eternity of searching, you had found her again.  Today you would feel her fur between your fingers, hold her head in your hands.  
> Today you would finally mount that little fox bitch on your wall with the others.  Today was going to be a good day.
> Your name is Steve, owner of this fair patch of land and everything that lived there.
> You have been hunting the fox since taking down the first two, a strange breed that walks like a man and, more excitingly, has the intelligence of one too.  You have never hunted anything quite like it before and your not going to miss your chance this time.
> You are riding your favourite horse, the pack is already heading off into the trees to flush out your quarry and your trusty rifle is slung over your shoulder.  
> A sudden flash of light directly in front sends your horse into a panic, it throws you backwards on to the ground before running off and away.  Your left laying in the mud, stars circling your head.
> As you try to shake the dizziness off, a dark figure stands over you, the glare of the sun directly behind it stopping you from getting a good look.
> The figure speaks, his voice somehow irritating you beyond any reasonable measure.
> "You ok down there mister?" he asks.  "Its a nice day an'all but cant see its nice enough to go rollin in the mud like that..."
> You manage to pull yourself up into a sitting position, blinking away the residual glare from the sun and shielding your eyes to better see whoever it is that's stupid enough to trespass today of all days on your land.
> The sight that meets your eyes knocks you for six.  Its another of those fox creatures!  Except... this one is different to the others...
> The figure in front of you it definitely a fox, you've hunted (and killed) enough of the beasts to be able to tell, but its coat is almost completely black!  That's not the strangest part though, oh no, its dressed in a white sequined costume of some sort, almost reminiscent of something Elvis Presley would wear, although its a bit on the tacky side...
> As you stand there staring at the strange creature, it speaks again, in an American accent of all things!  Although you cant quite place what kind...
> "Guess your fine then eh?  So... I'm a bit on the lost side right now and I was wondering if you could point me in the right direction?  Bingle's the name and pleasin the ladies' is my game!  Pleased to meetcha!"
> The fox, this 'Bingle', had shot all this out at you without apparently stopping for breath.  Before you can even attempt a response he continues his bout of verbal diarrhea.
> "I'm supposed to be headin down towards a little place on the Southside, place called 'The Lions' Den'.  Heard of it?  Classy place.  Got a shoot there in an hour and I have noooo idea where I am right now.  Have you heard of it?"
> Your senses were returning but your patience with this fox was fast leaving you.  He continued regardless.
> "See I'm kinda famous, go by the stage name of 'Peppercorn Starshake', heard of me?  Best bang in town they say!"
> That's it.  You've heard just about enough.  This isn't the fox you set out to hunt today but he will certainly give you the most pleasure in putting down...  
> "Enough!" you bellow, causing the chattering fox to jump in surprise.  "Where did you come from?  Where are the rest of you hiding?"
> He gives you a confused look and a weird smile.
> "Others?  I'm Bingle the one and only my man!  None other like me!" he exclaims proudly.  "I come from a place like you never seen!  I-"
> Your patience had finally snapped.  This blathering creature either was an expert in not giving a straight answer under questioning or simply didn't know anything useful.  Still, if nothing else, a walking, talking black fox would be one hell of an addition to your trophy room...
> Pulling your rifle off your shoulder you take aim at the beast.
> "I'll give you to the count of ten, then I'm going to come looking.  Do you understand... 'Bingle'?"
> Infuriatingly, the fox doesn't move.  Instead he just stares at you with a smug little smile on his face.
> "Woah there Tex, no need to get excited!  You want some stuff right?  Help me find my car and I'll get you a signed dvd of 'Love and War five: Right in the Foxhole" ok?  It'll be worth a fortune one day, mark my words!"
> You cock your rifle and start counting.
> "Ten, nine, eight..."
> Finally he gets the message.
> "Awe hell your not kidding are ya?  Oh shit shit shit!"
> With that he's off, running surprisingly fast for something in sequins.
> Your actually not in much of a sporting mood.  Getting thrown by your horse and putting up with that fox's gibberish had soured what was supposed to be an exhilarating game of cat and mouse.  Right now you would happily settle for shooting him in the back and dragging him down to the taxidermist.
> You line up your shot and... BOOM!
> To your horror however, you miss!  The shot goes wide!
> Bingle actually stops running in response, looks back at you and begins yelling.
> "Hey you said ten seconds!  I only counted five!  That's cheating!
> Rage quickly taking over you shoot again, and miss!  The annoying black fox ducks slightly, realising he's still in one piece he gives you the finger before running off again towards the trees.
> Shaking with anger now you check your rifle.  It looks like the sight got bent out of shape slightly when you landed on it earlier.  Blast!  Still, there's more than one way to skin a fox...
> Pulling a small silver whistle out of your pocket, you give two long blows on it.  To anyone watching it would look like it was broken, but it was a dog whistle, the pack would hear it and come running back.
> Bingle heard it too.  Again stopping in his tracks, he turns to face you with his paws over his ears.
> "Oww man what the Fuck!?!  Seriously?  What's wrong with you?"
> Another missed rifle shot has him quickly on his way again.
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> Once the hounds are back and you have set them after the retreating fox, the hunt begins in ernest.
> Its not hard to follow your prey, even on foot.  The fact he's wearing a bright white sequined porn suit makes him easy to spot among the trees.
> After a mile or so of running, he's at his limit.  Panting heavily and clutching at his side like he's got a stitch, the fox has slowed to a stumble.
> You and your pack are not far behind, its a matter of seconds before you've caught up.
> Panting heavily, Bingle turns to face you with his paws up.
> "Aww... cmon man...  Give me a break here!  What I do to you?"
> "End of the line fox!" you snarl, weapon held up once more.  You've worked out which way the sight has bent on the rifle so your sure that you can compensate properly this time.  Still, your more inclined now to let your hounds do what they've been trained to do.  As fetching a rug his black coat would make, you'll be happy just to have the head intact.
> With a blow on your dog whistle you signal the hounds to attack.  
> As Bingle prepares to meet his doom, he closes his eyes and thinks of his mom... and how he hopes she isn't as ashamed of him as she sometimes makes out...
> The snapping jaws of the hounds never reach him.  A snap if rope sees the whole pack caught in a net and swinging from the tree.
> You can only stare in disbelief, its one of the traps your idiot groundskeeper had set to catch the fox!  It had caught your entire pack instead!
> As they dangle above the ground, squirming and yelping in a mass of fur and paws, you let out a roar of frustration.  
> "GYYHHAAAA damn it damn it damn it bollox shit!"
> Your rant goes on for a few seconds before you remember your rifle.  Instead of using the opportunity to run, the smug fox is leaning against the tree, looking pleased with himself.
> Seeing you practically foaming at the mouth however he decides to go, but not without a final remark.
> "Ha!  You'll have to get up earlier in the morning to catch old Bingle old man!  Best in town remem-"
> His gloat is interrupted as he turns quickly to leave and runs directly into a low hanging tree branch, face first.
> As he falls to the ground clutching at his muzzle, you make your way over to him.  Rifle in hand.
> Its your turn to gloat.
>"You were saying fox?"
> Bingle just looks up at you, spreads his paws out in a 'what can you do?' sort of way and flashes you a sheepish smile.  You notice some of his teeth seem to have gone missing.
> There's no way you can miss from this range.  You point your rifle down at him, give him a nasty smile of your own, and pull the trigger.
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> A single shot echoes through the woods.  Followed by a scream of rage not heard in those parts since ye olde times.
> Where Bingle's bloody corpse should be, there's only a small smoking crater made by your rifle.  There's no sign of the annoying fox.
> Turning this way and that, you scan your surroundings, apart from a still dangling bag of angry hound there's nothing else in sight.
> You think back to the moment you took the shot.  A blinding flash of light had hit at about the same time, just like the one that knocked you off your horse before...
> Whatever it was, your new prey is gone.  The only thing left behind to prove he wasn't a concussion induced hallucination?  Three bloody teeth in the mud, fox teeth.
> Today has been a waste.  By the time you cut the dogs down, find your horse and go back to square one its too late in the day to start hunting the other fox again.  You'll have to call it a day for now.
> You slowly trot home on your horse, the dogs following sadly behind, some of them limping.  
> So much for today being the day.  Thanks to that annoying fox Bingle you've wasted a day.  You vow if you ever see that black coated fox again, there would be hell to pay.
> By the next day, something curious had happened.  All memory of Bingle had gone.  You couldn't remember what had happened the day before, only that it was really blood boilingly annoying.  The only thing left that you couldn't remember collecting, was three fox teeth.  Why you had them or why they were hidden away would plague you incessantly.
> In another time, in another place, a fox called Bingle sat in a dentists chair, explaining how he had lost his teeth in a fist fight, with several large attackers, who happened to all be armed too...