by harrington » Sat Apr 13, 2024 2:46 pm
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If there was one word to describe Richard Campbell, it would be angry. Angry at the world, angry at others, angry at his circumstances: there is a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas, and he's determined to let eve-
ryone know.
Growing up in rural Wyoming was not Richie's idea of fun; however, it
was all his family could afford. His father a dairy farmer, struggling to make ends meet in a dying industry; his mother a gambler with little
to no regard for the children she had to feed; his two older sisters fi-
guring out how to balance their crumbling social lives with five different jobs shared between the two of them; each member of Richie's family too busy to take care of their youngest. Ignored and uneducated, whenever he could, Richie would take the bus into the inner city of Cheyanne. The hustle and bustle of the city was the first thing that catered to Richie's impulsive and emotional personality: if Richie didn't come home with knicks and cuts every day, he had considered it a failure. As dangerous as they were, he considered the inner-city streets home.
After both of his parents died, his sisters had given him an ultimatum: start helping out on the farm — one of them had a baby on the way, after all! — or move out, never to return. To nobody's surprise, Richie had chosen the latter, making it his mission to bounce between city to city, a bitter reminder of being "kicked out onto the streets" (which, he would never admit, was his own fault). As the years carried on, Richie found himself making enemies nearly everywhere he went; the last straw being the night he nearly lost his life to a nasty encounter with a loan shark.
Richie owed this group just shy of a hundred grand, lost mainly due to what he presumed was his genetic gambling habit; he would be lucky to be let off with just a warning: a description of which was so unnerving he felt sick even thinking of it. The memory was fuzzy: all he really remembers is suddenly being able to get away quickly by sliding under a fence that was entirely too small to fit a child, nonetheless a grown man.
Somehow, by the grace of God, Richie found himself crossing the border into Canada — with the help of a few shady folks he had gotten to know while bar-hopping one night — and made his way north. This strategy of running and hiding was aided by his ability to turn into what he could only call a mouse whose legs were unnaturally stretched like a kangaroos, a creature he came to learn was a jerboa. Instead of relief, or even confusion, there was a twinge of anger and embarrassment. Richie had always assumed he’d be some sort of bear or wolf or … what? A tiger? Something cool, something tough, something intimidating. Yet another way the universe had decided to punish him just for existing, he’d thought.
During his travels (if you could call running for your life travelling) Richie unceremoniously found himself among other shifters within a small community titled Fox Island. While he never intended to stay for long, the island provided him with the anonymity he desired and a much-needed break from the chaos. Maybe someday he'll finally get back on his feet, but for now he is content with staying put if it means he gets to keep all his extremities.
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