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Topics - LurkingWolf

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16
Writer's Guild / MLP V-Day Fic
« on: February 14, 2013, 10:59:58 PM »
So, I'm not really into Friendship is Magic, but I am related to a couple of bronies and so I know a bit about how things work in the universe.  I had a story idea today, and this setting just happened to have the best way to work the plot, so here it is.  A FiM fic from a guy who has seen maybe three episodes his entire life.  Enjoy!

____________________

Hearts and Hooves day, a day that for many young colts was the happiest of the year.  It was their opportunity to either finally have a day together with the filly of their dreams, or act like they had one by going out with the most popular pony who wasn’t taken otherwise.  Sure Heart had been looking forward to it himself for quite a while.  There was a young filly he had wanted to know better for quite a while.  Her name was Charity, but he had been unable to speak to her on his own.  Instead, he had spent that time making her the best, most beautiful card that anyone could ever have made.

He looked back and forth as he walked to Miss Cheerilie’s class, keeping an eye out for Charity as he trotted along the path.  It seemed that everyone had already met their special somepony for the day.  Everyone he passed was with someone, laughing or talking as they went along.  It seemed everyone had someone with them today; even Snips and Snails had somepony with them, if only because their date didn’t want to be seen in the company of a blank flank.

That was the thing that always worried Sure Heart.  He had not yet received his Cutie Mark, and he was a simple, grey earth pony.  He was so simple that he worried that he would be rejected out of hoof.  Still, he had his Hearts and Hooves day card with him, and that would more than make up for whatever he lacked.  He had surprised himself with just how much effort he had put into it, and the result made him proud.  Charity would be certain to accept him when she saw it!

Finally, he saw her in the distance ahead.  He was so ready for this; picking up speed, he began to dash towards her, ready to give her his card.

And then, his world collapsed.

Standing before Charity was that pretentious colt with the glowing voice.  Sure Heart could not even remember his name, but the colt was smiling as Charity looked at the card he had given to her.  It was a simple thing, barely as large as her hoof, with no special decorations on it at all.  The crooner was making full use of his advantages, though, flaunting the fact that he had his Mark already and speaking musically in that voice of his.  Sure Heart could not hear the conversation, but the exchange was enough to make him drop his card to the ground.  He stared at it, at all of his work from the last few months.  How could this have happened?  He had tried so hard, why had this challenger beaten him?

“Sure Heart!  Happy Hearts and Hooves day!”

It was Charity, but the earth pony could not stand to face her.  How could this happen?  How could she do this to him?

He ran from the place, ran as quickly as his hooves could carry him.  Tears flew from his eyes as he tried to compose himself.  Nothing helped though; he was overwhelmed by the pain of rejection.  How could this happen to him?

He collapsed by the side of a clear pool, pouring his tears into the pool and sending his reflection into a spasmodic dance.  It was no good; everything he had done was for nothing.  Some fool colt with delusions of greatness sought to take her from him, and there was nothing he could do to keep him away.

As he sat there alone, he finally received his cutie mark.  It was a reflection of his namesake, a red heart against the grey background of his flank.  This heart, however, was shattered into pieces.  How could it be whole, when his last good thing had been taken from him?

And for yet another Hearts and Hooves day, Sure Heart cried out in anguish, once more alone.

17
Writer's Guild / A Match Made in Moonlight
« on: February 13, 2013, 10:37:11 PM »
A few months old, but this was never posted here.

___________________

   The moon shone brightly above me as I waited for her.  Quietly I sat, watching the sparse clouds catch that silver glimmer and making it seem all the more radiant.  Still, however, though I watched the moon and the clouds, I watched and waited for her.  She would come soon, of that I was certain.

   And come she did, her paws striding in complete silence as she purposefully approached me.  She was a wolf, silver fur shining in the moonlight, a radiant gleam that seemed somehow even brighter than the moon itself.  Beauty is, after all, in the eye of the beholder, and she was the most beautiful creature in the world to me.

     She approached fearlessly, amber eyes gleaming in the moonlight, and she reached her paw out, placing it in the palm of my hand.  I smiled and kissed the side of her muzzle, and she licked my face in return.  I reached my arms around her and hugged her tightly about the neck, running my fingers through the mane of fur that surrounded her neck like a woman’s hair.  I kissed her again on the bridge of the muzzle, shifting to kneel on my knees as sitting became uncomfortable.

   I remembered the day I first met her.  It was our wedding day.  At my father’s request it was a proper Christian wedding, held within the small chapel that served our entire community.  At her father’s request, the service had been held on the night of the full moon, with our vows to be given at dusk under the red glare of the horizon sun.

   I was so nervous; our wedding was part of the ages-old peace treaty that had existed between our two communities.  Mine, the small town of Land’s End.  Hers, the small settlement of native Indian inhabitants that had lived here since before we had discovered the coasts of America.  On our arrival there had been much tension, but the threat of a harrowing winter forced the peoples to share their knowledge to survive, and peace has lasted ever since.  The only real provision that existed beyond the mutual agreement to remain at peace was for one couple to be wedded with one member from each village each year.  I had always known that there was a chance that I would one day serve as party to this agreement, but that knowledge did nothing to assuage my concerns.

   Back under the moonlight, I continued to embrace her, my fingers, though quickly shortening and thickening, still playing through the fur around her neck, feeling the beads that were always woven there in the tradition of her people.

   The day of our wedding, the chapel was hardly packed.  Even if all of both villages had been present there would have been room.  As it was, it was a private ceremony, with only our two families and the leaders of our villages in attendance.  I embraced my future father-in-law for a moment, just long enough for him to quietly whisper his blessing into my ear.  I thanked him in his own tongue and turned to the man’s wife.  Her dark face was wrinkled from many years spent in the sun, but those wrinkles all fell naturally into her easy smile.  She grasped both of my hands and enthusiastically reprised her husband’s blessings.  I smiled and thanked her as well.  Though I had never met this family before, the more I saw of them, the more hope I held for a happy life with their daughter.

   How right I was to think that!  As I finally leaned back from hugging my wife, I smiled at her.  Kneeling, too, was becoming uncomfortable, and so I let myself slip to all fours, happy that the pads on my palms had finished changing.  As my muzzle was beginning to press forward, I brushed my dark nose against hers, and she wuffed a laugh, licking my nose in return.

   The ceremony had been a short one.  Either that or I simply ignored it the entire way.  My eyes fell ever on the veiled figure before me, and my ears were nearly deaf to the speaker.  I could catch glimpses of her dark complexion behind that veil, but it was too thickly woven to make out anything for certain.  It distracted me so much that it took me some time before I realized I was supposed to say something.

   I brushed up beside her, my own nascent pelt blending perfectly with her own.  She pressed against me, nuzzling my side tenderly as I stepped alongside her, my padded paws now imitating hers with their eerily silent steps.  She turned to follow my path, until I turned and found myself face to face with her as she waited by my shoulder.

   Vows were said amid an almost otherworldly hush, and finally they told me that the time had come to kiss the bride.  As I raised her veil and saw that beautiful, dark face, framed so perfectly by her dark hair, decorated in the finest beads her family owned, I no longer doubted.  She smiled the moment before we kissed, and I knew that her own doubts had been erased as well.

   She smiled again as I licked her muzzle again, tenderly and repeatedly.  That smile was always the same with her, no matter what form she took.  Her mouth barely made a visible change, but her eyes simply glowed with such a beautiful radiance that the purity of her joy made it touch me as well.

   The night of our wedding we were given the use of a small cabin in the woods, owned by my bride’s parents.  I don’t remember the journey there.  Had it been up to me to find our way back, we would have become hopelessly lost before we ever saw Land’s End again.  My eyes were held by her own all the way there.  It wasn’t until we had been left alone for some time that we first spoke to each other, but more passed between us in those moments than any words could have communicated.

   As we stood muzzle to muzzle under the moonlight, that same meaningful silence hung between us.  We were close to each other, and as we kissed one another’s muzzles tenderly we knew that we could be happy forever if we were only given each other.

   The night of our wedding she led me outside, her smiling eyes ever beckoning me until we stood in the woods, underneath the shining harvest moon.  I never questioned why she wanted our first night together outdoors, and she never told me.  Instead, she shifted before me, her moon-touched form glowing from within as she became lupine before my very eyes.  Never did I think to question this, even as the wolf emerged from my wife’s discarded wedding dress, her smiling eyes telling me to follow her, even as I felt that same change for the first time.

   Now, standing alone underneath the moonlit sky, she looked at me in that same meaningful way, turning and telling me to follow her.  Tonight, however, even though she spoke to me different words than she had that first night, they still made my heart leap as it had done then.

   “Come, my love.  The pups are ready to meet their father.”

18
Writer's Guild / Familiarity
« on: January 19, 2013, 06:34:43 PM »
This is a short story I started around Halloween.  Yeah, it took me a while to finish.  Still, I think it's interesting.

___________________

She insisted that she was a witch, and I insisted that it was just a costume.

It was Halloween, of course, and there was no shortage of children running around wearing all sorts of outrageous outfits.  There was a larger proportion of superheroes this year, what with the recent explosion of films in the genre, but the old standbys were still all around me.  There were a few werewolves, one or two headless horsemen of varying quality, and the ever-popular witch.  Some kids had decided that green face paint was enough, while other eschewed it completely.  The one I was talking to now was one of the latter variants.  In fact, despite the dark clothes and crooked grin, it took me until she announced what she was until I figured out what she was.

“I’m a witch!” she announced loudly, holding up a bag for me to deposit her treat in.  I gave her my customary few pieces of candy, and decided to give her a tip on how to pull off the look better.

“Don’t you think you would look more like a witch with a pointy hat?” I asked.

“Oh, but I AM a witch!” she declared.  She still smiled, though, so I felt comfortable with going further.

“Of course you are, but a pointy hat would make sure no one would ever confuse your costume for anything else.”

“It isn’t a costume!”  Once more, though she maintained her position vehemently, she still smiled with a barely contained hint of mischief on her face.

“If you’re a witch, then where’s you cat? ”

“Silly, not all witches use cats for familiars!  And I’m still waiting for my familiar, you see, waiting to find the perfect one!”

“I see,” I said in feigned awe.  “Can a witch with no familiar still do magic?”

“Of course!” she replied.  Without waiting for further prompting, she reached into her ridiculously deep black cloak and pulled out a long, black feather.  She rubbed it between her fingers, moving her lips silently for a few moments, then blew once across its surface.  Surprisingly, the feather fell apart as she blew, the dark fibers flying through the air like a strange, black dandelion.  I nodded, actually impressed.

“Well, that certainly is quite a good bit of ma—ACHOO!”  The cloud of fibers had drifted into my face as I spoke, and, unsurprisingly, managed to make me sneeze as I accidentally inhaled them.  “CHOO!”  I sneezed again, and again, “ACHOO!  ACHOO!  A—A—CAAAAW!”

I felt dizzy, and the world seemed to spin around me as I staggered a bit where I stood.  As my last rather peculiar, sneeze shook me one last time, my eyes flew open in surprise, even as my fingers reached for my mouth.  They clumsily collided with my face, and it took me a moment to realize that there was no way that they should be touching my face where they were.  I crossed my eyes to look at my hands, and stared in shock as I saw them clasping a beak!

“CAW?”

My throat spasmed as I tried to cry out, and my cry again emerged as a strangled caw, its tone distinctly inhuman.  I slid my fingers along the impossible structure that had somehow replaced my mouth.  It was impossible, but I somehow felt the touch in both directions.  The smooth, cool feel of the beak met my fingers, while a muffled sense of pressure came from the area of my face.  My mind was reeling, but no matter how I tried to reason it, I could think of no way to explain away what I was seeing.

Barely a moment later, something fell down in front of my eyes, moving too fast for me to see well.  Again, another thing fell past my eyes, until finally I caught the next object in my hand and stared at it in surprise.  It was hair!  My hair, falling out before my eyes!  I reached up, expecting to feel an increasingly balding head, but instead felt a different kind of soft feeling atop my head.  Bracing myself, I pulled at whatever it was that had replaced my hair, giving a pained screech as I did, and looked at it with increasing incredulity.  It was a feather!  I had feathers!

I dropped the feather in surprise, only to notice that my head was not the only part of me becoming feathered.  Staring at my hands, I could see more feathers growing from my skin.  They seemed to bloom in a surreal way, almost unfolding from beneath my skin as they obscured my skin in a wave.  First, short feathers forming a base layer, then longer feathers extended from among that first, soft layer.  With even more shock, I moved my arms, only to realize they didn’t move the same way anymore.  There were no recognizable hands left, only a strange, new appendage that I could only rightly describe as a wing.

It was no secret to me what was happening anymore; I was becoming a bird, and with alarming speed.  I looked up at the witch, whose story I now believed more and more.  She just gave me an impish smile, evidently enjoying the show as the man who had questioned her faded in a flurry of feathers.  I gave one last try to choke out an intelligible phrase to ask for forgiveness, but only a harsh, corvid cry escaped my beak.

For a few moments, my chest felt like it was being crushed under an immense weight, and I coughed a few times in my new voice.  When I could breathe next, my breath was noticeably faster, and not only because of the stress of the situation.  My entire metabolism had been rewired to move faster, giving me the sustained energy needed for flight.

I began to feel lighter a few moments later.  I can only assume that my bones were changing, altering their shapes and their positions, and gaining air pockets to make them more lightweight.  At this point, my entire body began to change shape, and I stumbled on my changing legs for a few moments before spreading my wings at my sides and balancing myself with their aid.  With my body altering so quickly, my clothing, which had somehow made due to this point, could no longer contain my altered form.  Just as they began to strain against my body, however, they instead disintegrated, the cloth dissolving into a cloud of dust around me.

I gave a raucous cry as my body lurched forward into an entirely new stance.  Only my wings kept me stable, until a flurry of growth signaled the appearance of a feathered tail behind me, fanning out to lend its own aid to my quest for balance.

My legs had been changing for a while, and they already looked nothing like what they had moments before.  They bent in a completely different fashion, so that I could not even venture to guess if the joints in my leg could even present an analogue to the joints in my original, human legs.  It didn’t hurt, but I had never felt anything so disorienting in my life.

Further disorientation came not long after, as I suddenly began to shrink.  I flapped my wings, cawing several times as I tried to keep my balance, feathers flying as I finally reached my new size.  I looked up at the impish witch that had done this to me.  I couldn’t be any larger than an actual bird now, and the new perspective made the short girl seem massive.  I hopped back, cawing uncertainly as she smiled mischievously at me.

“Well, as you can see, a witch with no familiar can certainly do magic.”  I could present no argument there.  I spread my wings and looked at their dark feathers in wonder.  “However, a witch with a familiar is certainly much more powerful.  You seem to be at a disadvantage, a man in the body of a bird.  I may be able to change you back, but not with my current power.  Here’s my idea: you become my familiar, and you work with me until next Halloween.  When that period is over, we can discuss whether you want to return to humanity or not.”

I cawed raucously, demanding that she release me from the spell, but she simply shook her head.

“I’m sorry, but the only other alternative is for you to try to make a living as a bird,” she responded.

Well, that certainly was out of the question.  I thought about the situation for a moment.  Never had I considered what it might be like to be a bird, but now that I was one, I had to admit some measure of curiosity.  I felt lighter than air, and I wanted to try flying.  Still, I knew that living as a bird was out of the question, at least if I had to try to survive on my own.  Looking at the witch, I realized that I could count on her to keep me safe if I were her familiar.  Perhaps she would not follow through on her commitment to give me a way of returning next year, but she would at least see to my continuing safety.  I cawed to her again, resigned to my new life.

“Very good!”  She clapped her hands, and I felt a sudden, light weight on one of my legs.  I looked down, eyes falling on the ring that circled my right leg.  There was a gem in it that glinted with power.

“What’s this?” I asked.  I spoke!  My voice was harsh and grating like a raven’s call, but I could speak.

“It will allow us to be master and familiar in truth,” she replied.  “It allows you to speak, and it allows me to use your power once I train you to aid me in magic.  Don’t worry; it is perfectly safe, and necessary.”

I shrugged as well as a bird can, then flapped my wings, taking a brief flight to the witch’s shoulder.  I balanced carefully on my perch, settling it to prepare for my new life.

She ran one hand along my feathers.  “Don’t worry, you’ll enjoy it,” she assured me.

Although I couldn’t be certain, I certainly hoped she was right.

19
Writer's Guild / A few ideas
« on: January 10, 2013, 02:37:08 PM »
I am going to have some trouble this semester trying to keep a steady job, so I've been looking ways to make some money on the side.  Because of this, I was wondering if anyone was willing to pay for story commissions?  I realize that art is infinitely more popular, but I have not a shred of talent in that area.  If you are interested in this sort of commission, please give me an idea of what you'd be willing to pay.

Another idea that I'm not sure about but I thought I'd leave out here is that I could do some of my partial stories on a 'fund the next part' model.  Basically, at a certain level of combined donations I'd write another part forms certain one of the stories, chosen by you guys.

Sorry for sort of asking for money here, but writing is one of the only things I can do to get something in the bank this semester.

20
Writer's Guild / The Finest Furs
« on: October 08, 2012, 11:01:42 PM »
A bit of a series start, with the series name at the end for you all.  Spelling is intentional

-LurkingWolf

EDIT: Now edited to remove typos.

______________________

   Jeeves was far beyond exhausted.  He hated nothing in the world more than the wrath of Lady Agnes, but that seemed like the only emotion that she was capable of conveying to her only loyal servant.  He had often wondered what possessed him to remain in her employ, but he always had to remind himself of just how much money she paid him to put up with her constant temper.  He sighed and replaced yet another dress on the rack that seemed to contain hundreds, each made of the finest materials in the most fashionable designs.  As perfect as they were, however, she had already turned down almost a dozen of them since he had started trying to find one for her nearly an hour ago.  She had either cast them aside without even giving them a second glance, or put them on and worn them just long enough to make him think she had finally decided before screaming about how horrible it looked on her.

   It didn’t help that her particular stature meant that NOTHING looked good on her.

   The beleaguered butler pulled dress after dress down the rails on their hangers, yanking them harder and harder as his frustration grew.  He grumbled to himself, until as he pulled away another dress—

   “Afternoon!”

   “Good lord!”  Jeeves yanked the last dress from its hanger roughly at the sudden appearance of a face poking out from between the dresses.  It grinned almost maniacally, but more like a person that was unreasonably happy to be somewhere than like a villain.  Furthermore, the face was entirely new to Jeeves, so he could only assume that the man had come from outside of the house somehow.

   “Hmm, no…  I don’t like lord, that’s not right.  Tailor, not lord,” the man mused aloud.

   “Ah!  A tailor, thank God you’ve come!  Lady Agnes is impossible to please this morning.  She wants me to find her the perfect clothing for the day, and she doesn’t approve of anything I bring her.”

   “I don’t blame her.  Look at all this fur—“  He stopped suddenly and fussed with the butler’s tie.  “Much better.  Good tie, by the way; bowties are cool.  Look at all this fur!” he continued as though there had been no interruption, tugging at the borders of all of the dresses along the long line of hanging clothes.  “Fur, fur…  Why do people wear fur anyway?  Eating meat is fine; animals eat meat.  But tell me, when is the last time you saw an animal wearing another’s fur?  Of their own will?”  By this point he had taken several steps up to the butler and looked him in the eye from so close that Jeeves could hear him breathing.

   “It’s all the Lady will wear,” Jeeves replied.  “She refuses to wear anything but the finest fashions, and fine fashion must have fur.”  That last part was a quote from the Lady herself, so he added as much of an impression of her voice as he felt safe doing.

   “Fur, fur, fur,” the tailor fussed, looking over the other dresses, even throwing a few onto the floor in his rush to look through them.  Finishing there, he even took the time to toss through the box of random hats at the end.  Only rarely were any of them used, as the mistress had decided that she hated hats last December, so there were hats that no one had seen in ages inside.  “Ah!  A beret!”  He pulled it out and looked it over, top and bottom.  “Berets are cool for certain.”  He put it on and glanced in the mirror, then took it off with disgust, throwing it into a dark corner of the room.  “Forget berets, berets are no fun.  Why can’t a man find a fez in this hemisphere?”

   “Sir, I would very much appreciate it if you could find some way to make the Lady happy for once.  Do you think you could do something about her?”

   “Yes, certainly, no doubt.  Run along, I’ll find something for her.”

   Jeeves was uncertain of leaving a man he had never met before alone with Lady Agnes, but he just couldn’t bear to be anywhere near the woman for another moment.  This in mind, he took his leave, casting once last glance back at the tailor as the man picked up a dress and held it in front of himself as though to check if it were the right size for him.

*   *   *

   Lady Agnes had been angry before, but now she was furious.  Jeeves had left her nearly twenty minutes ago to find something for her to wear, and he had yet to return.  Maybe the fool had finally decided to leave her like he had threatened several times already.  That didn’t annoy her as much as the fact that he had left her with nothing to wear, standing behind the changing screen.  If someone didn’t come soon, she would have to venture forth on her own, and she certainly had no desire for that.

   Finally, however, she heard footsteps, and an odd humming that she swore could not be Jeeves.  She was about to call out when the person spoke first.

   “Your ladyship, I’ve come with a dress for you.”  She knew it wasn’t Jeeves, and was about to scold him when the dress was thrown haphazardly overtop of the screen.  As soon as she set eyes on it, she knew that it was perfect.  There didn’t seem to be an inch of it that wasn’t covered with beautiful ermine fur, silky and white across the surface of the dress.  Forgetting immediately that she did not know who had given it to her, she immediately took it and began to put it on.

   Outside, the tailor stood in the room alongside the fireplace.  He stared about the room with a strange curiosity somewhere between a cat’s curiosity and a villain’s scheme.  Leaning to one side, he sniffed the flower arrangement that sat on the ledge over the fireplace.  He made a face, and surreptitiously took the vase of flowers and emptied it into the fireplace, not even seeming to care that it was unlit.

   It took Lady Agnes several minutes of undignified twisting to finally squeeze her not inconsiderable girth into the dress, but once she had done it she felt three hundred pounds lighter.  She gazed into the mirror on her side of the screen and marveled at how the dress complemented her form.  It was somewhat tight, but even if it forced her to move by inches, the glamor was worth it.  She could almost swear that it was literally making her thinner.

   On the other side of the screen, the man had taken to poking around the umbrella rack that was set in one corner.  He poked one of the umbrellas for a moment before pulling it out and opening it.  He twirled it in the air over his shoulder, nodding his head as he tried to convince himself that it worked, but then vehemently shaking his head, folding the umbrella and tossing it unceremoniously into the fireplace with the flowers.

   Lady Agnes suddenly winced.  The dress was tight from the beginning, but she was almost convinced that it was becoming even tighter the longer she wore it.  She was loath to admit it, but after several minutes of discomfort, she decided that she would have to work a little harder before she could fit properly into a dress of this size.  She began to pull it off, but gave a sudden squawk of confusion as the dress pulled her skin as she tried to remove it.  Frowning, she tried again, only to find the same result.  The dress was so tight that it was stuck fast to her skin!  She was familiar with close fits, but this was an entirely new matter.

   The man noticed her strange cries immediately, but made no move to help, nor did he attempt to inquire after her safety.  Instead, he pulled out a fob watch from his pocket and looked it over a few times.  Opening it, he twisted the knob, moving the minute hand five minutes ahead.

   At the same time as the man turned the knob, Lady Agnes felt a distinct pinching around her middle, coming from the dress.  She gasped in distress, unable to cry out because of the tightness of the dress.  She glanced into the mirror, and stared in shock.  There was no doubt that something strange was going on.  While she did try to fool herself into thinking she was thinner than she was, she was nonetheless aware of the degree of her rotundness.  Looking in the mirror, however, revealed that she had not only lost her distinctive pudge, but in fact now looked almost unnaturally tall and thin.  Not only that, but the dress, which she was certain had no sleeves when she had put it on, now had white-furred sleeves that extended down to her elbows and seemed to be…  No, they were extending down the lengths of her arms!

   The tailor had been patient for a few moments now as he waited for Lady Agnes, but even his patience had its limits.  With a sigh and a shake of his head, he opened the watch again and turned the minute hand further forward.

   This time, Lady Agnes was watching in the mirror as the watch hands turned.  The sleeves jumped from her elbows all the way to her hands in a split second, and her hands suddenly changed radically, only the palms unfurred, instead bearing pads like an animal’s paw.  Even more shocking, claws now extended from her fingertips, making her hands look precisely like the paws of some animal!  As she tried to steady herself, she found that her legs were also different.  Knees would not bend right, and looking down revealed that they also looked nothing like human legs.  Her feet especially looked like paws, while her thighs had become shallower, thinner from side to side and thicker from front to back.  Worse, while her hips would let her stand on two feet, she could tell just by looking that they would not let her take more than a step or two without falling to all fours.

   Her head was unchanged beyond some thinning around her cheeks, but streaks of white fur were reaching from her collar up along the length of her neck, reaching like ghostly fingers in search of purchase they could use to alter her visage into that of a beast.  She whimpered at the thought, but no amount of struggle would let her escape this horror.

   The man outside glanced at his watch again and then looked back at the screen.  He seemed indecisive as he tried to decide if he should check on the Lady, but he ended his consideration with one last, slower twist of the watch’s knob, setting the hands about five minutes further on.

   The furry strands that were slowly reaching for Agnes’ head finally broke the suspense with a rush of growth.  For a moments, although they progressed upward, these fingers of fur made no gain on her head as her neck lengthened, and then then finally overtook her face, covering it in a rapid burst of growth.  Her face’s shape remained the same only for a moment, and then it changed as well.  A narrow, tapered snout extended, absorbing her nose and mouth into a single unit, adorned by whiskers on either side.  At the sides of her head, her ears grew up and rounded off, earlobes lost as her ears gained the ability to rotate and find the source of specific sounds.  Her gaze into the mirror ended for a moment as she was forced to blink, and when her eyes opened again, she found herself staring into deep pools of blue rather than her usual human green.  Whiskers extended from where her eyebrows had once been, and as she looked at herself in the mirror in awe, she realized that her breath was not strained anymore.

   She thought briefly that it had completely finished, but then something began to extend behind her.  She caught a glimpse of it in the mirror as her growing tail flicked around behind her back, and she managed to catch it with a little more effort, watching in wonder as it reached its full length, silky white with a black-stained end.  As she glanced into the mirror, she recognized the form.  She was not only wearing the fur of an ermine, she had entirely become one!

   The tailor finally stepped around the corner of the screen, but stopped with a look of disappointment on his face.

   “This is taking entirely too long,” he commented.  With another gesture, he pulled out the watch and twisted the knob once more.

   Agnes squeaked in protest, but could manage no words, even as she found herself at a drastic loss for height.  She fell to all fours as she lost height by the foot, squeaking her shock once the shrinking ended.  She stood back on her haunches, and looked into the mirror to see that she was only a few inches tall.  There was no indication that she had ever been anything but an ermine; even her posture had shifted, and she now stood on her haunches, front paws dangling before her as she sniffed the air.

   “Well, there’s your wish then,” the man said from behind her.  She turned to face him, chattering and squeaking in protest.  “Well, don’t complain to me!” he said.  “You wanted to have all of the finest fur.  Now it’s just your own fur.  Maybe you’ll change back some day.  Maybe, if you’re lucky.  For now, I’ll just give you a little change of scenery.”

   With that, he tossed a small lace handkerchief over her form as she gave one last squeak of surprise.  Almost instantly, the cloth sank down strangely, revealing that there was nothing within.  The tailor leaned over and retrieved the kerchief, tucking it into his pocket along with the watch.  Although he couldn’t see it, he knew that Agnes was now in a more natural, snowy environment, far better suited for her new shape.

   Turning, he walked back out into the clothing area, and stopped for a moment by the cork board left there to inform staff of their household duties.  He mused for a few moments, and then pulled a card from his opposite pocket.  Carefully, he tucked it under a pin on the board, and then walked out of the house and down the road.

   Later, when people were searching for Lady Agnes after her mysterious disappearance, they could only find that little piece of card stuck to the board, with only two words written on it.

The Tailer

21
Writer's Guild / Grey Goo
« on: September 12, 2012, 10:56:40 PM »
Part 1 of a story that may or may not develop further.  Sort of a comic-book quality to the idea; I'll let you be the judge of how well it works.

________________

   Sullivan Miles crept through the dark warehouse area, using only a small flashlight to see his way, and that under a heavy filter to keep it from being readily visible.  He dodged between pipes, shining the light on several vats as he passed by, and continuing forward each time he found that it wasn’t what he was searching for.

   His specialty, and the reason he was here, was corporate espionage.  While most people thought of hacking the networks of opposing companies for information, Miles had always been a bit more proactive.  He was a raccoon, and his natural instincts and light paws meant that he was great at actually breaking into the competitor’s factory to get a look at things up close.

   This time, his job was extremely important.  The competitor’s network had been hacked just a few days prior, and it was discovered that they were in the final stages of creating a new technology, codenamed “Grey Goo” in all reference files.  It was unknown exactly what the technology was, but it involved controlled self-proliferating nanomachines.  Whatever the intentions were for using the technology, everyone realized that a successful, safe technology involving such mechanisms could quickly change the face of the world market, and they knew that they needed to have a hand in it when it was all said and done.

   Miles finally found what he was looking for; it was a large vat, towering several feet above him in the dark warehouse area.  It was not clearly labeled, but Miles knew from what he had seen of the files that were found of the substance that he had found the right thing.  He searched about the tank’s perimeter until he found a ladder, and slowly climbed to the top.

   The vat was closed, but Miles carried just the tool for the job.  It was a small datapad, equipped with all the technology he could possibly want.  He set it alongside the panel that controlled the lid to the vat, and waited a few moments while the ‘pad went through several combinations before finally opening the lid at a slow speed, doing so intentionally to keep it from making much sound.

   Miles shined his flashlight into the tank, whistling in admiration as he did.  “Grey” didn’t do it justice.  The surface of the liquid in the tank was moving as the vat performed an automated mix of the contents, and the movement allowed Miles to get a good look at the stuff.  It shone in the dim light of his flashlight, casting a kaleidoscope of colors from its silvery surface.  If it had not been moving, it could have been a match for the chrome finish on his boss’s Mercedes.  As it was, the strange warping of the colors as the “metal” was constantly churned made it even more breathtaking.  Miles licked his muzzle; he could tell he would be getting an amazing commission out of this!

   He quietly reached into his pack, pulling out a small vial that would let him take a sample.  He was already wearing gloves, so he carefully reached down into the vat with one hand while keeping a secure hold on the rim of the tank with his left paw.  His tail kept him balanced as well, so he could confidently reach down the few inches between the metal and the top of the container.  He chuckled as he dipped the vial into the Goo.  It slid around the mouth of the vial, filling it at the speed of molasses.  He waited until he had a good sample, and then pulled it out.

   Only it didn’t want to come.

   Miles frowned, pulling again at the vial.  The metal seemed to have solidified; it wasn’t giving at all now, where before it had been thinner than liquid soap.  That wouldn’t do at all; while it did mean that the strange metallic substance had possibilities for more than novelty value, it also meant that it had grabbed ahold of his gloved hand.

   The raccoon let out a quiet breath and felt around for his pad. His left paw found it quickly enough; he had left it on the outside of the tank.  Pulling it off, he held it above the strange substance, trying to scan it to try to figure out a way to get it to release him.  It took him a moment to realize that his ‘pad was detecting an unknown interface device.  A quick check confirmed it; the ‘pad was detecting the metal!

   As odd as it was, Miles decided that interfacing with the nanomachines was as good an idea as any.  He had his ‘pad connect to the interface device, and waited while it looked for valid options.  The screen suddenly flashed, and before Miles had a chance to react, the substance around his right paw started to pull him towards the vat!

   “No!  Not good!”  Miles pulled against it for a moment then tried to get his ‘pad to respond.  All he got was a blank, white screen, however.  He grunted as he pulled, but it was no use.  While it wasn’t fast, the “Grey Goo” was far too strong to allow him to get away.  Miles growled, but no matter how much he pulled, the Goo pulled harder.  He had just enough time for one final cry before he was finally pulled headfirst into the tank.

   Once it had his head, the goo pulled him quickly into it the rest of the way.  It was too thick for him to swim against, and he began to panic as he felt his lungs burning already, since he had not been able to hold his breath long beforehand.  He fought the urge to breathe; as he did, he tried not to think of how he was dying.  His company wouldn’t recognize his existence, and their competitors were unlikely to be kind in their disposal of his body.  More likely than not, no one would ever know what had happened to him.

   Despite this knowledge, it was only a matter of time before he was forced to try to breathe.  As soon as his mouth opened, the pseudo-metal tried to pour in, and it was too thick to even let him gag.  He waited for the darkness to take him, even as he felt the horrible, cold sensation of the metal overwhelming him.  There was a steady dull pain all around him, but he still didn’t black out.  Even as the pain became worse, he was still aware, still praying that death would take him quickly.

   Suddenly, he felt himself pulling free of the goo.  Desperation took over, and he tried to scramble in any direction that might lead him out of the vat.  The metal still clung tightly to him everywhere, and so he could not open his eyes to see what was happening.  He was still unable to breathe, but his paws finally did find the edge of the tank.  Not even considering how far he was above the ground, Miles pulled himself out, and felt the momentary weightlessness of falling before crashing to the ground.  He thanked whatever providence was overseeing this process that his senses were being dulled by the pressing metal cocoon about him.

   He could not concentrate enough anymore to move, and so he lay there, aware enough to know that he was somehow still alive, but not quite enough to realize that he had not taken a breath in nearly five minutes.  Somehow, his body continued to function, even as logic dictated that he should have suffocated.  As it turned out, logic was still dictating things, just not the way that anyone would have expected.

>.ERROR: REBOOTING TO SAVE DATA
>.ERROR: UNRECOGNIZED INTERFACE DEVICE
>.ALLOW (Y/N?)
>.Y
>.INTERFACE GREY.UNIVERSALCONTROLLER INTIALIZING
>….
>….
>….
>.INITIALIZED
>.INTERFACE IS REQUESTING FULL PRIVILEGES
>.ALLOW (Y/N)
>.Y
>….
>….
>….
>.INITIALIZING SYSTEM FUNCTIONS
>.OPTIC………..READY
>.AUDIO………READY
>.MOTORFUNC……..READY
>.RESPIRATE……..READY
>.NEURAL………READY
>.CAUTION: FIRST-TIME USER DETECTED
>.RECOMMEND AUTOMATED CONTROL
>.ALLOW (Y/N)
>.N

   “AHHHHHH!”

   All thoughts of his covert mission were suddenly lost as Miles suddenly regained the ability to move.  His vision was blurry, and his lungs felt as though they had been inactive for ages.  His brain was full of strange thoughts, symbols and messages running through it at a rate that made him dizzy.  He cried out several more times, throwing in some color for good measure, before finally sinking back on his back.  His brain was slowly catching up to speed, and as it did he suddenly realized that his thoughts seemed odd.

   He recognized suddenly that the rapidfire series of messages that had come to mind with no warning had been his own thoughts, and he remembered vaguely responding each time the strange phrases asked for a yes or no answer.  It had taken less than the time it would usually take him to blink an eye to process it all, and the fact that his mind had parsed it like an old text prompt just further assured him that something weird was going on.  He reached up to his head with one of his paws, only to stop and look at it in wonder.

   It was his paw, and yet it wasn’t.  What he saw looked like something out of a strange science fiction series.  It looked like a hand, but it was built out of metal, miniscule motors and servos acting in place of muscles and tissue, joints built in a mechanical approximation of a raccoon’s paw, the shining chrome-like color of the Goo replacing skin and fur.  It responded as he thought, fingers flicking one at a time back and forth, then all at once, making a fist, making a peace gesture…  Everything her tried to make his paw do, this strange construct did instead.

   He sat up slowly and looked himself over.  As he had suspected, the rest of his body was similarly altered.  Everything tht could have identified him readily was gone, even his clothing which was nowhere to be found.  Where ribs would have protected his vital organs now a pair of chest plates met in the middle, braced from within by several rib-like metal struts.  Without even realizing what he was doing, he was suddenly seeing through his chest, looking with eerie calm at the mechanical devices that had replaced what should have been there.  Another brief thought, and he again saw the outside of his body, plated wherever the extra protection was viable, and exposed at several more complex mechanical parts, especially complex joints.  All in all, he looked like a robot of some sort, a fact that caused him no end of confusion.

   Miles stood, footsteps eerily silent.  He realized that his paws were still padded, despite their other changed, and he instinctively used the stealth to his advantage.  He took a final stock of his body, stopping several moments to consider his tail, which was now made of a strange, flexible metal, plated in several sections to allow it to bend freely while still being protected.  As he took a step, his tail still instinctively kept him balanced.

   Altogether, although the change was odd, he somehow still felt at home in this body.  In a strange sense, it was still the same body he had been born with.  The meticulous detail that had been put into replicating every detail in this strange mechanical fashion was incredible, and his brain could interface with it as easily as it could control his old body.  If he only still had fur and clothing, he could probably fool anyone into thinking he was unchanged from before.

>.SYNTHETIC SKIN ACTIVATED

   As this strange message flashed through Miles’ mind, he found that his thought had apparently been recognized as a command by whatever structure now interfaced with his mind.  Strangely, rather than using some sort of projection to replicate his fur, he watched in fascination as the nanomachines replicated themselves around his body, forming into a skin over his metallic skeleton, and then growing a healthy coat of furry strands.  Miles knew that the strands were metallic, but he could not tell from looking at them.  They took on the perfect color tones to match his old fur, and before long everything about him looked as it had before.  Even his mask had returned to its familiar place around his eyes.  Only one thing was missing, and with a thought, Miles was able to recreate the clothing he had been wearing on this mission.  He stared dumbfounded as he ran a paw across the surface of the pseudo-cloth.  It moved and felt like material, even though the metal had somehow synthesized it from the nanomachines that created its structure.  He doubted that anyone would be able to tell that he had changed, no matter how well they knew him.

   That would serve him well enough.  No one needed to know what had happened here until he was certain himself.  Miles looked around the dark room, and was pleased to find that his eyes now allowed him to see nearly perfectly in the dark.  Flashlight forgotten, Miles started towards the exit.  HQ would be displeased that he had been unable to find anything, but they would get over it.  Perhaps once he knew what had happened to him, he would let them in on his secret.  Until then, he would let them believe that nothing was different.

22
Writer's Guild / The Princess and the Ass
« on: September 05, 2012, 10:58:14 AM »
        There was a small kingdom, ages ago and far away, that had been ruled
for years by its queen.  Her rule was strong, and under her watch the
country prospered for years, but behind all the apparent prosperity
were fearful whispers and widespread paranoia, for although the queen
had been a strong ruler, her rise to power left many asking how it was
that she was able to so quickly rise in station.

        She had married into the royal family after being raised in one of
the courts of the King’s own lords.  Her beauty and intelligence were
unmatched, and she had successfully captured the King’s eye with equal
shares of both.  After their marriage, both of them had ruled over the
kingdom, and although the prosperity of their people was not as so
widespread then as it was later, the people were happy.

        Then, in the course of a single night, everything changed.  The king
disappeared; not only was there no sign of foul play, but there was no
sign of him ever having exited his bed chambers after retiring behind
closed doors.  The strange affair was covered to some extent when the
queen furiously dismissed all of the guards that had watched the
chamber that night, but whispers still echoed about what might have
happened to the king that night.  Since no one else was in the room at
the time, those whispers often spoke of foul play by the queen, even
though none would speak openly of their suspicions.

        The unfortunate king left behind an infant daughter, and for the next
twenty years she was raised in the palace, attended hand and foot by
maids and footmen ready and willing to see to her every need.  While
the fairytales would like to hope that this method of childcare always
produces a prim and proper lady, the young princess instead turned out
to be quite the spoiled woman as she grew to adulthood.  Her servants
would often be dismissed from the palace, only to turn up soon
afterwards in a bar somewhere, telling horror stories of the
princess’s temper to anyone that would listen to their drunken babble.

        The princess was the princess, however, and no one could feel certain
that their critical remarks would not be heard by the royal family and
result in some sort of discipline, and so the populace stayed mostly
silent.  After all, they still had their good queen, and perhaps now
that the young princess had come of age, her mother’s influence would
finally be seen in her daughter’s life.

        Alas, it was as early as the princess’s twenty-first year that the
queen, although still quite young, took ill.  The doctors did not seem
to think anything of it at first, but as the queen steadily declined,
their diagnoses grew more and more outlandish, their treatments more
expensive, and the queen’s health more unstable.  In the end, despite
the attempts of the doctors to save her, she died after only a few
weeks of illness, leaving only her daughter to rule the kingdom.

        Her advisors told her that she should seek a good man to marry so
that her subjects could once more have a king.  She laughed; if her
mother had ruled alone for so many years, why was it that she could
not do the same?  And so, while the lords finally did convince her to
hold a ball in the palace to present her with the sons of the nearby
lords, she announced the day before the proceedings were to begin that
she was going to be spending all of the festivities in the winter
palace.  No one would openly speak of how much of any insult this was
to her lords, but everyone knew.  It was the middle of summer, and the
path to the winter palace at this time was almost a deathtrap.  Still,
the princess had spoken, and no one would attempt to move against her.

        The princess watched that day as her entourage of guards gathered the
supplies for their journey.  She would not think of lending a hand
herself, but it amused her to see more base people than herself
performing their duties.  She enjoyed power, which, at its most basic,
was the entire reason for her decision to leave during the ball.
Anything that forced the nobles to do as she said regardless of their
obvious distaste for it amused her.

        As she watched the hubbub, however, she noticed one young guard that
she constantly caught looking in her direction.  She had seen that
look in others before; he fancied himself in love with her, stricken
by cupid’s arrow somehow.  She chuckled quietly.  There were ways of
dealing with such unwanted distractions.  Her mother had showed her
how she had done it so many years ago, and so many others had fallen
into the trap that she was assured of its continued success.

        The next time she caught him looking in her direction, she signaled
for him to approach before he could act like he wasn’t looking at her.
 He looked somewhat awkward, but he approached her as his duty
demanded, bowing before her before standing at attention in her
presence.

        “Milady, is there something you require?” he asked.  His voice showed
that he had many years of experience speaking to people better than
himself, but he still showed more nervousness than a man in his
situation should.

        “Yes, sir knight.  I have noticed your glances towards me.  If I were
any other young lady, I would think that you fancied me.”  She made
sure to keep her voice positive as possible, trying to lure him into a
false sense of security.

        He took a moment to work up his nerve, but she could tell that she
had successfully drawn him into confessing his feelings even before he
spoke.  “Yes, milady.”  He hesitated again.  “My apologies, I know it
is not right for one of my station to seek the favor of one so exalted
as your highness.”

        “Think nothing of it, sir.  If anything, I am flattered.  Since we
have never spoken before, I can tell that it is my beauty that has won
you, and that speaks highly of my appearance.”  Her boast clearly
struck him as odd, but he said nothing.  “Well, sir, I personally have
no issue with a hard-working man such as yourself seeking my favor.  I
wonder, though, how far are you willing to go?”

        “Milady?”

        The princess drew from the seat beside her a satchel.  She kept it
with her at all times, and everyone in the palace had seen it at one
point or another.  Few, however, knew what was within the simple
pouch.  As the young man watched, however, she drew out a strong
leather halter.

        “When I was younger, my mother gave this to me as a gift.  She told
me that the man that would be my husband would be willing to wear this
halter as a symbol of his loyalty.”  She turned it over in her hands a
few times, smiling at the guard who was now clearly confused.  “This
halter is imbued with magic from an ancient land.  Any man who takes
this bit in his teeth will find himself changed into a common ass.
Only the man who is worthy of being my husband will be willing to
suffer this halter willingly for three days without complaint.”  She
held the implement up in front of him, offering it to him.

        “Milady?  I do not know if I understand.”

        The princess had to struggle to keep from yelling at him for being
the insolent fool that he was, but she was practiced in deceiving
people with honeyed words.  “It is a test of your true character,” she
explained.  “A man may be strong and chivalrous when he can stand tall
before others in his regalia; or in your case, in your armor.
However, a man shows his true colors when he is forced to walk on four
hooves as a beast of burden.  If he can show chivalry even in so harsh
a condition, then he is worthy of even the highest station of the
land.”

        The young man took the harness in his hands, feeling the leather
straps in his hands for a moment.  He was not sure what she meant.
Perhaps it was simply a test of his loyalty, to see if he was willing
to humiliate himself before his fellows for nothing more than the hope
of her favor.  He was uncertain that her claims of ancient magic were
true, but then he could not be certain that, in wearing the halter, he
would not find himself suddenly on four hooves.  While magic had not
been seen in the kingdom for years, tales of magic from old times
still colored the speech of many men, even those who sought to be
taken seriously.  He had to be certain that he was willing to be an
ass for three days before he risked it.

        The princess watched him with an innocent smile on her face, but
inside she was anticipating the man’s decision.  She knew he would
wear the halter for her, and when he did he would be sealing his fate.
 The story she had told him was partially true, in that the man would
have to wear the halter for three days.  What she had not told him,
however, was that the end of the third day would not mean that he
would be allowed to marry her.  It meant that he would no longer need
the halter to be a donkey, and his mind would be entirely replaced by
that of a common animal.

        Her anticipation proved correct in the next moment, as the young man,
slowly but surely, raised the straps to his face, arranging them
awkwardly about his human visage and then cautiously inserting the bit
between his teeth.  In a moment, where a young guard had been standing
a moment before, a strong, stocky donkey stood, his shaggy coat
shaking as he tried to come to terms with the sudden shift of
perspective.  Even if he wished to remove the halter now, his hooves
would not allow him to do so.

        No one nearby seemed to notice; it was an effect of the spell
surrounding the halter.  No one would notice that the donkey should
not have been there.  In fact, everyone would proceed as though he had
always been a donkey.  Four other times she had done this to a man,
and now four more jacks lived on various farms throughout the kingdom.

        She before long, the men had loaded her things onto the donkey’s
back, not even thinking that it was strange for the pack animal to
have come from nowhere.  As they prepared to begin their journey to
the winter palace, however, the donkey began to gently pull on the
packs of the man around him.  It took them a little while to realize
what he was doing, but when they understood, the men all laughed.
Soon, all of them had strapped their bags to the donkeys back.  It
never even so much as brayed in protest, and soon it was carrying a
truly ridiculous load towards the winter palace while the guards and
the princess road regal horses, not burdened in the slightest.

        For two days the procession continued in high spirits.  The princess
was amused by something, and so all of her guards were at ease around
her.  The donkey continued to plod along under its heavy burden,
offering no complaint despite carrying the heaviest load of any of the
animals.

        It never occurred to the princess that perhaps he was doing this to
show that he could be chivalrous as she had asked.  It didn’t occur to
her either that he was perhaps confused as the instincts of the ass
became more and more his own.  It only amused her that another man who
would have loved to seek her hand now walked on all fours and appeared
as nothing better than a common beast.  Before long, he would be
exactly as he appeared.

        The third day brought the party to a river crossing that signaled to
them that they were within a day of the winter palace.  The river
would usually be no more than a trickle in the winter months, but
spring had melted the snow and the current was far stronger than any
in the party had seen before.  The guards were discussing if they
should take extra time to ensure their safety, but the princess would
hear nothing of it.

        “Was this bridge not built by the Queen’s Own Engineers?” she asked,
gesturing to the wooden construct crossing the river.  “If so, then we
have nothing to fear.”

        The guards were clearly uncomfortable with the idea, but they were
not interested in defying their sovereign’s wishes.  They took a few
moments to prepare, but they were on the way across the river before
any of them were ready.

        The princess somehow ended up beside the pack donkey, and so she
could look across at him.  His eyes told the entire story; there was
confusion there, and the light of intelligence was fast fading.  He
acknowledged her in his own way, but as time went by he was finding it
ever harder to think.

        The bridge shook a bit as the company crossed.  Somehow, the princess
felt she was invincible.  Her guards were less convinced, and there
were many worried glances back and forth as the bridge swayed.  It
wasn’t until a crack, loud enough to be heard over the roar of the
water below, sounded out behind them that even the princess began to
feel uncomfortable.  By then, however, it was too late for her to
react.  The bridge pitched to the side as one of the supports was
ruined, and the princess, who had been so relaxed that she had not
even taken hold of her reins, found herself slipping over the railing,
with her fingers unable to find purchase even as she pitched over the
brink.  The water was at least mercifully deep and caught her, but
even though she caught a brief grip on a nearby rock, that purchase
was short lived.  As she was swept further downriver she cried out,
even as another, larger splash sounded behind her.

        She had been swept underneath the bridge when she suddenly landed
against something else.  She supposed it was a rock, but as she braced
against it and regained her footing, she could feel it heaving back
and forth.  Through blurred vision she could see that she had landed
against the side of the donkey that had, until a few days ago, been
one of her guards.  His eyes were rolling, showing their whites, but
he stood solid in the rushing torrent, giving her something to brace
against to keep her from being washed downriver.  He took a short step
forward, then another, and slowly but surely made his way towards a
cluster of rock on the far bank.  As they arrived, he stood still
while the princess climbed up onto the rocks.  She turned back to him
and tried to help him up, but as she gripped the reins attached to his
halter, she could feel how much he was trembling.  He still had the
weight of all of their luggage on his back, and he was struggling to
stay where he was.  Even as she tried to pull him back, she was forced
to watch in horror as his hooves slipped, and the current took him
downstream, out of her line of sight.

        She ran down the bank of the river after he disappeared, trying to
stay safe while at the same time desperately hoping that he was
somehow still alive.  Above her, unable to do anything, the guards
called out for her to wait as they tried to find a safe path down to
the river bank.  The princess didn’t mind them.  For the first time in
her life, she felt dread at the thought of losing someone.  She had
never met anyone who would risk themselves that much to save her, and
this man had done it, even as the instincts were changing his mind
slowly and steadily to a more feral form.

        She finally found him, with the packs that were tied to his back
tangled in the rocks, in water just barely shallow enough that he
could keep his head above water with some effort.  Unfortunately, it
was clear that the effort was already taxing him.

        The princess managed to work her way towards him across the rocks,
until she could finally reach him.  She had no way of removing the
packs from his back, but she knew how to release him.  She managed to
unlatch the halter from his muzzle and pulled it free.  It took a
great effort, but she managed to fight the current that tried to drag
him away once he slipped free of the binding ropes.  Another few
moments of effort, and she finally collapsed beside him on the far
shore.

        His eyes flicked a bit, but as he tried to speak, all that emerged
was a quiet braying sound.  The instincts were already very well
ingrained in his mind, and the princess could not be certain that he
would ever fully regain his human mind.  Somehow, it didn’t matter to
her anymore.  She had to get him to safety.

*       *       *

        The preparations had just finished at the winter palace when several
panicked guardsmen returned, crying for he servants to ready all
available horsemen to search for the princess.  She had been swept
down the river after the bridge had failed, only to be saved by the
pack animal that had jumped in after her like a loyal dog.  Since she
ran away down the river after the animal, however, no one had been
able to find her, and it sent the guards and servants alike into a
frenzy.

        Almost unnoticed amid the chaos, a weary jenny staggered up to the
palace gates, carrying a half-drowned guard on her back.  No one could
say if the jenny was the same creature that had been swept down the
river a day before; all anyone knew was that the guard had been
missing since before the princess had left on her way to her winter
abode.

        As the princess rested that night, she did so in the stables, head
held low as she considered what lay before her.  The only people who
could remove the halter from her were those that knew what she really
was, and the only person who she could count on for that was the guard
she had deceived.  Even if he recovered, it was likely he would not
come to her in time.  As she thought, however, she came to one
conclusion despite all the chaos in her thoughts.

        It was worth it.

        By the time the next day had passed, she had trouble concentrating,
and found herself chewing oats from the trough without a second
though.  By now, she had resigned herself to life as a common animal.
No matter; she deserved no better.  As she watched the rising moon,
however, she saw a silhouette in the doorway.  She recognized the
guard before he even stepped into the light.

        They stood opposite one another, the guard and the ass, sharing a
silent moment.  Finally, after what felt to her like an eternity, the
man stepped forward and brushed a lock of rough mane from between her
eyes.  He looked at her for a moment, and gave a smile.  He took the
straps in his hands and watched her for a moment.  After that moment,
however, he said three words that made her heart leap.

        “I forgive you.”

        And pulled the halter free.

23
Writer's Guild / The Chiropractor
« on: July 29, 2012, 07:06:54 PM »
   “Go to the chiropractor,” the doctor had told Jim.  That’s when he knew it was bad.  Never in the history of ever should a family doctor ever say that to one of his patients.  The rivalry between the two professions was legendary enough that even Jim, remaining purposefully as detached as possible from anyone in the medical profession, had heard of it.  Only now, with his back basically keeping him from doing anything, had he finally go for anything more than a five-minute checkup.

   The seeming contradiction in terms that this recommendation represented was finally enough to get Jim to follow his doctor’s instructions.  He knew nothing of chiropractors beyond what they were supposed to do to help their patients, so he flipped through the yellow pages until he finally came up with something.  He finally settled on a local place that the owner called “Back to Basics.”  It was close enough that Jim didn’t have to suffer through a long drive, and the schedule was open, so he decided to give it a shot.

   The sign was little more than the name of the business with the hours posted immediately below it.  It looked like the proprietor had put some money into it, but only in that it was backlit and presented in a solid, professional font.

   Jim entered, hobbling along in the way that seemed to hurt the least.  The woman at the desk looked at him as though she expected him to fall apart in front of her.  Fully realizing he would hear it, she picked up the phone and paged the good doctor.

   “Sir, I have a gentleman here who looks like he could use an adjustment five years ago.”

   And so Jim found himself in the office, with the thin, bearded man standing in front of him.

   “You look a bit young for a doctor,” was Jim’s first voice opinion.

   “Alternative medical school,” the man responded quickly.  He was already busy looking his patient over.  “And I’ll tell you right now that you’re going to need something more than regular chiropractice can provide.”

   Jim was reasonably certain that chiropractice was not the correct term, but again, he tried to stay as unknowledgeable able such things as possible.  “What am I going to need?”

   “About two weeks off work.  Can you swing that for me?”

   Jim made the call from the office.  The response was something along the lines of “Yes, please, get your back fixed before you kill somebody with that off-balance stagger of yours.”  Jim hung up and informed the doctor, who nodded and stretched himself out a bit.

   “All right.  I’m going to need to adjust your posture a bit first so I have something better to work with.  Once that’s out of the way, I’ll need to make several adjustments over the next two weeks to make sure that my work lasts.  You’ll need to stay close to the clinic, but I can arrange very cheap accommodations in the area.  All right, stand up.”

   Jim did as instructed, and the doctor wasted no time getting to work.  He almost violently grabbed Jim by the shoulders and pulled him down until he was standing with hand and feet both on the floor.  That was a feat in and of itself, especially since Jim’s gasping breaths came from surprise and not from pain.

   “What are you doing?” he demanded in exasperation, voice bouncing from octave to octave at a ridiculous rate.

   “Like I said, alternative school of medicine.”

   That was all the explanation Jim would get.  Just as he began to realize that his posture seemed far too comfortable in that awkward position, other things began to seem off.  Like how his fingers were shrinking into his hand and swelling into padded digits.  Or how those digits, as well as the rest of his arm, were beginning to grow far more hair than they should.  Or perhaps even that the hair was golden and far too long to be his own…

   The doctor began to press into his back at various points, until the arch that his stance should have had in such an odd position was completely eliminated.  In fact, his back seemed completely straight now, which only seemed possible if he had somehow lost some vertebrae.  Just as he ventured to think about this oddity, the missing vertebrae seemed to return all at once, but they were now at the end of his spine, rather than where they were supposed to be.  The new limb began to wave back and forth before he even realized what it was, and by the time he ventured a look it was a full and very furry tail.

   By the time his face began to push out into a muzzle, with his nose turning black at its end, Jim finally had an idea of what was happening.  He panted, long tongue hanging out in front of him as his clothing, now hanging loosely around him, began to make him a bit hotter than he would have liked.  He tried to say something, but his vocal cords were already better adjusted to barking than to speaking, so that is what he did.

   “Four paws is a naturally more stable stance, you see,” the doctor explained.  “I’ll keep you like this for two weeks; during that time I’ll be able to check if there are any complicating factors that will cause your back’s alignment to come apart when you get back to two legs.  I’ll have some footwear recommendations for you then but, for the sake of the present, I’ll be switching out your mind with one more appropriate for your current species.  I’d ask you for any questions or concerns, but you wouldn’t be able to tell me anyway.  You’ll be staying in a nearby kennel.  Don’t worry, that’s run by an old friend of mine who knows a bit about alternative methods of business himself.  He’ll take care of you, and it’s pretty cheap.”

   Jim cocked his head as the doctor continued to rattle on, but he barked an affirmation to the doctor once the young man had finished.  The doctor apparently understood what he meant, and he snapped his fingers dramatically to finish off the change.

   As Jim’s intelligence grew slightly, he had one last human thought through his mind.  “My back has never felt better!”

24
Writer's Guild / Chim Chim-i-ney Sweep
« on: July 29, 2012, 07:05:19 PM »
Going to try posting a few of my more recent works here this afternoon.  Been posting these to the TSA list for a while, so that's why they haven't shown up here for a while.

_____________


   Roger was a chimney sweep.  It wasn’t by choice; there simply weren’t any jobs available that he could find.  Living as he did behind a large community of far richer neighbors, he had been able to take on the task of sweeping their chimneys.  There was work for him all year; chimney sweeping had become one of those fads among the richer populous, where even those who didn’t need the service would pay for it simply to show off the fact that they could afford it.  The general upshot of it all was that he had work, even in the summers when there was no good reason to use a fireplace anyway.

   Since it was winter, Roger didn’t have to worry about finding all of the little things he could do in order to stretch out his available work time at each house.  What it did mean was that he did his best to stay indoors at all times.  Since he was independent, he had to keep his prices low so that people would hire him, and that, combined with fewer sweeps available to him, meant that he had not been able to prepare for winter around the additional costs of keeping his apartment paid for and warmed.

   Ice was cracking with each step as he carried his supplies down the road.  Professionals had vans for their supplies; he just had to sling them over his shoulder and hope for the best.  He sighed, adjusting one of his earphones as it threatened to slip out.  That he had an MP3 player and working headphones was more testament to the fact that he still had friends than to him having money to spend.  That his favorite song on the music player was “Chim Chim Cher-ee” from Mary Poppins was simply testimony to the survival of his sense of humor.

   He often sang along with the music when he was alone, and that was the situation he found himself in at this point, walking briskly to keep some warmth in his bones.  He contemplated as he sang along quietly.  He certainly felt lucky to have a job at all, but he was hardly as lucky as could be.  If he were that lucky, he would have a nice house, warmer clothes, no bills to pay off…

   Roger sighed.  Thoughts like that were poison to him.  He was grateful just to have a job, but sometimes it was just hard to truly feel lucky when he worked most of his waking hours just to earn enough money to keep the creditors away.

   “Sweepin’s not as lucky as it’s cut out to be, chum?”

   Roger glanced to the side and saw a man that looked like he could have been straight out of Mary Poppins.  Black hair was tangled in a massive heap atop his head, and he ran blackened fingers through the already-greasy mass, which only added to the original problem.  All visible skin was black with soot, which produced the comical effect of making his teeth stand out almost unnaturally against his face.  He carried all the tools for the trade, several years too old as were Roger’s own, but his carefree smile set him apart from the younger man.

   “It’s lucky enough.”  Roger wasn’t certain what had tipped the man off to his inner ponderings, but he supposed that he might have noticed when Roger tripped slightly on the lines about being lucky.  “I’m lucky just to have this job, truth be told.”

   “Ah, but a sweep is as lucky as lucky can be, am I right?  And you’re certainly not that lucky right now.  If you were, nothing could keep you down, no bills, no cold; you’d be bouncing about, having a lark with life!”

   The man’s enthusiasm was infectious, and Roger found that he was beginning to smile with the man.  “That’s true,” he admitted.  “Still, there’s not much I can do to get luckier here.  I just do my job, hope that somebody passes an extra twenty my way.”

   “Well, you can think that, but there are ways of improving your luck.”  The man’s smile widened; oddly, where Roger would usually feel uncomfortable with a stranger speaking so freely with him, this man made him feel comfortable.

   “Well, if there’s a way to get better luck I wouldn’t mind trying it out,” Roger said.  “I haven’t found it yet, though.”

   “Ah, you haven’t been looking hard enough then!  There’s horse shoes, four-leaf clovers…”  He paused and grinned broadly.  “Rabbit’s feet?”

   As he made the last suggestion, he gestured in Roger’s direction.  He suddenly felt a pinching pressure on his toes inside his right shoe.  He stumbled back a little bit, and as he watched with wide eyes, the shoe came apart at the seams, padding and leather alike tearing free as, impossibly, the clawed toes of a rabbit emerged from within his shoe!  He stumbled again as the same pain struck his left foot, and soon he was standing on a pair of matching, white-furred paws rather than his feet!

   Roger would have tried to demand an explanation from the mysterious stranger, except for the fact that he felt pins and needles running up his legs from his feet.  It started slowly, but after a few moments it was spreading like wildfire.  Even had Roger been brave enough to investigate, he would not have been quick enough to see anything before it reached his arms and his neck at the same time.  He watched his hands as they were covered in white fur in a matter of seconds, astonished as soft pads grew on his palms and short white claws poked out from his fingertips.  He was still staring at his altered hands when one of his ears, lengthening quickly as it was coating in light gray fur, bobbed down and dipped into Roger’s field of vision.  He didn’t even realize what it was until he grabbed it in one of his altered hands.  He flinched, then chuckled a little bit, sending his new whiskers bobbing.

   He explored the changed to his face briefly, poking and prodding gently as he was no longer certain of where everything was.  He found his nose a little further away than usual, and now mostly covered in fur.  He followed his now-cleft lip and found that his mouth had changed a good bit, including a pair of larger teeth.  He chuckled again, marveling at the novelty of the change.

   Looking down, he could see that his clothing was bigger on him than it had been before, but that was also quickly changed as everything adjusted to his new form.  This oddly included his ruined shoes, which changed to strips of cloth that tied about the unpadded portions of his new paws.  The clothing was no thicker than before, but the additional insulation provided by his fur made his feel quite cozy even in the cold of winter.

   Roger looked back at the stranger, who was still smiling brightly at him.  “There!” the man said before Roger could say a thing.  “Now you’re walking on two perfectly good lucky paws!  A sweep is as lucky as lucky can be, and there’s not a sweep out there that could be luckier than a chimney-sweeping rabbit!”

   Roger stood there for a few moments, trying to think of anything to say.  He felt almost giddy, and bursting with energy.  And, come to think of it, he did feel lucky.  Even his earphones had found a way to adjust to his change, and he laughed outright as he started the music up again.  He sang along with Dick van Dyke, not caring whether anyone else heard.  Since his only company was his fellow sweep, he needn’t have worried.

Chim chim-in-ey, chim chim-in-ey
Chim chim cher-ee!
A sweep is as lucky, as lucky can be
Chim chim-in-ey, chim chim-in-ey
Chim chim cher-oo!
Good luck will rub off when I shakes 'ands with you…

   As he sang these lines he hopped up to the other man and offered a handshake, which was readily accepted.  Apparently the lyrics were accurate; as the two shook hands, the still-human sweep’s hand began to alter, growing white fur (though choked with black still) and claws.  By the time the two of them hopped off, still merrily singing the chorus, both of them were hopping about on a pair of good luck charms.

   They had to part ways to get to their next destinations, but Roger still felt quite happy.  He bounced quite literally up the stairs to the house and knocked energetically on the door, appropriately to the beat of the music.  A tall man dressed in far better clothing than Roger owned stood on the other side, eyes growing wide as he looked down to find the interloper.

   “Sweep your chim chim-i-neys, gov’ner?”

25
Random Topics / Anthrocon
« on: June 05, 2012, 09:21:27 PM »
I'm headed up to Pittsburgh on Saturday in anticipation of AC, and since I'll be up there during the convention, I wanted to know if anyone here would be present, and if so, if there is a way to pick you out.

I'd post something that you could use to recognize me, but I don't really have a visible trademark.  I'll be wearing my tail that I bought last year, but around a fur convention that isn't exactly a unique thing.  If I think of something later, I'll probably post it up here.  I need to find a PR flag bandana somewhere; then I'll look far more like my avatar.

26
Writer's Guild / Thinking of offering story commissions...
« on: May 15, 2012, 05:56:33 PM »
I wanted to see if anyone would be interested in commissioning a story from me.  I'm going to AC, and I'm hoping to have a little bit of spending money.  To that end I was considering this offer, but I wanted to know if there would be any takers if I would offer commissions?  Also, if you're interested, what prices would you suggest?

If I get a decent response I'll actually officially open this up, but I wanted to checked for interest first.

27
Writer's Guild / Stable Boy
« on: April 27, 2012, 02:16:07 PM »
This is just a short little story I wrote last night.

____________

The stable boy had never intended to offend anyone that day.  In fact, despite having the rise early to fulfill his daily responsibilities, he was having a reasonably good day.  Whistling a merry tune, he was just now setting to cleaning out the stables.  Other helpers would be dealing with the other responsibilities for right now, and that left him in charge of the stables.

What occupants the stalls had were all asleep for the moment, taking a few more minutes worth of rest before they would have to wake fully.  That suited the stable boy fine.  He loved horses, but he also enjoyed his short time alone in the early mornings.

It was not until he heard something buzzing about his ear that there was even a hint of annoyance.  Still, he shrugged it off and the buzzing left after only a short moment.  Unfortunately, it came back again, more aggressive now.  He sighed and gently brushed his hand by his cheek, trying to remove his unwanted visitor.  The third time he was significantly less subtle about it.  He swung his hand towards the sound with a muttered word of exasperation.  He hit something, and was finally satisfied that his problem had been dealt with.

Suddenly, a strange blue aura began to grow about him.  He blinked in surprise, dropping the thick straw broom that he had been using to clear the stable floor.  He hadn't meant to drop it; his fingers simply refused to hold it anymore.  Before he could divine the reason, however, he seemed to launch up further into the air, the beneficiary of a sudden and quite unexpected spurt of growth.

By now he was completely certain that he had run afoul of some sort of evil witchery.  His thoughts were only confirmed further when his chest was thrust out into a barreled shape, snapping the straps on his overalls and causing them to collapse to the ground beneath him.  This was not a moment too soon, as the rest of his body followed his chest in expanding, growing larger and thicker, even as his remaining clothing burst and fell about him in a disorganized heap.  He might have taken more care for his nudity if his arms had not chosen that moment to refuse to move as expected.  Instead of the flexibility he had grown to expect from his arms, he could only hold them out in front of him, hands falling lower than he had expected, but not nearly far enough to cover him. He had more problems than his present nudity, however.  It seemed that his elbows had reversed, and now more resembled knees in appearance and function.

He had hardly begun to consider this when he felt an itch from behind.  Before he could give it a second thought, he gave his long brown tail a flick in the direction of the itch and met with the realization that he had somehow come by a tail in the last few moments.  The itching continued however, growing more expansive as it seemed to cover him completely.  As his body itched, his skin darkened and thickened, now thick hide rather than soft human skin.  A piebald coat of fur, colored brown and white, suddenly and quickly overtook his new hide.

He turned to look at himself, and his neck stretched out to accommodate this action, growing long hair along its length in a mane as he turned.  Just as he caught sight of his hands, now very quickly being absorbed by the black mass of his forehooves, his face pushed out in front of him.  Eyes fled to the sides of his head, even as his ears raised up into points and took their posts on either side of his mane.

The stable boy blinked, looking himself over as he realized that he now more readily resembled the other occupants of the stables than his fellows in the bunkhouse.  The next moment he dropped to his four hooves, hips refusing to hold him upright for any length of time anymore.  He snorted and gave an indignant whinny, just as his eyes crossed, staring straight at a glowing blue speck that now sat on his muzzle.

"What's this lark, then?" the thing said, giving a flick of its iridescent blue wings.  The stable boy recognized the buzzing sounds they gave immediately.  "It's been ages since the last joker gave me reason tae be angry wit 'im," the creature drawled in a thick, and likely fake, Scottish accent.

The stable boy tried to apologize, and was surprised to hear his voice, deeper though it might have been, coming from the horse's body.  "I'm quite sorry, sir!  I did not see you, and the buzzing of your wings simply made me think you were a horsefly.  I had no idea that you were one of the fae folk!"

"Hah!  Grand fool this one thinks I am!  Change ye back and ye'd be off tae sick yer fellows on me and mine.  Nae, yer lot shall be in the stables with yer hoofmates till the punishment run its course.  Say, till the comin' of spring."

The stable boy snorted in surprise.  "I can't be a horse for half a year!" he cried, his voice carrying a desperate whicker.

"Can ye not?  As I see it, ye already are a fine piece of horseflesh for the present, and I am under no obligation to change ye back at all!"  He emphasized this with a lash of magic towards the top of the horse's head.  For a moment, the horse's eyes, which had been showing their whites in panic since the end of the change, grew calmer.  Behind them, the mind of the boy relented, giving control to the horse whose mind had been awakened by the magic bolt.  A moment passed before the boy regained some control, but the horse's mind remained there, alongside his own instead of behind it.

As he spoke, he could not longer separate human language from the tongue of horses.  His voice faded from words to neighs, his mind too heavily affected for him to realize the difference.  The fae still understood his plea, though: "Please, give me another chance!"

"Aye!  Ye already have been given that chance.  Ye shall live here as a denizen of these fine stables until the first bud of the coming spring.  On that day ye shall again be human, and yer second chance shall begin.  Should ye then harm me or another fae, however, yer lot shall remain forever in the stables, and never again as their keeper."

The fae stopped him as he started to protest, rising from his muzzle with a quick wing flap.  "Yer punishment is begun!  There is nothing further to say."  And with that the stable boy forgot human speech and watched as the creature flew away.

*

The piebald stallion had appeared from nowhere one day, but he had soon become the master's favorite.  No one remembered the old stable boy who had once worked there.  Regardless, the stallion did, even as thoughts of that man faded until they seemed memories of another person entirely.

And then one day, he again stood on two feet, a little unsteadily, even as his oddly colored beard withdrew into his clean shaven face.  He looked at the fae flying before him, even as his human mind returned in full.

"Well lad, have ye learned yer lesson?"

The stable boy looked at himself, smiling as he saw his body again, fingers, hands...  He looked at the fae and nodded.

"Aye, I've learned my lesson."

And he slapped the fae out of the air.

*

No one knew where the piebald mare had come from, and no one seemed to notice the stallion which had gone missing.  In the remaining human portion of her mind, however, the mare had one constant thought.

"It was worth it."

28
Art Gallery / A Virmir made from Bamboo!
« on: October 14, 2011, 07:46:49 PM »
Or rather drawn on one.

So I got my Wacom Bamboo pen tablet today, and carried thru with my stated intention of drawing Virmir first.  Here it is, questions and comments appreciated!


29
Art Gallery / The best of both worlds
« on: August 01, 2011, 10:51:47 PM »
I like Vir's art, and I personally like his taur and flying fox forms the best.  I was in a drawing mode this evening, so I decided to try to combine them, and this is the final result:



 [:P

30
Writer's Guild / Squeaky Tail
« on: June 27, 2011, 06:35:08 PM »
Here's a little story that also functions as a bit of a report on what I did at AC this year.  I took some artistic liberties with the telling, but I'll leave it up to you to figure out what happened, and what is embellishment.

_____________

This is a story about me, and what it was that broke me out of the shell in which I used to hide.  You see, there was a time when I wouldn't dare mention the concept of being furry to anyone outside of the fandom.  Now the only reason I would avoid mentioning it is because it isn't immediately important.  What happened, exactly, and when exactly did this change take place?

It was my second time at Anthrocon, and after my first year's experience, I wanted to get things moving right from the start.  I didn't have too much memorabilia from my first year, so I didn't look much like a furry on my first day.  Determined to change this, I went hunting for a tail to match my fursona on the first day.

I was disappointed for the first day.  Between the ubiquitous fox tails, competing cat tails, and numerous rainbow-colored tails of all descriptions, I had no success in my search for a wolf tail that matched my style.

The second day started much the same; I searched throughout the Dealer's Den for someone who was selling the kind of tail I wanted.  Finally, I found a new table that had opened sometime during the day.  Their tails were significantly more varied than those that were being sold elsewhere, and one of the tails was the perfect color for me.  It was long and fluffy, a light brown on top with a white bottom.

"How much is that tail?" I asked the dealer, pointing to the one I had spotted.

He gave me the price and took it down from the rack so I could see it closer.  "This is one of our better tails," he told me.  "And all of our tails squeak when you squeeze them." He demonstrated, then handed me the tail so I could look it over.

Now, I have no problem with furs who go around with squeaking tails, noses, or even entire suits, but it wasn't exactly my style, as I tend to be just a bit more restrained.  Still, the tail was perfect, and there was no outward indication that it would squeak, so I decided to purchase it.  Before long, I was walking about the convention center, wearing my tail proudly.

The fact that it squeaked was rapidly forgotten as I managed to learn how to work with it rather quickly.  Sitting was an interesting exercise, but certainly did not cause too many complications.  At any rate, wearing the tail was a bit of novelty, and I was enjoying every minute of it.  All the while, no one who saw me wearing the tail suspected it of being anything more than a cool looking tail.  I was quite pleased with it, and never thought twice about wearing it to the con on the third day.

It wasn't until I went to lunch that anything noteworthy happened.  I was standing in line to order my lunch, when I felt a tug from behind and heard a squeak from my tail.  I turned to see a border collie fursuiter behind me, acting embarrassed as he hid his face behind large, cartoony paws.  I grinned.  While I had not intended for anyone to find out about it, I wasn't about to spoil the fun.  I tapped him on the shoulder, causing him to peek between his fingers at me.  I held my arms wide, and he gave me a hug with little hesitation.  My grin remained in place all the way through the line, and I waved to the suiter as I took my food to my table.

As I sat down, I easily move my tail out of the way without even using my hands.  I was starting to get used to having a tail, and was feeling quite accomplished for it.  As I considered this, I felt my tail swinging back and forth.  I looked back, expecting to see another fur batting at it, but was surprised to see it moving of its own accord.  I jumped up, forgetting my food, and walked quickly to the restroom.  I found it empty, and so stood in front of the mirror, turning awkwardly so I could see my tail.

The first thing I noticed was that, not only did it still effectively obscure the place where it was strapped to my belt, but the way it sat now made it definite that it could not possibly be attached in that manner.  Perhaps it could have been cleverly attached to my jeans, but the fact that it flicked back and forth in response to my thoughts destroyed that idea entirely.  It couldn't be; my tail was now a part of me!

It did not take me long to realize that, although it reacted as though it was real, it was still clearly a fake tail.  While it had been designed well, it was, perhaps, a bit too perfect to be real, and the fur fibers were still just clever imitations.  I gave it a tentative squeeze, and felt a tug at my back, but no sensation from the tail itself.  The squeeze also activated the squeaker, and it sounded again, confirming once and for all that it was fake.

As I squeezed, though, I felt a strange warmth around my feet.  Looking down, I saw a pair of large, cartoony paws instead of my walking shoes.  I lifted each of them, and found as I set them down that I felt again that they were just imitations, with some muffled sensation coming from my real feet.  Still, their sudden appearance tipped me off to the cause of the changes.  I grabbed my tail, looked in the mirror, and squeezed again.

As the squeak sounded in my ears, the touch of my tail's fur became muffled, and I saw a pair of paw gloves appear from nowhere on my hands.  They had only four digits, but my hands fit them perfectly, almost as though my real hands now only possessed four fingers.  I waved to myself, and saw the pads on the gloves, designed to my own preferences.

Shock had given away to happiness and curiosity.  I gave my tail another squeeze, and the body of my suit appeared from nowhere, suddenly taking the place of my regular clothing.  It was designed to match my fursona, with perhaps a bit more of a cartoony appearance than I usually envisioned, but that consideration was hardly an issue with me.  I wanted to see the full effect, so I gave my tail several more squeezes in quick succession.  Instantaneously, a fursuit head had replaced my own in the mirror.  I looked and felt like I was wearing a high-quality cartoon wolf fursuit, except my vision was unhindered, and I didn't feel an uncomfortable amount of heat.  I tried to say something, but covered my mouth with large paws when I heard a familiar squeaking noise.  Instead of speaking, it sounded as though I had squeezed my tail again, except this came from the mouth of the suit.

It took me a moment to realize that I had expressed my shock in a manner very similar to many fursuiters, by pantomiming a gasp into my paws.  Rather than feeling any more shock or surprise, however, I let loose a few quick, squeaking laughs, still accompanying them with a natural pantomime.

I felt great!  Being at Anthrocon had already been a great experience, but this was altogether different, an even fuller feeling of happiness than I had ever felt before.  I felt much more free, almost as if my change had gotten rid of my usual calm stoicism and replaced it with an almost giddy excitement.  I wanted to share this with someone somehow; even if they could not experience the same change, I wanted to share how much I enjoyed it.

I came out of the restroom, waving to everyone that I passed.  My food was left on the table as I made my way back to the convention center.  Partway there, I ran into a familiar suiter, the same who had squeezed my tail to begin with.  I offered him another hug, and he again obliged without hesitation.  As we stepped back from it, he grabbed his own tail and squeezed it.  As it gave a familiar sort of squeak, he pointed to me. I knew what he meant; he had changed the same way, and wanted to know if I had done the same.  I nodded enthusiastically, and he gave his own squeaky laugh.

The two of us spent much of the rest of the con hanging out together, letting people take our pictures, offering free hugs, and generally doing things I never would have been willing to do before I changed.  It was as though the suit that I now occupied had also changed my personality to be more happy-go-lucky. It was no dramatic mental change, no animal mind replacing my human one, and nothing that I would have resisted given the chance.  I simply felt more free, more alive, than I ever had felt before.  The things I was now willing to do were nothing more than the things I wished I could bring myself to do before, but had been too withdrawn to try.

The last two days of the con passed in a blur.  Late the first evening, I discovered that squeezing the tail reverted my form back to normal at will, and just as easily changed me into my fully suited form.  The knowledge of how to change back was helpful, but rarely used.  Only when I slept and at the end of the con did I change back.  Just before I left, I exchanged email addresses with my border collie friend, and we both agreed that we had to do it again as soon as possible.

The day after the con, I stood outside of my gate at the airport, waiting for my flight to leave.  Exhilaration and happiness had given way to exhaustion and regret for the end of a great con.  I had two more hours to wait, and everyone around me looked as exhausted as I felt.  I sighed, thinking of ways I could brighten everyone's day, but was still too shy to do anything myself.

A now-familiar tug from behind caused me to turn around and look at the young girl who had curiously pulled on my tail.  She couldn't have been more than three years old, and her bright, curious eyes seemed to carry a certainty that my tail was real.

Instead of releasing it as I turned around, the girl hesitated a moment, before giving it another firm tug.  This one was strong enough to squeak it, and I felt the sensation of change once more as my body was overtaken by the fantastic costume.

The girl stepped away, wide-eyed as I changed, but no one else noticed me until the change was finished.  I squeaked a laugh, and knelt down with my arms held wide for the girl.  She hesitated only a moment, then jumped into the hug with a happy giggle.

Two hours seemed like far too short a time now as I went about the gate area, doing what I could to entertain my fellow travelers.  By the time the gate had opened for boarding, I had gathered quite a following of children, none of whom could get enough of my antics.  As I reverted to my normal form, no one seemed to notice anything wrong with the sudden change, although everyone knew I had been the man in the suit.  Several parents thanked me for keeping their rowdy children busy, and even though some grumbled about me being too odd for their liking, I couldn't have been happier.

As far as I'm concerned, if I'm odd, then the problem with the world today is that it isn't odd enough.

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