Of course at this point returning to the eating contest was out of the question. The authorities were arriving and the patrons were leaving when they could, and none of the staff seemed keen on returning to the kitchen.
This was a shame, as my overstuffed gut had been burning through its intake and was rumbling hungrily again.
Well, it was Chinese food, after all.
Of course, you don’t just enter into this inner sanctum; the correct method is to go into any of several buildings on the same street where one might be expected to do extended business in private—a lawyer’s office, a bordello—and pass through, by back alley or connected basement, to the place of the meeting.
Apr 5
Tags: furry, inflatable, Scott, Sextus, tigers, tigertaurs, Toby, transformation, weird, WIP, writing
The confused thoughts of the human getting used to his new situation bounced around in my head as I went around the room, trying not to stumble as I got used to walking on four feet.
Once I thought I had it down, I went back to my workbench, looking through the other potions I kept handy.
What, this isn’t enough for you? Toby thought.
What point is there in ever stopping? I grabbed a viscous pink potion from the shelf, unstoppered it, and drank it down.
Gah, that tastes like rubber! came Toby’s thought, after a few moments.
So will we.
The change started working from the inside out, the only initial signs being a feeling of extreme lightness—an effect of the dissolution of the fat and internal organs—then a feeling of flexibility as the same happened to the bones, and a feeling of weakness as the muscles, too, evaporate into thin air, leaving the body a hollow shell, though perhaps still a bit solid to the touch, due to being filled with air.
Once all that prep work is out of the way, the visible changes begin—the potion starts working through the vacated hide and changing its substance, from ordinary flesh and fur into a specific rubberlatex designed for resilient springiness, sturdy unbreakability, and an appealing fresh scent, which took quite a lot of time to get just right.
Ars est celare artem, though, and I could feel Toby’s thoughts, taking the workmanship for granted and entirely focusing on the sensation of being turned into the hindquarters of a balloonish tigertaur.
I’ll have to teach that boy some appreciation for the art.
I tried to work out different solutions with Aiol, but there was really nothing else we could do without a continuous divine intervention, and far be it from me to demand so much of Aiol’s attention—he was the god of the power of wind, not the god of the rail…road.
“The god of roads, of travelers, what about him? Where is Erma, and would he be able to help?â€
“Erma is god of many things,†Aiol said. “I had his blessing when we began to build the roads but I did not seek to burden him by asking for his patronage as well. But I suppose we must ask for him to involve himself.â€Â He sighed, a concession to defeat that in no way diminished his divinity in my eyes. “Roads and travelers, messengers and communication, trade and commerce—All of it under his purview, not mine, though my rails are for all of them. He has been set up at Logodon in Gallie; I should go speak to him…â€
There was a rush of wind, and the god was gone, leaving me alone. Gallie was three thousand miles away; the rails did not travel all the way there yet—the Galliks were friendly with Karkedon—so I knew I could not follow; at the god’s speed, it would take him a little over a day to make the journey, one way.
So I had two and a half days to myself. I refused to be helpless in the absence of the divinity, as so many were, as so many weren’t—but my capabilities might be diminished. The god’s presence energized us all, and his absence was always palpable.
Mar 1
Tags: alligators, Destiny, Kohath, Maro, Nother, tigers, WIP, wolves, writing
Maro’s family didn’t normally get much in the way of visitors, so today was a special day, one of the kits having caught sight of the long, low canoe approaching the island.
Sometimes, they said, there would be many who arrived, to offer their trade and services, but today it was only a rather short alligator.
Though he wore a sort of beige robe that went down to his knees, he didn’t seem to be perturbed by my hosts’ nakedness as we greeted him on the shore.
“This is our man of justice,†Maro said. The alligator raised a hand in greeting. “And this is K’haiso, a traveler who has come to us.â€
The alligator lowered his hand. “A traveler from far off, it seems. You are not of any of the people of our islands. How did you come to Narya unregistered?â€
That I was an alien on this world, I had guessed; that I might be an illegal one, I had not considered. And of course the ‘man of justice’ would be concerned with this. “I didn’t—I came here unknowing, and I didn’t see how I came. Is it wrong for me to be here?â€
The gator registered surprise as I started speaking. He grabbed my arm even before I’d done speaking and pulled me away from the others, waving Maro back.
Everyone I meet who keeps it secret, I ask them why. The reasons are always the same—fear of losing something, or more specifically losing someone. Family, friends, church, one’s job—those are the big ones.
And I don’t really understand any of those. Either people will understand—which you would expect at least from true family and friends—or they won’t, and reject you—but if they would reject you if they knew, how would not telling them help? At best it is a sustained lie of omission;—at worst it’s a sheep in wolf’s clothing, living among the pack, praying every day the disguise doesn’t fall off—you don’t need a life like that.
Those discussions usually end in fights, especially when I say hiding just legitimizes the idea that it’s something that has to be hidden, in their eyes.
And yes, I know it’s hypocritical—they’re human, I’m not, and they don’t know it and I can’t tell them. But it’s not because I’m afraid of losing them—I’m not even afraid of being hurt, as I know some are.
I don’t even know what it is, really. I guess I’m just a liar.
And sometimes they ask me—if they’re still talking to me after the first blowup—what my reason is.
I’m not concerned about my family; I can’t imagine them pushing me away. And friends, well… nothing to lose there, really. The job is certainly not an issue; as an actor, the stereotype half expects it.
And I’ve made my peace with God.
What gets me, I guess, is that I don’t feel sure. If I knew it, knew it for certain, I wouldn’t have any problem saying so—but I don’t know it, I don’t feel it deep down, I still have that part of me that wonders deep down if just maybe I haven’t met the right kind of person yet, maybe I could still end up choosing differently.
And that’s why I don’t tell people—not because I’d rather live a lie, but more because I’m afraid coming out might be one. The world around me would change, and I don’t think that I’d be able to change it back if I needed to.
So they’re afraid of losing others, and I’m afraid of losing myself.
Of course, they’re farther along than I am at this point; they’ve already worked through their denial phase, or so they tell me.
I try to imagine my future; either way frightens me.
And so the ones that stuck around after the fight give up here, and tell me I’m not ready.
And I’m left alone in my bed as always.
When I woke again, it was quiet in my head. I knew I hadn’t imagined it—I could still feel myself listening. There was just nothing to hear. Toby’s bed, at least, was empty; I didn’t know where everyone else might be.
I sat up in bed. Maybe I could find out?
I tried listening harder—
I started hearing what sounded like patches of white noise. I couldn’t really tell what that meant or how far away they might be. I figured I’d have to learn a lot about this ability.
Normal demihumans—at least, so I’m told—can generally reach somewhere around a mile’s radius telepathically, though at that distance it’s kind of like shouting and hearing far-off shouts. The comfortable range is rather smaller; communicating with your neighbors next door wouldn’t be a problem, assuming you were fortunate enough to have neighbors who were demihumans like yourself.
How far was I reaching? I had no reference point, and I could see I was flying blind. I got out of bed, got dressed, and thought about where to find people—the house seemed empty.
…of course, that was ridiculous, the house was never really empty. The body of a forty-foot giant was always in the basement. And I hadn’t reached him when I’d tried, so either I had no decent range or I was doing something wrong.
I ran down to the basement, sneaking in quietly so as not to disturb Toby’s poor body, and I listened.
What I heard was unmistakably the giant’s mind, a mixture of the large body’s dreams—they break my heart, even now—and the link coming in from his projected body.
I listened harder and I could see Toby’s viewpoint, walking through the supermarket with Rouss. But I knew that was his telepathy, not mine.
I focused on the giant’s mind and took a few steps back. I held the focus, and went upstairs and outside, still hearing it—and I kept going.
I took up most of the bench in the hallway as I sat studying, waiting for class to start—or at least, for the previous one to end.
Alithia sat next to me, deeper in the chemistry book than I was getting. Nobody else was waiting, though plenty of people were passing back and forth.
Just her being there made it hard enough to study, regardless of how badly the textbook explained valency.
Long brown hair over her shoulders, feet bare—sandals stowed in her satchel—comfortably rather than fashionably dressed—she takes life so naturally, the way she wants, and the world warps to fit her—in a way it never would for me.
I put the book down.
People started pouring out of the classroom. When the doorway had cleared, I nudged Alithia’s shoulder and got up to squeeze my way into the classroom, into one of the tiny chairs.
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