FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

[Author's Note]:Although this is its own chapter, it pretty much links straight up with Chapter 4. Further character development and mystery. Don't worry, important plot event stuff (and some other, more fun stuff) is coming up soon, I promise. Just bear with me, we can make it through this :P

Chapter 5: Metamorphosis

Even I was shocked at just how light my fur was after being properly washed and groomed. Although it wasn't a secret that my blonde fur was so disgustingly pale, even through the grime and dirt that had accumulated and never been properly rinsed away, the brightness of my coat was absurd.

I had been at the Telequinn estate for over a month. In that time a lot had been demanded of me. The very first thing I learned was that I was not the first of Master Vayren's so-called 'Child Guardians.' He had two before me, both far darker and more honourable than me. But the first had been chosen for him from another DC and Vayren had never liked him. The second was from a family of good breeding but whom had fallen on hard times. He had been caught stealing and been thrown out, his family name dishonoured. I had also been taught very quickly to respect the Telequinn. They were not just any rick or noble family, but the richest and noblest on all of Ferros II and Lord Telequinn had seat of the council of nobles that governed this independent world. Often Lord Telequinn would be gone for days or even weeks at as a diplomatic envoy off-world and for complex summits and legislative sign offs. That was how the Telequinn could afford to own so much land, such a large manor and so many servants and Boaren. Incidentally, that was also their major source of continued profit, selling high quality, rare and expensive edibles and liqueurs in a galactic market that was becoming ever more demanding. It was explained to me that, due to the ever escalating wars for control of Panthren space and the resulting destruction, more and more worlds were being cut off from reliable sources of food or were having their fertile crop growing soil destroyed. I guessed correctly that this was probably how the Centre made most of its profits outside training and selling children into 'indentured servitude.' When I asked why the Telequinn didn't just give their food away as charity to the out-worlds I received a sharp, painful crack across the knuckles.

I started to feel out of my depth when my personal tutor had begun to teach me things such as elocution and penmanship, considering she had to start simply by teaching me how to read. The teaching regime was merciless and more than once the sour-faced, jade coloured Panthress had insisted she simply could not teach me. But slowly, I had learned all the proper greetings, gestures and skills essential to function in such an upper class and, quite frankly, old-fashioned household. That's why the modern renovations, such as an integrated holo-link for long distance, face-to-face communication and a fully-maintained landing pad on the roof seemed so out of place in this environment. After it all, I will always hold up the Telequinn manor in my mind as a brilliant analogy of Panthren culture and society as a whole; a culture constraining its own innovation rather than evolving along with it.

By the time my seventieth day in the Telequinn household had arrived, there was still much anxiety hanging over the question of whether I would be allowed to stay. I hadn't even begun training in weapons craft, which was considered an imperative for someone's guardian. But what seemed like an arbitrary number to me was a well-established ritualistic and legal precedent in upper class Panthren society. The seventieth day in a household was when servants were judged worthy or not of remaining and when their honour was formerly bound to the family and its name. Simply put, a servant could ask to be sold or traded or be cast out without permanent damage to their honour before this point. But after this time, they were honour bound to their owning family and their station. I was especially nervous as the day began because, up until that point, Master Vayren and I had not been in very much contact with each other. A few times I'd been released when he was free of his own studies or was not being cooped up by his very protective mother. In that time he'd told me about his interests in science and discovery - something his parents were keen to expose him too as little as possible - as well as every boy's pre-programmed fascination with firepower. When he wasn't studying or exploring, he was in the armoury or out on the estate's own gun range improving his marksmanship. Of course, I was forbade from touching any of the weaponry until I was deemed ready.

But now the day had come. It was my initiation day, along with all those who had come with me on that truck from DC-12. Not all of them still remained and, as I waited patiently outside the main banquet hall for my own evaluation, some exited with glum looks and hunched postures. Some even came out crying, as much good as it did for their honour. Then there were those who would glare at me, fire in their eyes, as they exited. I could tell exactly what they were thinking, but I had no intention of failing. I knew what that meant.

I was the last to be seen. I had to stand outside and wait whilst Mr. Gatson knocked the door and entered. He came out a few minutes later and took me to one side.

"Right, you've caused more than enough trouble already so I want you to listen closely," he snarled in my face. "You're about to meet Lord and Lady Telequinn in an official ceremony indoctrinating you into this household. It is very important that you conduct yours accordingly Do you understand?" I nodded silently. "You will follow every instruction you are given immediately and without question. You will not speak unless spoken to and you will refer to Lord Telequinn as 'Your Lordship' and Lady Telequinn as 'Your Ladyship.' Do you understand?"

"Will Master Vayren be there- I mean present?" I said in my growing semblance of a learned individual.

"Yes, but you will not speak to him unless he directly addresses you too," Gatson hissed. He rose and indicated towards the door with his paw. "Now come along. And you'd better hope no one suddenly comes to their senses... for your sake."

Gatson knocked on the door and pushed me into the dining hall. The long and classically adorned room beyond housed an equally long and finely carved table, a vine-like pattern treated and carved into the wood before a spotless varnish finish. The chairs were equally opulent and the twisting lattice of vines carved up each leg curved all the way around, creating the illusion of genuine sprouting vines. Around the walls hung paintings and photographs of Panthren dressed in luxurious and expensive dresses and tailored suits, some simply smiling whilst others shook paws with important-looking individuals. But my attention was immediately brought to the Lord and Lady Telequinn, not sitting at the far end of the table but side-by-side near the foot of it, Vayren leaning up with his arms crossed on the table next to his mother. Behind them stood a few servants standing ready to cater to any need they might have and also a smartly dressed businessman sitting one seat removed from Lord Telequinn with an open briefcase, examining some legal documents in his paws.

I immediately bowed my head in unison with Mr. Gatson.

"Master Kyren, your Lord and Ladyship," he announced.

"Ah yes. Please, be seated," Lord Telequinn indicated with a paw to a seat opposite him on the table. I quickly walked to it and, with some assistance by one of the waiting servants, was pushed in tightly to the table. Vayren had looked bored before I had entered, but now his face had lit up. He was jigging up and down in his seat, swaying from side-to-side. His mother had to ask him politely to sit still more than once during the proceedings. There were a few moments of uncomfortable silence before the smart looking man to Lord Telequinn's right looked up from his papers, cleared his throat and spoke.

"Are we ready to begin, my lord?"

"Yes, feel free to go right ahead," Telequinn replied his wife and he whilst not taking their eyes off me for an instant. He was wearing a smart, navy blue dress suit with matching cravat and she a sophisticated looking blue business coat and skirt, her hair hanging down in short, tight ringlets, very professional and very elegant.

"Very well," the man said. He pressed his finger down on a small device on the table and it made a sputtering noise before dying down and omitting a rhythmic flash from a small red light on top. "I am Julius Sparos and I am lawyer and attorney for the Telequinn family. I will be representing the legal authority on these proceedings. Now," he turned to his brief case and removed a paper file. Flicking it open he asked "Can you please confirm that you name is Kyren, surname unknown, born of the planet Curraugh III?"

"Yes sir," I said, hoping that was the correct way to address the man.

"And that you were purchased on the Seventh day of Storm, 1834 from Ferros two Domestication Centre twelve?" he continued, clearly happy with my response.

"Yes sir," I said, feeling a slight tremor between my shoulder blades as a multitude of memories I would rather forget rushed back and were stifled again.

"And are you, or have you ever been indentured to any house, family or business before the proceedings in question from which you were dishonourable discharged?"

"No sir."

After that, I was submitted to a series of short elocution and aptitude tests to judge my progression and suitability for the position. A note was made of my lack of weaponry training and that there was nothing to measure against to determine how skilled a guardian I might actually become. After it was all said and done, Mr. Sparos turned to the Telequinn to ask them to add their opinions for the record.

"Well the manner of his speech definitely needs some work and I worry about Vayren's safety if we go ahead," Lady Telequinn immediately said.

"Well I do believe that Vayren is more than capable of taking care of himself, my dear," Lord Telequinn said. "He had shown exemplarily skills."

"Then why are we even continuing with these proceedings? Is that not the main purpose of a guardian?" I could clearly sense there was a lot going unsaid in this conversation, something which had quite likely been raised behind closed doors.

"Our son cannot possibly go without a guardian forever. It would not reflect well, not just on him, but the entire family. It's just a shame that Severath isn't here. Then Kyren could have seen what we expect of him in Ulrich. Training with him will surely help him improve tenfold."

"Well there's still the other unspoken issue here, regarding his... his..." Lady Telequinn trailed off.

"Well I like Kyren," Vayren suddenly piped up.

"Yes sweetheart, we know that," Lady Telequinn said, "but your mother and father want to make sure he's the right kind of person for you." A couple of Lady Telequinn's comments were stinging. It was obvious what her inward opinions on pale furs - the politically correct way of referring to Panthren such as myself - were.

"But he's going to be my guardian. Why doesn't my opinion matter as much?" struck the lightning quick wit of Vayren once more, to which neither his mother nor father had a reply.

"Well, with the information I see before me I see no legal reasons why Master Kyren here cannot be indentured into your service. Do you wish to formally accept him into your service?" There was a quiet pause whilst the Lord and Lady exchanged a glance, then looked down at the beaming face of their son.

"We are happy to formally accept Master Kyren as our son's friend and guardian," Lord Telequinn said at last. Then Sparos turned to me.

"And are you happy to formally submit yourself to indenturing into the Telequinn family, Master Kyren? Legally binding your service and honour to their name?" My head began to swim. I honestly hadn't believed that I would be accepted. It was a moment where my heart had to do the talking, because my mind had gone numb, knowing where I would be sent back to otherwise.

"Yes sir, I do, sir," I blurted out, half terrified, half exhilarated.

"Then I formally declare this matter closed," Sparos said before clicking off his recording device and closing it in his briefcase.

That was it. I was a member of the Telequinn household. Not family, of course, but one of their trusted subordinates. No, more than that. I was the guardian of one of their sons. That surely had to count for something.

I said my formal thank yous and goodbyes and then was led from the banquet hall by Mr. Gatson back through the house, down into the communal staff area where a large number of servants and work hands had gathered in a circle. Within the circle was coming a buzzing sound and, as I drew closer, I could see the regal seal and tattooist was still giving the last servant successful in his indenturing his 'seal,' the mark that indicated his binding, permanent attachment to the house of Telequinn. The tattooist was almost done and he turned to observe us enter the room. His captive audience also turned and even the boy in the chair tried to adjust his gaze before giving up under the powerful vice comprised of the tattooist's free paw and the flat of the table.

"You showing him the door, Gatson? He lost or something?"

"No," Gatson replied, his feathers clearly ruffled by the tattooist's deliberate overlooking of his status and title. "I'm showing him your needle." A quiet murmur and a lot of exchanged glances flew about the room as the servants expressed their genuine shock that I was to remain.

"Well, well," the tattooist said, looking me up and down. He was grey fur that made him look even older than he already was. His face was twisted and pitted from what I would later learn was probably 'Black Snow' abuse earlier in life. He had custom tattoos and mocking parodies of houses' seals all over his fur and piercings in his ears and nose. "He'll save me some ink I suppose. Won't have to do a background block to make Telequinns' noble seal stand out," he laughed. He went back to finishing the other boys' seal even as his audience now continued to natter around him.

"I'm assuming none of you have anywhere better to be. No duties you should currently be performing?" Mr. Gatson said pointedly. There was a nervous pause, then an immediate shuffle for the doors as the majority of the gather filed out. Gatson pointed for me to sit in one of the newly vacated seats and wait my turn. I watched as the tattooist's skilled paw pushed the needle into the exposed flesh of the servant's back, a pool of blue ink swimming out from the point to fill the last part of a sword at the centre of the design, flanked by two curving, scimitar blades twisting away from its point that made it look like the sword was piercing a wreath. The outlines were done in black whilst the inside was coloured Telequinn blue, so named because it is the blue specific to the house's standard. It was all tattooed on a square of plain white, which made the symbol stand out from the boy's emerald green fur. The boy promptly stood up and shook the man's paw, being a lot older and therefore more accustomed to interactions with adults.

"A pleasure kid. You sure you don't wanna see it?"

"If it looks like the last one, then it's perfect," the boy said.

"Take care," the tattooist said as the kid walked away, stopping only to give me a fixed glare and a smirk.

"Good luck, pale fur," he said and then strolled away.

"C'mon," the tattooist said to me, tapping the seat of the chair with his palm. "Hop up." I swallowed even after my mouth had gone completely dry.

"This ink is permanent, so this is your last chance to back out. Once it seeps into the flesh no amount of shedding can remove it," Mr. Gatson said in an intimidating voice. I looked back at him, then down at the chair.

"Second thoughts, eh?" the tattooist chuckled in his gruff, cravenly voice. I thought about the tip of the needle and the occasional grimace on the boy's face as the needle went in too deep. I thought about how the man had been forced to hold the boy's head down or lean on his back from time to time to keep him still. But then I thought about what it would do to me to have to leave this place and what it would do to my honour. I nodded slowly, then straddled the chair, unbuttoned my shirt and vest and threw them over a nearby stool before placing my chest against the backrest.

"I'm ready," I said.

"Heh, alright then," the tattooist chuckled wryly. "Now I have to inform you that this ink contains Dyphorenous Tycletamene and is you have an allergic reaction I am by no means responsible, yadda yadda," he rasped as he picked up a shearer off the table that was plugged into one of the sockets on the wall and flicked it on. He proceeded to shave off a patch of hair on my back directly between my shoulder blades. "Damn, you're thin. That spine of yours is gonna create mor work for me," he said, examining the patch he'd cleared. "You sure e can't have it on the shoulder?" he asked Gatson.

"Has to be there, you know that," Gatson dismissively.

"Yeah, yeah, so you keep saying," the tattooist said, irritated. Next he marked the outline with a fine tipped pen. The nib was cold and felt like a knife being drawn across my back. I thought he'd lied and gone straight in with the needle until I heard him start it up for real.

"Right, this first bit's gonna hurt a bit 'cause I gotta draw under the skin. Bit after's easy, just injects it straight in," he assured me. I took a deep breath and gripped the sides of the chair tight. Whne he first pressed the needle against the skin, I almost cried out. "Stop fidgeting," he said, putting his paw on my shoulder. I felt a shiver run down my spine and that same cold, sickly feeling.

"Okay. I promise I won't. Please, you don't need to hold me down," I begged.

"Like hell I don't. You're squirming like an Uziel Thresher," the tattooist protested. He continued to draw the outline on my back, but paused at what I think was Gatson whispering in his ear. He then continued with his needle and slowly removed his paw.

I spent the next thirty or so minutes trying to hold as still as I could, cringing with every stroke and scratch, all the while the occasional servant coming and going. By the time he announced he was done with the outline, I felt the back of my shoulders were on fire and was shaking. To my credit, I only winced once or twice when the needle caught in a hair follicle.

"I could come back and finish it later, if you want?" he said to me. I shook my head.

"Are you sure?" I nodded without a word, my face still scrunched in defiant resistance against the pain.

"Okay. Well it's not much longer to go now," he said, going over the lines with antiseptic sealant.

"You should count yourself lucky. If you were having a proper ink done, you'd have to come back a couple of weeks from now and sit through me drawing this filler in." That information didn't give me that much comfort. Next he brandished his filler needle. This one was duller, because he only needed to break the skin at a few select points. It didn't make a constant buzzing sound, only the occasional hiss as the ink cartridge inside was discharged. That didn't stop it from feeling like someone forcing the nib of a pen under my flesh. I felt the chair strain as I gripped it as tight as I could, my knuckles turning whiter than my fur.

"Almost done," he said after the fourth jab." My neck ached, my entire back felt like it was having a constant stream of scolding hot water poured on it and my heart was thundering in my chest. There was one last hiss, then I heard him put the needle down.

"All done," he said. I lifted my head and looked over my shoulder, much to my discomfort. The tattooist held up a mirror and I saw clearly the same sword and scimitar design now rippling across the bare skin of my back, minus the white blotting needed to dye the fur around it.

"It'll look even better when the fur grows back," the tattooist said.

"Th- thank you," I said, having to clear my throat, leaning back from my chair. I slowly rose to my feet and turned to shake the tattooist's hand. I'd done it. This seal proved that I was finally worth something, that I had a place in the galaxy.

"Right, now hurry up. We've got lo-" Mr. Gatson began.

I didn't hear the rest due to the world quickly turning black...