FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Rumor has it, in certain secretive circles, that one may arrange meetings with particular supernatural entities, should one be willing to pay a hefty price. No one believes this, of course—it's just a bunch of silly internet trolls LARPing, and they're all in on the fun. Everyone knows that. Everyone who refuses to read between the lines which separate fact from fiction. Tug on the right threads, and one may, with luck, draw back the veil between fantasy and reality.

Staunton was a pretty dark place at night, even under the glow of street lamps. Treading the older, more run-down parts under midnight's inky shroud only accentuated the oppressive darkness, but this didn't stop the seedier types from walking the blackened streets. Seedier, or crazier, as it turned out.

A young male tugged his hood lower to further obscure his head as he made his way down one such run-down road. Moonlight trickled in between abandoned office buildings, casting just enough of its silvery glow to illuminate the sidewalk in front of him. The man's feline nature gave him sight beyond the average human's, but each dark alley between rows of crumbling, graffiti-marked structures was another potential ambush waiting to happen. And when push came to shove, he wasn't exactly a fighter.

Maybe it was a bad idea. Maybe those creepy weirdos online really were just role-playing or, worse, trying to lure him out somewhere dark and quiet to rob him. But if that was true, they'd have surely told him to bring payment. Cash for the service, gemstones for the "ritual"--something valuable to take off his unwilling hands. The complete lack of demands or conditions gave an unsettling edge of legitimacy to this prospect, and he knew he had to try.

He glanced down at a slip of paper in his hand, where he'd written the address, then up at a building just down the road. The young snow leopard's heart skipped a beat. There it was: 407 Lending Street. What a fitting name, considering the building in question was an old abandoned bank. He stepped through the threshold where half the frame of a broken glass door remained. The dour look of the place brought his initial doubt back in force; what used to be windows had long since been broken away, the tellers' desks tagged by spray paint and chipped, broken, and apparently used for target practice over the years. What alleged ‘magical creature’ would ever make this shithole its lair?

Footsteps alerted the feline before he saw the two men approaching from the back room. Two big horses dressed exactly like one would expect from people who hung out in a place like this. Hired muscle. Thugs. His instincts screamed at him to run, but he stayed put. He hadn't been robbed yet.

"This is Beryl's place... right?" he dared to speak up first. The two brutes, while tall and imposing, standing with arms crossed, hadn't made any threatening gestures. They exchanged a glance, then gave the snow leopard a nod. They said nothing. Awkwardly, the far less muscular feline continued. "I spoke with her online. She said she could help me. I didn't bring any weapons or--"

"Come with us." one of the grunts interrupted, and both turned toward the back room, disappearing into a doorway and leaving the cat boy alone.

"O...kay. Not gonna escort me or..?" he asked the empty room. Well, they didn't seem particularly interested in forcing him inside. That was a good sign. Or a really, really bad one. Banking on the former, the snep followed as instructed. He passed dilapidated offices and turned a corner, only to be met with a peculiar violet glow at the end of the hall. It flowed in from a room at the end, the two horses standing on either side of the doorway.

Something tugged at the feline's mind. The glint of gold coins, the last cookie in the jar, that fleeting moment when a traffic light turns from green to yellow and you decide to hit the gas pedal. All different feelings, but tied to one core sensation. Staring down an empty pit at the bottom of which shines treasures untold. The feeling of temptation. Desire.

It had to be nerves. Whoever had gone this far to set this whole thing up knew how to evoke such feelings, what with the mysterious distant flutes and exotic percussion instruments that grew louder as he approached the door. Something else hit him just three paces from the doorway; a scent. Lotus, sandalwood, vanilla... Strangely relaxing, despite his trepidation.

"Mistress Beryl is inside." the horse on the left said, holding open the door from where the violet light and incense emanated.

"Mistress, huh?" the snep chuckled. "You guys really take this seriously."

"Mind your manners, boy. Or you'll wish it was us you had to deal with."

The words struck him like a bolt of lightning. Again, his nerves called out for retreat. That wasn't a threat. Threats came with deathly glares and cracked knuckles. The horse was warning him. "Right." he couldn't help but let out a nervous chuckle. It was now or never. "Thanks for the advice..."

One last step was all it'd take. He stuck his foot half-way through the door and immediately pulled back. The air was too warm and humid for this chilly autumn night. It was too... heavy for this world. His foot tingled a little as he scrunched his toes, and he yanked off his shoe to make sure his fur hadn't been singed off or something. Nothing seemed different.

"Psychological prompting." he murmured, and he almost believed his own excuse. "All that mystic stuff they talked about was like... subliminal conditioning. Of course it's spooky. I bought into it all..."

He said the words, but if he really believed them, why had he come in the first place? Why come to this dangerous part of the city in search of the supernatural if he thought it was all bogus? Why even search it up online to begin with? The uncomfortable questions would have to wait. The feline boy stepped past the threshold. One foot... then the other, after some hesitation.

The office inside had been converted into some sort of... lounge? That was the best word he could use for it; plush pillows sat in a circle around a fancy hookah, and torches lined the walls. No, not torches, he realized—there were flames, but they were just floating there. Burning beside the walls, each a violet glow of their own. That explained the light (despite presenting further questions, themselves), and the incense burners on the floor gave away the smell. And in the middle of it all, sitting opposite to him before the hookah, was...

"Um... Beryl?" he choked out the name. Some invisible force sapped the strength of his voice in here.

She was all dark and dusky curves, olive skin and long, braided silver hair. Royal violet sleeves and a brassiere to match, encrusted with gems and sequins and bells. Sheer harem pants covered her petite but shapely thighs. A burnt orange gaze pierced the dark hues in the room and called to him without words.

"Sit." came her voice, gentle and feminine, but no less commanding for it. He obeyed, and perching himself upon one of the massive pillow seats before the hookah allowed him a better view. Much of her upper body was exposed, and her pants were silky and see-through, leaving little to the imagination. Her face was the picture of youth, and her strange pointed ears perked every time he spoke. She cradled something in her lap, golden in color, but he couldn't see the full thing around the hookah.

"So you're... the one I talked to online."

"A representative of mine." Beryl offered with a smile that, while baring no teeth, evoked the sensation of being stalked by a shark. "But they spoke with my will."

"Oh, good. I was almost afraid..." he decided not to finish that sentence. She'd done so much to build this weird Arabian aesthetic, and it'd be rude (and perhaps dangerous, if the horse was to be believed) to go off on a tangent about being robbed. "Never mind. I'm--"

"Ah, ah." Beryl gently scolded him with a raised hand. That smile didn't fade from her lips. "No names. Unless you're willing to add that to the negotiating table."

"My... name..? I don't get it."

"Names are powerful. You mortals give them out so easily." Beryl produced a nail file from... well, somewhere. He didn't see where she'd reached. She idly trimmed some unseen imperfection in her violet talons.

'Mortals'? Oh boy, she was selling it really hard. The snow leopard posed a potentially dangerous question: "Then why tell me yours?"

"Oh, sweet boy." she purred, turning her mesmerizing sunset stare to him again. Even looking into those eyes made him want... something. "Do you think I'd give you my real one, knowing what I do?"

"I... guess not." God, why was his heart beating so fast? He forced his eyes down to the hookah. There was no way he could keep his gaze on hers for that long.

'Beryl' let out a tiny little laugh, practically a whisper of a giggle, and returned to dutifully perfecting her nails. "Glad we understand each other. Now, dear, to business." The sentence hung in the air for a long few seconds. She really was serious about this, wasn't she? It wasn't just a bunch of LARPers playing jokes on internet trolls. "What is it," she finally began, her voice dripping with a hungry curiosity not heard in mortal tones, "that you desire?"

The boy's tongue betrayed him for several moments. As if the words themselves feared the ramifications of revealing themselves, he stumbled over many different versions of what he meant to ask, stammering like an idiot before he finally clung to a phrase: "My acting career!"

"Yes?" Beryl purred encouragingly, "Go on."

"I... um..." he chanced a look into her eyes again, but her attention was on her nails. "I'm part of a theatre group. I'm pretty... low on the totem pole, so to speak. But I know I can act, and really well!"

"Mmhmm?" the supernatural woman's interest seemed to wane slightly as he over-explained. "But what is it that you want, dear boy?"

"I just... want an edge, you know? Something that'll help me really fit into the roles I want." He suddenly felt a little stupid. Could she actually grant him this, or was he walking right into the punchline of the most elaborate prank in the world?

Beryl finally turned her eyes back to his. Her nail file... dissolved. Just melted away into purple smoke and dissipated. "Boy," her tone turned insistent, almost dangerously so. "You aren't being honest with me."

"What? But that's what I want. I want to be a better actor."

"It isn't the content of your wish that give it the lie, mortal. It's the clear lack of enthusiasm. What an empty, impassionate wish." the woman huffed, looking almost disappointed. "You act better through text."

Ouch! The snep scowled, leaning forward in a brief moment of bravery. "I'm just being professional, you--!"

"Yes, there!" Beryl grinned, and he suddenly realized how aggressive he'd become. "That's the passion I want to see. Tell me what you want, snow-cat."

"Dammit, fine." Really, what was he so scared of? It's not like any other actor felt any differently. "I want them to love me. To adore me! Whatever it is you can do, I want to fit perfectly into whatever role I desire. The perfect actor, for a perfect show, every time."

The violet-clad woman drank in his words, and for a long, heavy moment there was silence. She stared, and he stared back, lost in those burning suns, drunk on his desire to excel, to surpass, to show them... to prove to them... just how great he was. Beryl slowly rose, walked around the hookah, and sat beside him. The glint of polished gold caught his eye, and he now saw with clarity what she'd been concealing in her lap. A golden oil lamp, straight out of a fantasy movie, with a bright red cat’s eye gem inlaid on the body.

"Is that your wish, boy?" the girl crooned, suddenly very close, one arm draping over his shoulders, the other hand delicately offering him the lamp. "If so, you need only put your lips to the lamp. A kiss to seal our contract. But I must warn you, this wish will come at a cost."

"A wish. From a lamp." the snow leopard almost forgot just how tantalizingly close she was, her soft breasts squishing against his chest. "When you said you could help improve my act, and that there'd be a ritual and a contract, I expected something weird. But do you truly, honestly expect me to believe you're a goddamn genie?"

Rather than take offense, Beryl laughed. A deep, hearty laugh that put a darker shade to her olive cheeks. "You don't believe me."

"How could I? This is so... so beyond what I'm used to." But the longer he beheld her, the less power his skepticism held over him. The pointed ears, the unnatural power in her gaze, the feelings she'd managed to weave over him... and, now that he'd gotten a closer look, there was something flowing out of the spout of that lamp. A thin purple mist or smoke, wispy and slightly luminous. It curled through the air, dipped down below, and ended at the alleged genie's toes. "Oh..."

"Oh." Beryl mimicked in a playful, teasing tone. "Now boy, I'll say it again: I can grant this wish for you. But you must be willing to accept the price."

His skepticism quickly breaking, the feline could only ask the obvious question, letting his weight shift toward her as the comfort of her soft, feminine physique tugged insistently at his very being. "What price..?"

The genie curled her fingers through his neck fur, eliciting an involuntary purr, and kept that supernatural gaze upon his. "They will adore you. Every role you desire will be yours. Every show, every act, all yours. Because I will bestow upon you the means to change your very physical form."

"As in... transformation? At will?"

"At will. And the best part: As long as you're subtle, no one will question it. Only the most magically-talented mortals will ever realize you're changing. The minds of those around you will simply change to accept your form."

"Holy shit. That's..." Oh, there were a thousand moral implications here, but even as they crashed upon his frazzled mind, he imagined how useful this ability could be. Nothing would be off-limits for him! Every aesthetic, every vocal range, every height or weight... The world of acting would open up entirely!

"However," Beryl cautioned, her lips now dangerously close to his. "As much as they'll love you, as deeply as they’ll adore you, they will never love the true 'you'. You will have won the praise of all who watch you perform, but outside of the theater, you will find the hearts of mortals closed-off to you."

Of course there was some supernatural catch! The snep frowned, suddenly uncertain of this deal. "So what, I'd never find true love?"

"What even is 'true love'? How long are your lives, actually? A century? Not even?" Beryl waved a dismissive hand. "You'll have all the love you'll ever need in the theater. No one will be able to resist you. After all, you're perfect. You're the embodiment of talent and perfectly suited for their favorite roles. What's not to love?"

"Yeah, while I'm working." he huffed. Still, acting was more than a job for him. It was a passion. It was his life! And if he could change into anything he ever wanted, he'd never have to look a day over twenty-five either... right? He could be loved for nearly forever if he played his cards right.

Beryl smiled, once again very much like a shark that smelled blood. She curled a finger in the air, and a wisp of purple smoke rushed from her lamp to the hookah, coiled itself around one of the hoses, and tugged it over for the genie to collect in her hand. She took a long drag, the coals in the main piece glowing as fresh air rushed in. Before he could object, Beryl blew the smoke in the feline's face. His immediate impulse was to cough and choke, but he found the smoke strangely pleasant. Sweet and spicy aromas filled his sinuses and refused to leave, dizzying the poor snep and flooding his nerve endings with a tingling bliss.

"What the fuck..."

"Don't worry about it." Beryl crooned as she cupped his chin. Her lips were upon his in an instant, those sunset eyes dominating his world. There was no describing the vast willpower behind those eyes. What was one mortal mind compared to something so ancient? The longer he stared, the more he needed this wish. The more he needed this power. "Is this your desire?" the genie asked as the kiss broke.

"Yes..."

"Do you accept my terms, then?"

"Yes. Anything. I have to be... better." the snow leopard's heart pounded, his whole body tingled. This woman was Temptation incarnate, and she had him, mind and body. The golden lamp was presented again, its inlaid cat’s eye glaring at him with the same predatory hunger as the genie.

"Kiss the lamp then, boy. Let that seal our agreement in perpetuity."

What choice did he have at this point? She had what he needed. He knew the cost. What was a lifetime of shallow affection compared to the perfect acting career, anyway? He could have whatever he wanted, after all. Without hesitation, the snep leaned in and pressed a kiss to the golden lamp. A tingling heat radiated outward from his lips and spread over his face and head. It crept down his neck, rolled over his shoulders, and caressed his arms, back, and chest. Something bordering on orgasmic was left in the wake of this tingling, and the feline lost all sense of time as it continued downward. Anticipation swelled as the feeling neared his crotch, passing over his cock, which immediately grew hard and needy, a series of mewling whimpers leaving his lips as the full force of the sensation washed over him.

Some time passed as he drifted in and out of conscious awareness. He never quite "fell unconscious", as it were, but he absolutely stopped thinking for a long while as the wish took hold and completed its magical transformation of his body. He was left panting and mewling against the soft, inviting Beryl, who gently caressed and pet his soft fur.

"This contract is sealed. Your wish has been granted." the genie's voice rang clear in his ears. In fact, the sudden clarity he felt was quite jarring compared to the mind-numbing bliss he'd been through mere moments ago.

"Did this really just happen..?" his hands explored Beryl's shapely curves. They felt real enough, and he sure had the wet sticky spot in his pants to prove that something had occurred. But a magical wish?

"Change yourself and find out."

Right. Of course, if it was all real, all he had to do was change something. Faced with the prospect of infinite possibilities, however, he was at a loss for what to try. Staring down at his hands, he decided on something simple. A troublesome scar on his wrist, from a childhood tree climbing accident. Making it disappear should be a simple task, right? He spread the fur with his fingers, tried to focus on a perfectly unmarred wrist—

Oh. It was already gone. He didn't even have to consciously think of it. Just... desire. "This isn't happening."

"Even now, you refuse to believe it? Do something drastic." the genie dared him. A tendril of smoke flowed from the spout of her lamp and took the shape of a large mirror. A challenge, then. Something like... hair color. Fur color. Species?

He felt dizzy for a moment. His image in the mirror glowed and morphed. Where once sat a snow leopard was now a black-furred rabbit! Panic momentarily overtook him, and the apparently subconscious desire of "oh god change back" took hold, returning him to his original form in a flash.

"Fuck!"

"Do bear in mind," Beryl cautioned, "that such substantial changes won't escape people's notice. Practice your new ability before you start applying it."

"And there was no other cost? No fine print?"

The genie offered a mysterious smile. She dispelled her mirror and rose from her seat, separating herself from the feline and depriving him of her soothing warmth. "You may alter your body in any way, shape, or form, indefinitely. The only limit is your imagination. All it cost you is true, genuine affection. But who needs that, right?"

That was... a difficult question to answer, now that he thought about it. Really, what was 'genuine affection', anyway? He was only nineteen, but the acting world was full of self-serving, manipulative people who played on others' emotional needs to suit their own purposes. Hell, he probably wouldn't even notice. He'd be too busy basking in the adoration of fans and peers alike to tell the difference!

"So that's it, then." he mused. "I'm... changed. Rather, I can change. Into anything. For the rest of my life."

"You may alter your body in any way, shape, or form, indefinitely." Beryl repeated with a smirk. "The 'rest of your life' is a subjective data point now, considering you can effectively stop aging."

Oh. He hadn't even considered that. "Am I... immortal?"

"Are you?" the genie winked, then snapped her fingers. Her two equine meatheads came into the room. "Our business is concluded, kitten. Feel free to reach out again if there's ever anything else you want. As long as you're willing to bargain, I'll be happy to make a deal."

The snow leopard stammered out questions as he was ushered out of the room, but received no answers. No information on the limits of his ability, any side-effects, just how subtle he'd have to be... The door shut as he was pushed out, and he turned the knob and swung it back open, only to be met with an empty, broken-down office. Beryl, her associates, and her fancy hookah setup, were all gone.

"What the fuck." he blurted out. Staring down at his hand, he tested this newfound power of his again; the patterns in his fur shifted and swirled on a whim, blending into fractal patterns and all the colors of the rainbow. This was real. Dear god, it was all real...

Faced with the enormity of this implication, he made his way home in a daze. There was... a lot to think about. A lot of things to consider, knowing what he did, and being what he was. A shapeshifter. A true, genuine, supernatural shapeshifter. The possibilities were endless! What would he do first? He'd have to practice before he went about applying it to his acting career, of course, but there were some important what-if scenarios to consider first.

"I wonder what having tits feels like..."

--

The Staunton Theater roiled with activity. Shakespeare enthusiasts gathered from miles around to see the latest performance of Romeo and Juliet, presented by the Nine Muses Theatre Troupe, which had risen from relative obscurity throughout the last half-decade. Even a city like Staunton, so preoccupied with modern concerns and petty civilian squabbles, turned out a full house for this production—thanks in no small part to the troupe's star performer. Once a moderately-talented what's-his-name, the rising star had come into his own in a gradual, but increasingly meteoric rise to fame. A brilliant success story for the masses, but suspicious to certain interested parties.

A representative of one such party took his seat in one of the middle rows of the theater. The white-furred fox shuffled uncomfortably in his fancy black tuxedo and grumbled about the inefficiency of these modern garments. How did people fight in these things, should a brawl break out? They didn't flex and stretch nearly as well as they did in those silly movies these mortals watched. If Neo had fought Agent Smith in real life, there would have at least been an embarrassing wardrobe malfunction or two before the last punch landed.

<Do I sense grumbling?> A feminine voice rang in his head.

The fox looked up toward the ceiling, in the vague direction of where he sensed his partner. <Yes. I’m uncomfortable and in close quarters with other people. They called this an assignment, but it feels more like a punishment.> He projected his thoughts back to her, tugging at a sleeve to straighten it.

<Oh, deal with it. You get to sit and watch a play for the next two hours. What other mission in recent history has been so relaxing for you?>

<Why don't we switch places then, Relka?>

An impression of a scoff echoed in his mind. <You know your allsight isn't as fine-tuned as mine. I'm far better suited for overwatch.>

The fox rolled his eyes. All he really had to do was keep an eye on one of the actors—a task far less grueling than some of the others he'd been sent to perform in his several thousand years of life. Maybe he was just nit-picking, but the tuxedo really was the worst possible garment in human history. <If this is Command's way of throwing me a bone...>

<Then you should sit back and enjoy it.> Relka insisted. <So try and do so, or I'm going to start calling you Ildac Whineheart.> The fox groaned, and his partner quickly added, <And watch your expressions. You’ll freak people out.>

<I know that!> Ildac could have sworn he'd kept his face stoic, but he'd slipped before. There was nothing weirder than a guy randomly making faces in public. Especially in a place considered so refined and sophisticated, like a theater. He'd hardly have time to worry, however, as the theater lights dimmed, save for those above the stage, and the troupe manager emerged from stage left to begin the well-known introduction to this famous play:

"Two households, both alike in dignity

(In fair Verona, where we lay our scene),

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

From forth the fatal loins of these two foes

A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life."

<Morbid man, that Shakespeare.> Relka commented, apparently listening in, even from her spot on the roof.

Ildac suppressed a chuckle. <He did lose his son at an early age. I think I'd channel that sort of grief into my writing if I were the creative sort. Romeo and Juliet had its debut only a year after Hamnet's death.>

The play opened as it typically did, with the boisterous posturing between Gregory and Sampson. Several Montagues and Capulets on-scene later, and a full-on sword fight has broken out, with the quickly angered Tybalt played by a feisty-looking husky, and old Capulet and Montague a civet and a wolf, respectively. The sword fight turned, predictably, into a brawl as others joined the fray, until Prince Escalus appeared on cue to break up the quarrel.

<Interesting how this show has changed over the centuries.> Ildac mused across the telepathic soul link between him and his rooftop partner. <The writing became more refined, even prior to Shakespeare's death. But it really took off as society matured.>

<You talking about the little starlet we're watching? You know, most girls were played by young boys.>

<Old Montague's clearly being played by a particularly strong lady, though.> the fox smirked. <And our target's old enough to rent a car, unlike back then.>

<'Back then', people didn't typically live past fifty.>

<Fair point.>

The act went on. Ildac couldn't help but indulge in the nostalgia; he'd walked this world when mankind still relied on swords and crossbows, after all. Hell, he'd sat in on one of the original performances, before it was such a phenomenon. Nowadays everything was digital-this and intercontinental-ballistic-missile-that. Sometimes he pined for simpler times, though his mortal charges may disagree, as far as modern comforts like enjoying old age and not dying to the plague were concerned. Sure, advanced warfare meant advanced suffering for many, but at least most mortals lived well into their 80s.

Eventually, their rising star made his appearance. "How now, who calls?" asked a feminine voice, off-stage.

"Your mother." answered Juliet's nurse, sat next to said mother.

From stage right entered Juliet, played by the star performer himself: Skye Snowpaw. Saying that he fit the part sold it short; the lithe snow leopard was every bit in character, and as pretty as any girl could dream to be. Silver hair came down to his shoulders in soft tresses, emerald eyes shone in the spotlight, and his bushy spotted tail swayed with every step. He clasped his hands before his waist, demure in stance but clearly confident in his act.

<Target in sight.> Ildac thought to his partner, who hummed in response.

<So, how cute is he in a dress?>

<Is this somehow relevant to the job?>

<No, but a girl gets curious when she’s stuck doing overwatch.>

<They sure picked the girliest guy they could find. I’ll say that much. Now...> the vulpine leaned forward a touch and focused his supernatural senses upon Skye. If he tugged on the threads of divine energy in the air in just the right way, he could find a connection and read the fibers of the snow leopard's soul. An unseen curtain drew back, and the worlds of man and all things beyond were bridged. Ildac’s vision dulled, the sounds of orchestral melodies and the actors’ lines muffling into silence. The angel’s focus turned to the indescribable sensations of the soul; to see without sight, to hear where there was no sound, and to touch without hands. A world of vibrations which rang out in colorful song, each distinct in ways beyond mortal ken, whose truths were beauty and life and the joy of mere existence. All he had to do was join the right strands, follow the right sounds, vibrations, colors…

<Careful.> Relka reminded him from above. Ildac felt her senses brush momentarily against his.

<I’ve got it.> His fingers twitched involuntarily—nervous signals compelled by the tying of threads in the world beyond. Closer. Closer. Closer...

The strands drew taut, and Ildac labored to safely reinforce their connection. The touch of one soul against another, however brief and however subtle, was harrowing if done improperly, and just barely controlled enough when performed with patience and care, as to not risk psychogenic shock. Luckily for Skye, the greater majority of the effects only fed back to the one doing the soul reading; the most the snow leopard got out of the exchange was a sudden chill, which registered in his expression for a fraction of a second. If nothing else, he kept character exceptionally well.

<Intel was right.> Ildac projected as he mulled over the mental image that'd formed: A sphere of purest, brightest light, so frail and yet so powerful. The essence of all a being ever was, is, and would be. The soul was such a complex thing, and yet so simple. Ordinary mortal souls were as plain as the above description, provided they lacked the taint of true evil. Skye's soul, however, was encased in a lattice of intricate runes, violet in color. <The boy's touched by magic.>

<'Touched'. So it isn't his magic.> Relka didn't ask, so much as she confirmed what the fox had said. <He's been enchanted.>

<More or less. Looks like transformation magic.>

<That explains his sudden rise to fame.>

Ildac hummed his response as he pored over the mental image of the runes. The play basically became background noise, though he kept his focus on Skye all the same. <Hard to pin down a source. Whoever did this buried their tracks. Fancy, though; it's got a memetic filter and everything. Keep the change subtle enough and it just slips right into the mortal cognitosphere.>

<So no one unversed in magic will even realize he's changing. That's clever.>

<Clever, yes. But still boring.> Ildac sighed. <This isn't exactly the 'abuse of magic' case I was expecting. Honestly, it barely even falls within our purview. The guy's just one-upping his peers by literally reshaping himself for the roles he wants.>

Relka giggled across their telepathic link. <You know the surveillance chapter will want whatever info we can get. Monitoring supernatural interactions with mortals is part of our sacred duty.>

<I don't need to be reminded of that. I only question why a combat specialist and a scout were sent to do an infiltrator's job.>

<You've been unofficially ‘infiltrating’ on and off for the past thousand years. Or did you think your little escapades on Earth went unnoticed by the captain?>

Ildac's face flushed with heat, and he stifled the need to stammer. <What I do in my spare time is my own business.>

<'What' you do? Or 'who'?>

<Shut it.>

<Or is it more apt to say, 'who does you'?>

"Sh--!" the fox bit his tongue when he nearly spoke aloud, eliciting some glances from the people seated around him. <You're going to compromise me.>

Relka's smirk was nearly perceptible even through their minor telepathic connection. <Wouldn't be the first one to do so.>

<You're lucky you're adorable.>

The rest of the play was largely spent observing the shape-changing snow leopard. The effects were subtle, indeed—even Ildac's finely-tuned senses missed a few details between scenes. Changes in hair length, certain feminine features shifted to fit into different costumes, and the like. He’d clearly been at this for a while, to be able to maintain such flawless changes with seemingly little effort. Ildac took his focus off the boy's soul and turned it to his method, instead. He'd gleaned all he could from the enchantment, but there was plenty to learn from how it was applied. In particular, whether or not Skye posed a potential threat to his fellow mortals. He'd have to observe a little longer to make a proper assessment, of course, and that meant watching this performance play out. The famous and oft-quoted "balcony scene" rolled along, with Skye delivering a line most thought-provoking, particularly for that period of human history:

"'Tis but thy name that is my enemy.

Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.

What's Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot,

Nor arm, nor face. O, be some other name

Belonging to a man.

What's in a name? That which we call a rose

By any other word would smell as sweet."

Funny, mortals at the time sure didn't feel that way about whatever foreign nation they were warring with. If only this message had been better-received by the world at large. 1500s politics aside, Skye delivered his lines with flawless grace. The degree to which he could throw his voice and sound like a proper noble lady on the cusp of womanhood was, of course, thanks to the spell cast upon him, but his confidence was all his own. It took a particular measure of courage for a guy to put on a dress and act the part of a lady, even in today's more accepting social climate.

He couldn't help but admire the snow leopard a little. Sure, he was essentially cheating with his supernatural advantage, but he was talented and surely had many admirers. As far as mortals went, he had a lot going for him. The scenes went by as the hours ticked along; Romeo and Juliet's wedding arrangements, old Capulet's insistence that Juliet instead marry Paris, the plot to fake Juliet's death, and the final, tragic misunderstanding which led to the poor, heartbroken girl burying her true love's dagger in her breast.

Cue the heads of the family arriving, Friar Lawrence explaining the entire ordeal, and an end to the feud between Capulet and Montague. The cast returned to the stage in full to take their bows as applause roared through the theater. Ildac gave a few hearty claps of his own. It wasn't hard to see why this show had sold out.

<See?> Relka teased, <You enjoyed yourself.>

Ildac snorted dismissively. <Yeah, yeah. So, next...>

<Now we try and figure out where that spell came from.>

<Which means...>

<You're going to have to talk to him.>

The fox groaned. Great. They'd sent the least capable angel for this particular job. <I can't exactly just walk up to this really popular actor and start chatting him up.>

<Why not? People do it all the time.>

<Yeah, and those people are unhinged. I have self-awareness.> Ildac rose from his seat and searched for Skye in the crowd of actors and fans gathered around the stage. It looked like some impromptu autograph signing was going on. Too bad he didn't have anything to sign; he could have used that as an excuse to chat the snow cat up.

<Just walk up. I'll make it happen.> Relka's comment came with a conspiratorial air that Ildac was sure would lead to trouble, but he'd never been given reason to distrust his partner.

Getting through the crowd wasn't an option. He'd simply have to wait his turn in the mass of bodies that might have been generously called a line. These weren't exactly Hollywood star chasers, but some of these theatre enthusiasts were a little too obsessive, chatting on and on and holding things up.

<Linger toward the back.>

<Any particular reason?> the fox resisted the urge to give the ceiling shifty eyes.

<If I tell you, your reaction won't be genuine. Just be ready to catch.>

What the hell was that rabbit up to? Ildac stiffened up and prepared for the worst, waiting out the larger portion of the crowd as they gradually filed out of the theater and away from his subject of interest. Ildac neared the stage, and Skye's eyes met his. Twin pools of emerald glimmered in the soft light, matching his blue gaze with curiosity. Ildac... hesitated. He hadn’t prepared a damn thing to say!

The snow leopard, either oblivious to this or ambivalent of it, smiled and opened his mouth to greet him, only to go wide-eyed and yelp as his legs suddenly came out from under him! Time slowed down, and Skye found himself toppling forward as an unseen force—well, unseen by mortal eyes, anyway—sent him straight into Ildac's waiting arms!

<This was your idea?!> Ildac scolded Relka while he watched her zip away, a faint outline of a shadow beyond the veil separating the mortal and spiritual planes.

<Just hurry up and catch him!>

With little else in the way of options, Ildac did just that. He skillfully moved one arm under Skye's upper back, and the other under his knees, easily supporting the spooked snow leopard and stopping his sudden plunge from the stage. The auditorium went quiet for several uncomfortable seconds as everyone in the room, sans one frustrated fox, tried to figure out just how he'd managed to fall like that.

"Whew!" Skye chuckled after a moment. "I dunno what the hell THAT was, but nice save!"

"Uh... right." Ildac stowed his irritation and stared down at the boy in his arms. He could yell at Relka later. Right now, he had to make the best of this opportunity. "You okay?"

"I'm good. Thanks to you, my hero." the snep purred playfully as he hooked his arms around Ildac's neck, a sly smile on his lips. The angel's heart skipped a beat, in spite of himself. "Gonna let me down, though?"

"Huh?" the fox snapped back into reality. His cheeks burned, and he quickly righted the boy onto his feet. "Sorry! Just... as surprised as you were. That was a hell of a thing."

“Right? Man, I thought Macbeth was the cursed play, not Romeo and Juliet.”

“Aren’t you supposed to avoid saying the name?”

“Didn’t help this time, did it?” the snow cat winked. Tensions calmed gradually, though a few cast members continued to analyze the stage and puzzle out how Skye had fallen. A few hurried to the actor’s side to ensure he was alright.

“What the hell, Skye? How’d you manage fall like that?” the husky who’d portrayed Tybalt kept glancing between the snep and the stage.

“Man, I dunno. It’s the weirdest thing. Someone forget to put the ghost light on last night?”

One of the extras piped up. “No one’s ever mentioned this theater being haunted. Guess we’ll have to call a priest.” Ildac held back a chuckle. If only they knew.

Gradually, Skye managed to convince everyone he was fine, and the other actors shuffled off to wrap things up. “Soooo,” the cat began, turning his attention back to Ildac, “What’d you think of the play? You waited in line for a while, so I assume you’ve got some feedback.”

The disguised angel put on a smile. At least he had Skye’s attention now. Maybe Relka’s crazy idea hadn’t been so off the wall. At least it’d broken the ice. “What can I say? I’ve been to a few productions, and you’re the best Juliet I’ve seen.”

“Oh hush.” Skye teased. “But thank you! Have you been to any other shows I’ve been part of?”

“Sadly no. Might have to change that.”

“You big old sweetie. Well if you do, at least I’ll know there’s a strong set of arms to catch me in the event of another ghost-related fall.” the snep chuckled and gently took Ildac’s hand in both of his to give it a gentle squeeze. For some reason, he didn’t quite manage to let go.

Ildac, trying not to be flustered by the cat’s mild flirtations, pressed a little bit. “Gotta say, I did manage to catch on to the hype surrounding you, though. Just five years on stage, and they’re already whispering about Broadway. That’s pretty impressive.”

“Aww, they’re just being generous.” Skye playfully brushed off that comment, but slyly added, “Though I’d jump at the opportunity. I’ve worked my ass off to get people talking about me this way.”

“I bet.” It was hard not to sound skeptical, knowing what he knew. “Naturally fitting into your roles like you do, even though they’re all vastly different. I often hear people wondering what kind of magic it takes to be so good.”

A moment hung almost uncomfortably long between them. Ildac watched the snow leopard’s expression for any sign of suspicion. There was one brief instant where Skye’s eyes flicked to the side, and the energy of his soul shifted nervously. It passed just as quickly, and the confident feline relinquished Ildac’s hands in favor of brushing soft, delicate fingers through the fox’s cheek fur. “I have a stellar makeup routine.”

“Obviously.” The tension melted away in an instant, and Ildac unconsciously turned his head into the other boy’s caress.

Skye smirked. If he’d suspected Ildac of knowing his secret, he hadn’t let on any more than that tiny sliver of a reaction. “Something about you… I dunno, maybe it’s just refreshing to talk to someone so… normal.” It took all of the fox angel’s willpower not to laugh at that. “You wouldn’t believe the amount of creeps in the theatrical world.”

“What, you mean the weird theatre kids grow up to be weird theatre adults? Perish the thought.”

Skye laughed and playfully slapped the fox’s chest. “I was the weird theatre kid!”

“And you’re up there, on stage! Not creeping on actors and hoping for a little sniff.”

Another laugh, louder this time. Hey, Ildac’s dry and sometimes mean-spirited sense of humor paid off for a change. “Oh my god, you’re terrible! I love it!” Skye grinned. “It’s like you’ve been there or something. The weird ones really are just… something else.”

The fox shrugged. “I’m a people watcher. I notice all the creepy stuff they do.”

“The first thing they teach us is to NOT people watch while we’re performing. Helps get over that initial stage fright, you know?” Skye smiled. His fingers pressed together, and he suddenly looked a little bashful. “Hey. You seem cool. You wanna talk a little—”

“Skyyyyeeee!” Another feline, not quite as effeminate as Skye in shape but certainly possessing the lilt, bounded over and tugged on the snow leopard’s arm. The black and white cat didn’t even seem to notice Ildac at first. The fox recognized this touchy-feely feline as the actor who’d portrayed Romeo, but his name escaped him. “C’mon, it’s bowling time!”

“Wuh?” Skye stared at the other boy for a moment. “Oh. Oh! Silly me, I can’t chat now.” He flashed Ildac an apologetic look. “Last show of the week means bowling night with the guys and gals! But hey, um—” Delicate fingers fished into the pockets under his costume. A few grunts and grumbles later, and he produced a slip of paper and a pen. “Here, text me tomorrow or something!”

The other cat’s expression soured. “Who’s this guy?”

“Uh, only the guy who saved me from a broken back? You didn’t see him catch me?”

“I was backstage! I only heard about the fall.”

“Well, sucks to suck! So be nice.” Skye pressed the scribbled phone number into Ildac’s hand and clumsily padded along as he was dragged away by the insistent monochrome cat. “Thanks for coming! And for the jokes! You’re a riot!”

Ildac smiled wryly as he caught bits of teasing between the departing acting troupe: “Who’s that, your new boyfriend?”

“Oh piss off, he’s just a cool guy. Can’t have too many friends!”

“Twenty bucks says they fuck within the week.”

“Go to hell! I’m gonna embarrass you in bowling tonight!”

The fox felt Relka’s masked presence behind him before she spoke up in his mind. <Well hey. Mission accomplished.>

<Guess I won’t have to smack you upside the head for your little stunt.> he project back, casting a smirk over his shoulder. <That did the trick.>

A giggle passed over their psionic connection. <Of course, now this means you’ll actually have to text him. I might just get a little jealous. It’s hard enough for your friends to get in touch with you.>

Ildac snorted dismissively as he turned to leave. <You know I like my ‘me’ time.>

<Your Earthling booty calls get a pass, though.>

<I’ll end you.> The fox rolled his eyes at his partner’s snickering. He turned a corner once outside the theater, wandered into a quiet alleyway, and slipped into the realm far beyond mortal sight. Here, in this colorless shadow of the living world, he beheld his fellow angel in her proper form: White fur with black spots, with shoulder-length brown hair and brilliant white wings to contrast with his own, now exposed, black feathers. A simple black tunic covered her petite frame, and an ornate rifle made from a sleek silver metal sat slung over her shoulder.

“Sitting down for a few hours and chatting with a flirty mortal. I can think of worse assignments for you.” the bunny angel quipped with a grin, blue eyes shining with mischief.

“Stow it. You pick up on anything else?”

“All’s quiet out here. No eyes on us, and no strange activity. Whoever cast the spell probably wasn’t in attendance. The scribes will have to cross-reference all kinds of transformation magic to figure out a source.”

Ildac hummed thoughtfully. “And if it’s a new face in the illicit magic trade…”

“Then that’s a whole other problem. You know they’re going to keep you on this assignment. You’re their only ‘in’ with Skye as of right now.”

“You don’t have to tell me.” the fox sighed. “I’m about the least-qualified angel for the job.”

“Oh don’t complain. He’s less feisty than some of your past encounters.”

“Yeah, until he’s not. Knowing my luck...” Ildac’s cheeks burned. Ah, if only he hadn’t found himself in so many precarious situations over the years. And for that matter… “How exactly do you know about my ‘encounters’, anyway?!”

Relka devolved into a fit of giggles as she took to the sky, with the flustered fox giving chase and demanding answers. Only time would tell if this assignment was a welcome break or yet another strange meeting of worlds.