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CHAPTER 13- Now That We're Dead

"Who's your friend?" asks Anya's father, nodding toward you.

Standing right next to Anya, you swear you can feel her panicking and cringing on the inside at the same time. You look at your date to see if the stress has messed up her headfeathers. It has, but not as much as you expected. She keeps her cool as best she can and starts to speak. "This is Anon," she explains, recovering most of her composure, "he's my, uh..." Her hand squeezes yours, leaving you wondering if she just remembered the significance of the outing. "Boyfriend."

Hearing that one word out in the open does something to your heart. Not quite a skipped beat, but a twinge that makes reality settle in strangely around you, a cotton haze mixed with crystal clarity. To her father's credit he only nods at the revelation, but the gator behind the counter turns his reptilian gaze your way. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle. With how tall and well built he is, you know he could throw you through the glass door with little effort, and his cold eyes drive home that the resulting police report wouldn't be more than a mild annoyance.

"Anon, huh?" says her father, your attention turning to the male raptor. Disbelief and suspicion color his expression. "That's not really your name, is it?"

"Dad," Anya starts to protest.

"Well, sir, it could have been worse," you say, shaking your head with a defeated smile. You hate this song and dance, but your choices made it happen. "Nemo was an option."

"Hmm. Well, I suppose Anon is better," her father says, eyeing you curiously. "Nowadays Nemo makes you think of that fish movie instead of the captain."

Well it's good to see he's cultured, but you're not interested in starting a discussion on literature.

"A bullet dodged for sure," you say, mistrusting the mild hope in your chest that he'll drop the subject. You aren't eager about showing your ID to prove it's your name or alluding to your legal name change, let alone what prompted it, but if you have to in order to survive this sudden encounter with Anya's dad, you will. "But you know how it is with names, sir."

Thankfully it looks like her father might be as uncomfortable with the topic as you are. "I think I might know. Well," he says, "anyway, I certainly can't complain about names. That said, Anon, how about you call me Fritz instead of sir or the worse option, Mr. Lautner." He comes forward and reaches out a clawed hand.

"Can do," you say, sadly pulling away from Anya to shake her father's hand. With a grimace of a smilel, you add, "Just don't ask about my name, it's way too long of a story."

He nods, hopefully respecting the boundary, and takes your hand to shake. His grip is strong and certainly testing you, but Fritz keeps his claws from digging into you. You see he's a little shorter than Anya, and by extension you, but he's got a hell of a grip. Not that it really matters when he's got teeth and claws that could disembowel you in seconds, or when the gator behind him could fold you in half.

"Guess I'll have to ask another time then," Fritz says, all but glaring at you, the silent gator doing the same. The raptor's expression softens a little as he adds with a chuckle, "Or get the story from Anya."

"Dad," you hear her sigh.

"Anyway," Fritz relents, his head tilting questioningly. "Tell me Anon," he begins casually, "how'd you and my dear little Anya meet?"

Your hand is released after a final firm squeeze, and even though you keep your cool, something deep in you knows this protective dad routine from him isn't an act. Some part of your hindbrain is intimidated, not that you'll show it past your poker face, but the rational part is glad that Anya has people in her life who will give her newly revealed boyfriend suspicious stares while trying to break their hands. It's just a shame you're the boyfriend in this situation, and that you're already being grilled.

"We bumped into each other at a store," you explain, opting for flat, boring honesty.

Anya steps toward your side, almost as if she's hoping to run a bit of a defense for you. "More like I asked him for some help then ran Anon over in a shopping cart by accident," she nervously chuckles. "I took him to an apology lunch and, uh, well, we just kept finding reasons to talk to one another, I guess."

"You know," you cut in, "getting run over implies the wheels went over me. I just lost my balance for a moment."

"You're only saying that because a TV didn't fall on you," Anya chuckles, anxiously inching closer to you. Whether it's to draw a measure of comfort from you or shield you from the scrutinizing stares of her father and the store owner that are still boring into you, you're not sure. Maybe it's both. No matter which it is, you don't let the possibilities keep you from some light banter. "It would have taken a lot more than a nudge to drop that on me. Besides, it's not like things went badly."

"True," Anya smiles, her nerves still clearly alight, though she appears to be powering through her stress. "I guess we should be glad you and the TV survived."

Before you can make another mild joke to try and relieve some more of the tension, Fritz cuts in with, "Ah, so that's where you hurried off to that day."

"I didn't hurry off," Anya says defensively. "You and Adam were just looking for an excuse to play Mamba Racers on my new TV."

"Mhm, well your little bro was just curious why you weren't sticking around to kick our butts."

"Right," Anya drawls out, utterly unconvinced.

"So," the gator behind the counter rumbles, finally inserting himself, all six and a half feet of him, into the situation, "what brings you and your date here, Anya?"

You're not sure whose side the gator is on, but you get the feeling he saved everyone from an endless loop of awkward moments just now. Unfortunately, it puts you and Anya in the hot seat.

"Oh. I, uh," Anya's gaze flits around the store, her confidence wavering, "wanted to show Anon around the collection but, uh... I kinda thought today was your day off, Dobs."

"Didn't want me tattling to your dad that you were on a date?" the gator chuckles, the sound deep and grave. There's a guttural, primal hiss at the edge of his voice that's oddly familiar, but you're so distracted by the situation you can't place it.

You feel Anya's forearm feathers brush against you as she shifts her weight from foot to foot anxiously. "That's-"

"Oh c'mon, Dobs," Fritz says, "you know you'd never tell me without Anya's okay. Not with how much you spoil her."

"Got me there," the gator smiles, showing more of his numerous, jagged teeth. "But hey bud, I've been following your lead on that for the last twenty some-odd years."

Anya is undeniably cringing on the inside, so you risk a soft pat on the elbow and encouraging look. Even if that nervous part of your primal brain is screaming that any unapproved contact with her is going to offend her father and the proprietor of the store you're currently standing in, it's worth it. She gives a grateful glance and stops fidgeting so much, reaffirming your belief that what you did was right. Consequences be damned.

"So, uh," Anya says, trying to desperately change the subject, "you know why we're here. So what's got you stopping by, dad?"

"Just running an errand for work," he replies, head turning to the gator proprietor. "Speaking of, Dobs, think they'll get it back to us by next weekend?"

"I told 'em it was a priority order, but you know how slow those repairs can be."

"Damn," Fritz sighs. "They really want that flying V for the video shoot."

"Maybe if you hadn't dropped it, you wouldn't need to get it repaired."

"A two foot drop shouldn't have snapped the neck like a twig."

The gator grunts and shrugs. "Well, it depends on how often you drop it."

"Oh c'mon, you've seen me drop it maybe two times."

"That I've seen. Max has told me about four others."

"Wait," Anya cuts in, "why not just use my Jackson V if you need something in the style? Unless it's about a specific sound and not looks?"

Her father looks at her, tilting his head as he considers what she just brought up. You're mostly lost in this conversation of actual music nerds. You're more of the type that likes to listen and learn the history of bands, not so much someone that has a draw to how it's done. That's a realm of magic that you don't get, or want to spoil. But from the look on Fritz's face he understands, and he seems to like Anya's suggestion.

"Good idea," he says, turning to grin at Dob. "What do you think?"

"That it'll piss the producer off." The gator lets out a deep, hissing rumble of a chuckle. "Go for it. Guy's good but he's an asshole."

Fritz nods, then glances at Anya, his eyes drifting to you for a split moment before settling back on his daughter. "How about I call you to set up a time, dear? I'm supposed to pick up lunch for everyone on my way back, so I shouldn't be idling around too much longer."

There's a soft rustling of feathers as Anya's tail relaxes, drooping slightly to brush against the floor. You take that as a sign that she's relieved to hear her father won't be sticking around much longer. "I'll bring it to you, dad," she says. "After work sometime next week, since I already promised mom I'd swing by for dinner."

The stripes on Fritz's snout are way too distracting in the corner of your eye when he nods. "Gotcha. Well," he says, reaching into a pocket and fishing out keys, "anyway, I should get going. I've got Chinese to pick up, and I should probably get out of the way of your spicy date."

Anya hides her cringing grimace by stepping forward and giving her father a one arm hug. "Be safe."

Returning her hug, Fritz backs off a moment later. He spares a moment for you, reaching out to shake your hand one last time. Politeness demands you take it, and he tries to crush your bones once again. "Don't mind the music geek talk," he says, "big family passion."

"Hey, working with your passions is the dream, right?"

"True," he nods, before waving to Dob and making for the door.

Once the door faintly chimes, you think this awkward encounter is finally over, only for the raptor father to stop and look over his shoulder. "Oh yeah, Anya. You should invite Anon to dinner at our place sometime, yeah? Let us get to know him too."

Oh fuck. Why would he drop a bombshell like that?

"Anyway," he waves, slipping out, "love ya' dear, y'all be safe."

The door shuts with a slow electronic chime. Disbelief compels you to stare as he slips out of sight.

Her father was so nonchalant about it all, you really don't think he meant to embarrass her. He said what was on his mind, and then left before he could see the train wreck he just set into motion. Unfortunately, you get to watch as Anya's headfeathers turn to a mess of stressed out, frazzled raptor. The proprietor has turned his scaly snout to fiddle with something on the back wall, but you can see he's trying to suppress a chuckle at what just transpired.

No longer under the judgmental gazes of her father and his friend, you inch closer to Anya and give her hand a friendly, reassuring squeeze. A sigh escapes her snout a moment later, her feathers relaxing from their spaz out. She rubs her thumb over yours and shoots you a grateful smile. As if thanking you for trying to have her back after that awkward mess of an introduction to her father and his surprise invitation to dinner. But even if she's just glad to have physical contact after something unexpected like that, you don't mind.

"Do you want to go look at the vinyl?" you ask, trying to give her a distraction.

Green eyes flick away. "Y-yeah. Sure."

Holding tightly onto your hand, she starts off for the other side of the store, clearly wanting to get far away from the counter. Dob at least has mercy on you both by fussing with a guitar on the wall instead of trying to drag you into a conversation.

Once Anya has put a couple display racks worth of distance between her father's friend, she lets out a frustrated sigh. "Fuck. Sorry for the constant crap luck, Anon."

"Hey, this is hardly bad luck by my standards."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that. My dad wasn't joking, he's going to start pestering me to bring you to a family dinner," she grumbles.

You can only shrug. "I'm not offended by it, if that helps."

"Some," she breathes out, shoulders slumping as she turns to a rack of vinyl. She starts idly pinching the sleeves and lifting them up to look at the covers, but her eyes don't appear all that focused on the albums. "He won't start right away, I think. But talk about a mood killer. We just started dating and you've already had my dad be dumb at you."

Shaking your head, you smile a little bit and step up next to her. You start thumbing through the music, trying to see if you recognize anything before saying, "It's not like there's any right way to go about dating. Aside from enjoying ourselves and communicating, of course."

"You're right," she mumbles. "That just threw me off, after, well, y'know."

"It's alright, Anya."

She mumbles what sounds like a thanks.

You know how hard it is on her. Her last relationship, which didn't sound all that healthy to you, blew up once her dad accidentally found out. You want to remind her your relationship with her isn't a secret nor should it be, and that you don't mind properly meeting the rest of her family after a few more weeks of getting to know each other. However, you suspect now isn't the best time for that. She's been trying, in her own way, to act natural and move on. You chew the edge of your tongue and hope that you're making the right choice here.

She flicks through a few albums in silence, clearly lost in thought. While she does, you belatedly realize this is a section marked 'Foreign.' That explains why you haven't recognized anything, let alone understood what the album covers mean. Well, you do recognize one album is in Russian Cyrillic, but you have no idea what it says.

"Guh," Anya groans quietly, letting a spanish album slide back down. You wonder if she just had the same realization you did about the incomprehensible nature of these records. "If Dob wasn't here I'd try to get things back on track by asking if you want to listen to some music, but after he and my dad tried to do the whole alpha males intimidating the daughter's boyfriend thing..."

Ah. So that's been bothering her as well. "Caught on to that, huh?"

"Dad wasn't very subtle," she says. "Dob was just backing him up, like always. But damn is this too awkward."

You keep to yourself how Dob was way more effective at intimidation. "At least you know they're looking out for you."

"I suppose," she nods halfheartedly. "Hell," she breathes out a few moments later. "Sorry to be such a stick in the mud. I'm trying not to beat myself up over yet another date's plans crashing into an unexpected wall, but I guess it isn't working."

"Want to do a change of venue?" you ask, looking to be proactive. "We can always sample music some other day."

She shifts from foot to foot, her toeclaws no doubt twitching against her sandals. "Would you mind? I do want to show you around, maybe even play some guitar for you, but it really is freaking awkward knowing Dob is hanging around."

"I'd be flattered to listen to you play anytime. So no, I don't mind," you confirm. Then, in a fit of curiosity that lets your mouth work before your brain, you ask, "I guess Dob is a close enough family friend it's like having a relative watching over you, huh?"

"Guh, you're more right than you think," she grumbles. "I'm going to sound really stupid here, but I thought Dob and his brother Max, one of dad's band mates..."

Anya goes very quiet, glancing at you with an unreadable expression.

"Your dad is in a band?" you ask without thinking it through, that moment of curiosity fluffing her feathers out even more nervously than before.

"Y-y-yeah. I, uh, I never mentioned that did I?"

"I think generalities came up before."

"O-oh. Right." She breathes in, and lets out a quiet, "Fuck."

Great, you probably just stepped in something that was best left for another time. But there's no turning back now, so you press on, "Is something wrong?"

"Me being stupid again," she mumbles. "I-I might have stupidly hoped it would never come up, or you'd already know and not care..."

"What are you talking about, Anya?"

"Dad's, uh," her claws tap on her sandals, "he's a professional musician. And, uh, you've probably heard a lot of what he's in. I don't talk about it because it's cringey and everyone in school always thought it was dumb, but we've got similar tastes andIdon'tevenknow-"

You pat her shoulder and say, "Breathe for a moment."

Anya sucks in a deep breath and holds it for a moment, before sighing out frustratedly. The thankful look she throws your way eases you up as that frustration isn't directed at you. Poor raptor is still wound up from the interruption in date plans, and now you've bungled the attempt to get her to stop thinking about it.

Luckily for you, Anya manages to speak at a more measured pace, "My dad's the guitarist of Scale Snatcher."

"Oh."

You take a moment to process that, memories of those fast paced music videos coursing through your head at breakneck pace. White stripes on a black snout, viciously rhythmic shredding, and a stage presence muted only by the gator lead singer that towers above the rest of the band. It fits, if you consider his headfeathers were probably painted for the videos. While a scant few moments of concern well up in your chest that Anya never told you until now, it fades to nothing when you look in her worried eyes. All the bullying she endured in school gave her a good reason to keep quiet about something like this if there was even the slightest chance of it going sour.

Which helps you quash any chance of you over-reacting with fan excitement. Fritz might be from a band you're growing quite fond of, but he's still Anya's father - who nearly walked in on the two of you when he showed up unannounced at her apartment. The last thing Anya needs today is even more stress regarding him, or you acting like a crazed fan.

Wait. Your thoughts about protecting your raptor date's sanity derail.

Tall gator? In music videos with Fritz?

You glance to the store's proprietor, his back still turned to you two as he pretends to be busy with something on the wall. There's no way.

Turning to Anya, you see her eyes flick to where yours were. "Ah, oh no, Dob isn't part of the band," she quickly clarifies. A second later, she glances down and adds, "His brother Max is, though. They're basically my uncles, they've known my dad for so long."

"I would like to say," you begin, "that if anyone has been dumb these last few weeks it's me for not piecing this together after all the hints."

"Hindsight is twenty-twenty? And to be fair," Anya murmurs, "I was avoiding talking about it. I'm so used to hiding it I didn't even want to think about if or when I should tell you."

"It's alright," you assure her, still processing this. It adds more questions in the back of your head as to why Anya would be interested in you, but those are self-doubts that have nothing to do with her. "I really should have figured it out or even asked, considering all the music videos you sent me."

"I, uh, may have mainly sent the ones that dad doesn't show up a lot in," Anya explains.

"It got me looking at more."

"Oh."

You need to drag this conversation out of the awkward quagmire you lead it into. While it's a shock to meet a musician who is in a moderately famous band, let alone realize you're dating his daughter, it doesn't put you off. It only adds a new dimension and history to the woman you're with. Grasping for something to say, your mouth goes with, "It doesn't change anything for me, Anya."

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't afraid it still will," she mumbles.

"Well, it's a surprise. But look at it this way, your dad wasn't the one to drop this surprise out of the blue."

"Oh fuck, I hadn't even though about that," Anya says, shoulders shuddering. "I wouldn't be surprised if he thought I already told you, since I'm a mega-fan of the band."

"If you need another silver lining, you're still the same Anya that you've always been to me."

Her tail baffs lightly against your legs, a nervous and slightly embarrassed smile aiming at you. "G-good thing I believe you."

"It is," you smile back, relieved to see her not freaking out over this. There have been a few too many shocks for her on this date, you think, but she's enduring.

"Changing the subject a little," she says, thumbing through another few albums, "I'm not kidding about Dob and Max. I thought they were my flesh and blood uncles until I was like ten. Despite, y'know, the obvious problem with that."

"Ah. Yeah, that'd make things very awkward," you say. To help further ease her mind, you continue speaking. "Don't feel silly about that, not with me at least. I thought my grandparents, on my dad's side, lived at the airport until I was probably ten or eleven. Since whenever I saw them, we would always go there to get them."

She throws a slightly suspicious glance at you, probably to make sure you're not making it up.

As if you would. Besides, you find yourself wanting to build more trust with her, so you might as well share a family memory that isn't terrible, just cringe worthy. "It's true," you admit. "Thankfully only granddad found out, and he was cool about it. Like he always was. He kept it a secret, but not before having a good laugh at my stupidity."

"I would've curled up and died," Anya says.

"Oh trust me, I wanted to."

"It's amazing we survive those moments as kids, huh?"

"And that we survive them afterwards."

She finally loosens up enough to chuckle. "True enough." She flicks her claws through a few more albums, only to stop and look dead at you, captivating you with her green gaze. "So, uh, you're probably thinking quicker on your feet than me. Do you have any ideas on what else we can do? To, y'know, put all this behind us, if you don't mind?"

Put on the spot, your first instinct is to shrug, which you resist. Getting on with the day and date would be great, for both of you. You wrack your brain for ideas yet come up with none, so you stupidly wing it. "Well, if you're hungry, we could just go grab an early dinner. Dodge the first parts of the dinner crowd, then catch a movie or something."

"Hm, that's not a bad idea," Anya says. A tiny smile lifts the edge of her mouth, all while her headfeathers fluff up mildly. "A-and you wouldn't mind if I want to bring you back here sometime I'm not spooked, right? S-since you already know about everything and aren't put off by my family history?"

"I'd love to," you smile, touching her elbow, fingers stroking the long, stiff feathers on her forearm.

"Good, 'cause I," she murmurs, inching just a bit closer, "really want to. I think you'll really like it, when we're in a section that's not moon runes and I'm not a stressed out doof."

"Then let's get out of here so you stop thinking you're anything but cute." Goddammit, why did your mouth go and say that? It's true, sure, but you know by now what that will do to her.

The raptor's feathers rise, but not nearly as much as you expected. Either she's containing her frazzled feelings exceptionally well, or your mouth didn't overstep too much. "W-w-well," she stammers, "I guess we should sneak out of here for that to even be possible, huh?"

That sounds like a good enough reason for you to take her hand in yours. The forwardness causes her toeclaws to tap, but it does way more than that. It gives her an excuse to get even closer to you. She's definitely touchy, wrapping her fingers around yours, but you wouldn't call this clingy at all. Giving her a smile, you aim for the door, hand in hand. You're leading her, but with how intent she is on staying in contact with you, it's clear she doesn't mind.

The gator manning the counter still has his back turned, letting you make it to the door undetected. Unfortunately, there's a small electronic chime that goes off as you push open the exit.

Anya speaks up, "I'll see you around, Dob."

"Not even going to buy some new picks?" he asks, reptilian gaze shifting toward you. While Anya is distracted by sneaking a glance at you, a silent message is delivered by the gator.

It's the eternal message of all fathers and uncles, one that you've had drilled into you more than enough today. Treat her right, or there will be consequences that hospitals can't mend and police won't discover.

You nod, already intending to do nothing that causes trouble. His stare softens just in time for Anya to look back at him. "I'll just swipe some of dad's. A-anyway, bye, Dob," she says, trying to urge you out of the door.

"Take care, chickadee," the gator replies, attention turning back to a guitar on the wall. Or rather, you finally notice, his phone that he's been messing with the entire time.

Anya all but scurries out after you, overtaking your pace and, because she still has a deathgrip on your hand, guiding you towards her car. Once you're safely at the passenger's side, standing next to the unopened door, a heavy sigh slumps her shoulders.

"Fuck," she mumbles.

"You okay?" you ask.

"It's just nerves. I'm still not..." She shakes her head. "I wasn't prepared for all of this. Them finding out, you finding out, and... Fuck. I mean, dad already knew I was seeing someone, but this is..." She buries her eyes in her hands for a moment. "Gah, fuck, I am so bad at this openly dating thing."

Patting her on the shoulder, you whisper encouragingly, "You're doing fine."

Her hands fall away, but she still grimaces. "Sure doesn't feel that way."

Against your better judgement, in case Dob is watching somehow, you wrap Anya up in a comforting hug. Her feathers stiffen up, but she doesn't pull away. "It was a nerve-wracking run in, but I'm not upset about anything," you assure her, adding in a few pats for your comfort as much as hers. You almost say something about how her dad seems way cooler and down to earth than yours, but that seems wrong after you told her about the gist of your parental issues. You don't want her feeling guilty, but at ease, so you lay on a little more. "And we got me meeting your dad out of the way, so I'd say that's doing really good on the openly dating end."

"You're right, I'm just being a stressed out doof," she groans out, leaning into your hug and squeezing you back. "Major mood killer though, isn't it?"

"Could be a lot worse, and we survived it," you say, giving her one last pat before withdrawing a bit. Anya keeps her hands on your elbows, and looks at you with open relief. "C'mon, why don't we get out of here and rebuild the mood? I'm sure your nerves will unwind with distance."

"Probably," she sighs, patting your hand and trying to flash a smile. She's still clearly down about the unexpected encounter, not that you can blame her, but her willingness to try and push through is admirable. "Thanks, Anon. I don't think I would have survived this without you."

You don't want to make it worse by pointing out that without you here, none of it would've happened or been so miserable. But you take your own suggestion on rebuilding the mood and instead say, "I'm glad we're both alright. And with that in mind, where to for an early dinner?"

"R-right. That's a good idea. Uhhh..."

"Don't stress yourself out. I'm open to anything."

"Th-then, uhm, h-how's takeout and a movie at my place sound?" She nearly winces, and quickly adds, "Sorry. I'm being lame and trying to find an excuse to curl up and snuggle instead of doing anything exciting."

"That sounds like the perfect kind of weekend relaxation to me." Especially after a week of monotonous warehouse work made worse by being in charge of a new hire.

She stares at you, and you hear three quick, clicking taps of her claws. "Oh. If-if you don't mind more of the same then, I'd like to be a little boring."

"Being together isn't boring, even if I'm a pretty dull person." Your mouth is ahead of you yet again, and painfully honest to boot. You suppose the surprises of the day have hit you more than you thought.

"I-I think you're plenty exciting," she stumbles out. "And I may not have had a totally dull day in mind, going back to my place."

The quickening of your pulse at the vague implication has you focus on her green eyes trying not to glance away. "Really? Well, I wouldn't mind some excitement as well."

"W-well if we're that like-minded," she scoots up next to you and pulls out her phone, "let's go ahead and put an order in."

"Sure. Where are you thinking?"

"How about steak?"

---

You weren't able to pay, as Anya took your order and used an app to check out before you could say anything. A little disappointing, but you settle on treating her next time. The drive to pick up the food does have you belatedly realize you're already planning another date before this one is over, but with how relaxed the singing along to her pick of music makes you, that's fine. A girlfriend like Anya is worth plotting future dates for.

Once she's pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant, you wrack your brain for small talk that isn't even remotely related to the run in with her father. You manage to find something, and ask "How was your work week?"

"Tedious," she sighs. "We got a client who's just now switching to digital business record keeping, after fifteen years."

"Damn. Even I'm not that much of a luddite."

"My boss hasn't outright said it, but the client might be a little paranoid. He's all above board, but it's a real chore."

"Didn't you once tell me audits are fun?"

"I said they look really interesting to do," she chuckles. "But this isn't like that, not for me at least. I've been record organizing all week."

"Grunt work?"

"Necessary grunt work, at least." She shifts in her seat, green eyes focusing in on you. "What about you? How's your week been going?"

"Different," you answer slowly. "I've had to watch over a new hire, Craig."

"Hm. You sound less than excited."

"He's a good employee so far, doesn't skimp on safety or slack off until he's allowed."

She bobs her head. "There's a 'but' in there, huh?"

"Yeah," you admit. "He's more talkative and friendly than I'm used to at work. Not the norm, considering the rate of turnover."

"It's high?"

"Way above average. The boss doesn't cut corners with any rules, and a lot of people get pressured into quitting or let go during their probation period." Or are on probation instead of in jail, but that's not the best topic for now.

"So being friendly isn't common?"

"Cordial yes, but most people are just there for a paycheck."

"Couldn't hurt to be friendly as well," Anya says with a hint of uncertainty.

She's right, but also wrong. You've gotten burned before, yet she's turning out to be proof not everything goes south for you. Maybe you shouldn't always be so pessimistic. "Well, I have been trying to be nice to Craig. I'm just not that talkative at work."

"Cordial is good. As long as you can work with them, that's how I've been trying to approach work, if I'm being honest."

"Exactly."

"Hm." Her claws tap the steering wheel. She looks about ready to say something when an employee with a big bag of food heads towards the car. Conversation dies off as the bag gets handed over, along with a few bills from Anya as an extra tip, and then you're off, the small talk forgotten.

The drive is filled with music, the wind, and the smell of food. Along with a few errant thoughts about what kind of excitement Anya has in mind back at her place, and whether or not it involves you seeing more of the white sea of feathers on her naked front.

Your firm grip on your knee keeps you in reality long enough for you to make it back to her apartment complex. As you told her, you really don't mind being back here for a date. There can be adventurous outings another time, you're all for spending an evening hanging out in person with her in the comforts of privacy. Nice as video chats are, it can't compare to being together.

You carry the food, and at her quiet signal of popping the trunk open, the overnight bag you brought. She grabs her shirt out of the trunk as well. Anya fiddles with her keys nervously the entire time, but just shoots you a smile when she sees you glancing her way.

"I'll get the door," she blurts out, taking the lead once the trunk shuts.

The bushy end of her feathered tail bats softly against your leg as she steps ahead. You can't help but appreciate how every bouncing step she takes rolls her hips, memories of her feathered thighs around your head creeping back. You're not sure exactly what it is about raptors that you find attractive, but her tail and backside are certainly growing on you.

Since she sped ahead to unlock the door, she has it open in time to quickly usher you in. Without needing direction you slip out of your shoes, something she copies, then set the bounty of food on the kitchen counter.

"You can drop your bag behind the couch for now," she says, coming up beside you to unpack everything, her claws clacking on the tile floor. She quite intentionally slides her hand down your forearm as she inches just a little closer.

She's a lot bolder now that the front door is shut, not that you mind in the slightest.

You stroke along her elbow, happy to feel her smooth, long primary feathers, and smile when she bumps her hip against yours. A playful glint lifts her shapely eyes and mouth. She hands you the shirt you had to borrow last time you were here. Taking that as a message to let her handle the food while you put things up away, you start to go, aiming for the couch first before her laundry nook.

Only for her to speak back up, making you halt. "Y-you know," she bumbles out, "you could put it in my room i-instead."

"Think I'll need the overnighter after all?" you ask, tone lightly teasing even though you're serious. She did ask you to pack the bag, so it's not as if something like an invitation to stay the night would surprise you.

Her feathers fluff in embarrassment, but there's a slightly higher peak running in a line down the middle of her head. "D-do you need to be anywhere tomorrow?"

Alluring green commands your attention, distracting you from the meaning of her stirred up headfeathers. Coming back to her place was definitely the best direction for this date. Anya's confidence appears to be back in full force, and directed at you with enough smoldering intent your mouth answers before your brain can even think. "Nope. I'm completely free until monday."

Her saurian smile spreads wider upon hearing that, along with a touch of timid trepidation in that gaze. "I am too. Which means I can't make us late for anything."

"You're right," you say, processing this way too slowly. It's not unexpected, but reality hits harder than you thought.

"Then y-you can drop it in my room. I don't mind if you end up staying the night, after all."

The maneuvers your heart makes in your chest should be done by stunt planes, not a vital organ. She has to be wanting to pick up where you two kept leaving off on your dates, only an inch from clothes going flying.

You can only smile back and nod; you're so enthralled by this whirlwind relationship, going for it only makes sense. That and the thoughts of the white feathers that run down from her neck, all the way to the top of her groin and faint swell of her pelvic boot, continue to swirl in your mind. If she likes how you look at her, then she's going to have to find out sooner or later the way she stares at you has an enchanting effect all its own.

"Since you'll be going there, mind setting this on my dresser?" She holds out the band shirt you had to borrow after the claw incident last time.

With a nod you take it, too tempted by her smile not to tease the scales on her fingers. Primal focus hones in on you, your raptor date unable to suppress a small chattering purr of a sound that comes from deep in her throat.

Suspecting she's primed for a lot more than touching, you hurry off. You walk into the hall and turn right towards the shut door of her bedroom. You open it up, eyes flicking around the room lit by the window blind shaded evening sun. Some part of you expected to see a pair of her panties hanging on the guitar, that image is so thoroughly burned into your mind, but instead the instrument is missing. Only its stand remains. The covers on her bed are a little ruffled, but otherwise it's the same minimally decorated room you remember. With a stomach tightening thought that you'll probably get to see more of it tonight, which is far more exciting than a day out and about, you set your bag down beside her dresser and quickly retreat from her room. There's no urge to snoop into her things when she's out there waiting.

Shutting the bedroom door behind you, you make for the kitchen. Anya is leaning over the counter that separates her kitchen from the rest of the apartment, plating your steamed vegetables and new york strip, the expensive steak ordered only because she gave you pleading eyes when telling you to get what you wanted. You feel modest compared to what is already on her plate. A monster of a medium-rare t-bone steak, a porterhouse you believe, dominates her dish. There's so much meat that her bacon heavy broccoli casserole is smashed up against the juicy beef, soaking up some of it. Not that she seems to mind. With her appetite and metabolism, you've got no doubt she'll gleefully clean her plate of everything but the bone.

"Do you want the rolls?" she asks, lifting a small styrofoam box.

"Not a fan of bread?"

The deinonychus shrugs with one shoulder. "I don't want to risk a carb crash tonight."

While your eyes flit to her pointy, curved teeth fit to shred through an uncooked roast, your mind derails and flies into the gutter. If she's wanting to keep her energy up, you know it's not for a movie or game night on the couch.

"Might as well save them for later, then."

She sets the box down and nudges your plate forward, along with a paper towel that has utensils on it. "Mind if we stand and eat?"

"Nope. Any particular reason, though?"

"Ah, well," she glances away shiftily, "I'd just like to be face to face for a bit, is all."

Right. The touchy, cuddly Anya doesn't want to sit down together in the privacy of her home on a date. Or even at her dining table. Well, you aren't about to overload her with teasing and let your questions and doubts about this slide.

Since you just bob your head in agreement, Anya turns and clacks off toward the refrigerator. With her back to you and torso leaning forward, you're given a look at how her hips and rear end fill out her clothes, throwing you mind further into the gutter. Before you're lost in it, however, she comes back with two bottles of mango flavored sparkling water. Not exactly your drink of choice, but you accept it without complaint.

Once she's on the other side of the counter from you, there's no signal to dig in, you both just start in on the steaks. Anya cuts off a big chunk and pops it into her mouth, chewing as gracefully as possible with teeth like hers. You try not to rush yourself to keep up, but it's inevitable when three of your bites equal one of hers. The steak is good, even if it's less seasoned than you're used to. With a well marbled cut like this that's only right. No reason to hide the flavor of the beef when there's plenty of it.

A few minutes in, Anya leaves the next chunk she cuts off on the plate and says, "Thanks for indulging my boring mood."

"Hanging out with you isn't dull," you say, wanting to quickly banish any doubts she has. "Besides, something tells me you don't have a boring evening in mind at all."

"M-maybe, maybe not," she stammers, proving you right. "Maybe I'll want to snuggle up and not move after eating."

"Cuddling my cute raptor girlfriend for dessert? Count me in."

Feathers fluff up lightly, but not in full on embarrassment. There's a faint edge of a mohawk-like crest rising on her head thanks to you speaking your mind. That you can have such a pronounced effect on her so quickly has you contemplating what else you can do to rile up the raptor.

"Might want to be careful," she says, the alluring pitch of her playful tone asking you to do the opposite. "Dessert could be something else entirely if you keep it up."

"I'm only stating facts," you say, taking another bite of steak to try and quash the smile pulling at your lips.

"So am I," she replies, voice thick with a sweet, albeit nervous, purpose. She's quick to take another bite, but those enchanting green eyes sneak more than a few looks at you as the meal continues.

And she was worried you wouldn't find time alone at her place an interesting date. Unless you're reading her entirely wrong, the deinonychus has her mind in a few naughty places as well. A vast and admirable improvement after the unexpected mess of last weekend.

When both of your plates are clean of everything but the bones, Anya tips back the last of her fruit flavored drink. The bottle clunks down, and she's all eyes on you. There's even the faint tap of toeclaws against tile. You just smile and lean forward slightly.

"Still want to watch a movie? Or is there something else on your mind?" you ask, trying to make it obvious you're onto her, without needlessly unnerving your raptor date.

"Hm," she begins, hands fidgeting together, "we could go listen to something in my music room. Or I could maybe play something for you."

"If you're offering, I'd love to hear you play sometime," you say.

She smiles. "Now that it's just us, I'd love to."

Eager to steer her away from the interruptions earlier in the day, you nod toward the hall in her apartment. "So," you say, "you've really got an entire music room, huh?"

"Well, I have to have somewhere to put my guitars and play in peace. Plus it's got a seat cozier than my couch. In case you," she looks you over, her snout bobbing slightly to herself as if making up her mind, "want to do something other than listen to music."

No sooner do the words leave her mouth than her headfeathers rise. First in that mohawk line, then all of them as she experiences untold self-inflicted embarrassment. "WhatImean-"

You cut her frantic, rapid fire babble off by patting her arm on the countertop, stroking those long forearm feathers as you say, "I'm all for whatever we might get up to."

"W-whatever, huh?"

"Mhm. We've got all night after all." You're not playing fair, petting her like this. Though it's flustering her more, it's worth the risk of overloading her. With Anya's limited relationship experience, she could probably use extra reassurance that you're interested in her.

"I may have an idea or two of how to spend it," she murmurs, unable to look away. The fluffed up stress wanes, but you can't fault her for being high strung considering the shifting date plans. Her scaled hand touches yours, the blunt undersides of her claws teasing over your knuckles. "If you don't mind me being extra-touchy."

Brashly, you lean across the counter just a little more and kiss the tip of her snout. A delicate peck for the gal you've been getting along so well with. "I don't think I mind," you tease.

That ruffles the raptor's feathers again, but she isn't paralyzed. Anya is most certainly caught off guard, her green gaze flashing with startle before descending into a different sort of hunger. Her snout daringly pushes forward so she can kiss you on the mouth, her tongue slipping between your lips and against your teeth. But it's only a taste, for her and you. She pulls back as quickly as she dove in, the soft moan humming in her throat and smoldering look in her eyes sending a thrill racing up your spine.

She blinks, toeclaws tapping out an eager rhythm. "Keep it up," she warns breathily, "and I might be too distracted to play you music."

Teasing her further might be unfair when it's so obvious, but you want to try to nudge her confidence up a little more. "Oh? And what am I distracting you into?"

The click-clack of her claws fidgets to a stop, the look on her face keenly interested yet flustered at the same time. "W-well," she begins, her scaled hand running over your fingers, "I-I think you know."

You certainly do. "If you want to show me, why don't you lead the way?" you say, taking her hand in yours.

Clicking claws fidget against the tiles as Anya scoots around the counter, all the while squeezing your hand as if worried it might vanish. Since you gave the nervous and worked up raptor permission, she gets right up next to you, her forearm feathers ruffling against your skin as she hooks your elbow with hers. One look is all it takes for you to follow along, Anya's hip swaying into yours with each step deeper into her apartment.