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Stage Fright

She focuses on the soothing and familiar crackle of rain on the roof, trying to let itswhite noise dissolve the anxious thoughts running in her skull. Itis only mildly efficient, and her gray silhouette keeps hunching on the chair, legs crossed, arms stiff, and handsclamped on her knees.

"Please, Poco: your posture is non-average."

"S-sorry, sir." She hurriedly forces herself to straighten and unfold. Her long-beaked gray papier-mache mask helpfully conceals her expression, and the long gray mantle of thick fabric strips further blurs her posture into a more relaxed look. Her faux "plumage", soaked, dribbles some more water in the motion.

"Much better, thank you."The robot resumes scanning her file: for some reason, they like their papers.

Undecipherable papers,full of rows and columns of complex bar codes, poorly printed. Not the most efficient way for them to storeinformation... Poco wonders if they enjoy the ritual, the time it takes to manipulate and process these?

A-Ford takes his time, his main red eye tracing a laser onto the paper. He's large and heavy, he seemsespecially so in the tiny room where he takes most of the space, behind his tiny and perfectly orderly desk: one orange metal cylinder with a rounded top, evoking a water tank --or a giant spider, due to his rows of small secondary cameras--, perched ontop ofa bunch of mechanical tentacles inbeige, wrinkly, sleeves. His voice is equallyintimidating: Audience Members are gifted with wildly varying qualities ofvocal synthesis, his is excellentandexpressive, but terribly deep and metallic. Cold, mechanical,powerful.

He lowers the paper to focus back on Poco. "Has there been anything troubling you, lately?"

"No, sir... Nothing special."

"Then, why don't I feel anything when I read your last scripts?"

Pride for her writingovertakes her shyness and she raises her head much more defiantly than usual: "B-because you're a machine with no heart and no blood in your veins?" She belatedly notices her own tone, and adds a more hesitant: "Sir."

"My bad, I used a poorly accurate formulation for the sake of simplicity. Allow me to rephrase: the amount of entropy in your production, according to our standard models, is unusually low for artistic work; the semantic networks of your imagery have a low mean connectivity; your lexicon of metaphors and of storytelling patternsis sparse, and only borrows fromthe most common forms inthe Classics' corpus..."He probably has more, but stops as she is gradually sinking down. "Please, Poco: your posture is non-average."

She corrects her pose a second time.

"I am not a Critic, and I do not mean to make you feel bad about your scripts. But the fact is you are a two-starArtistand your late work is below thatrating. As yourchief caretaker, this change is making me anxious about your welfare.I only want to help you to get better. What is troubling you, Poco?"

"I... Uhm, it's nothing, it'll pass..." A long, uncomfortable, silence follows. As itseems like he will wait until he gets _some_answer, she tries to invent something that involves no personal disclosure. "Well, maybe I'm a little anxious since Encore caught the restless flu."

"Encore was quarantined after your stylometry changed." There's a new expectant pause.

Trying hard to find an explanation, but out of inspiration, she remains silent.

He resumes. "But, then, the restless flu can cause behavioral changes during its incubating phase;which,in some cases, has been known todisturb the congeners."

"Y-yes, that must be it, sir!"

"And you are prone to stress easily. This is a plausible explanation."

"I feel much better already, now that I understood the cause of my issues. Thank you, sir! I'm sure my stress will calm down... and... and maybe I could spend more time in the carp farm?"

"Ah, yes, you are quite a fan of the farm, aren't you?"

"It calms me down. A lot. But Mister C-Davy limits my allowed hours..."

"And why does he do so?"

Her shoulders drop and her voice fades sadly. "He says I stress the carps."

"I see. You are important to us, Poco, so I'msure I will be able to convince him to allow you a few extra hours until you recover."

"Y-you will? Oh, thank you, sir!" For the first time, she's sincere.

"Yes.However, I want you to do something for me in return." She tenses again immediately, but he allows her no time to react. "It has been an awfully long time since your last exposition to the spotlights..."

"But I'm a writer! I don't like to act!"

"I understand that, but every Artist needs _some_exposure. It is a matter of health. Especially as you were recently exposed to a sick congener: we want your immune system at its best. You wouldn't like to catch the flu and get quarantined, would you?"

She groans and looks away, visibly not so sure that this is her worst option.

"No, Poco, I assure you you do not want to be sick. This is an order, anyway, I will not accept any compromise that would bebad for your health. It can be just a talent show, if you prefer, I will not force you to actin a whole theater play."

She sighs but surrenders. "Yes, sir..." she murmurs with the most miserable voice.

"Good. That will be enough for today: dispose of your face."

Poco pulls her hood back, undoes a few laces, and takes her gray mask off. She's a lovebird, mostly green but fading to yellow, then orange, toward the head;her vivid colors contrast sharply with her costume. The natural white lines around her eyes and on top of her beak enhance her pouting expression as she walks to the small incinerator in the room's corner.

She places the mask in, closes the glass door, pushes a button, and watches "her face" turning into ashes in only a few seconds under the burst of blinding flames.

"Now, pick a new face for the week. Choose a smiling one: projecting a good attitude always helpsto integrate it."

"Yes, sir." She opens a nearby cupboard and checks a few piles inside. Soon she finds the desired expression, and her identity disappears again as she straps it on.

--

Veneralia's Aviaryfor Femaleshas fiveTheater Cages, one per starrating, surrounding the Mundane one. The term "cage" sounds unpleasant and carceral, but, here, we're speaking of a city-scale golden metal lacework, an elegant architectural wonder that offers protection to itsinsiders while being large enough so theyfeelfree despite itsenclosure. In fact, many of its inhabitants will spend all their life without bothering to visit all the Mundane areas.

Mundy, as it's commonly nicknamed, can look depressing to the unused eye: gray and identical buildingsin grid patterns, streets full of gray and identical birds, hosed bythe constant rain and contrasting with the beautiful Theaters. But it is not sucha bad place: the Artists' lifestyle is one of giving themselveswhole, and consuming their soulsin the spotlights; they need some rest to counterbalance, a dull and peaceful place, free from anycompetitionordemands. Somewhere to meditate, refocus,andrefill themselves with the eager to take part of the shows. Somewhere nobody is watchingnorrating. It has pretty good, if spartan, accommodations as well, andworkswith the Theaters: when one is bored here,or misses self-expression, a door to fulfillment is open night and day.

Right now, one of the gray figures is walking furiously, stomping and splashing, going nowhere in particular butat a stiff pace.

She passes a group of others, who turn their head curiously. She doesn't notice how she's attracting so muchattention.

One of the group's members sighs, hesitates, then trots to catch her.They are supposed to be anonymous, in their all-identical outfits.The slightly different, but often changing, masks help: they divertthe attention, while completely similar faces would let the eyes focus more on subtle hintsintheirsizes, builds, and postures.Complete identity loss isnot achievable, so fleeting and minimal oneswill do.Yet, thisschemeis not perfect, especially when one is acting in such a characteristic way.

"Hey! Your gait is non-average!"

Poco shivers and stops abruptly. "Oh... I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"Don't worry, it's me: Musette. Walk with me."

Musette takes the lead, with a nice and proper average walk that her friend imitates silently. Synchronizing each step with someone else helps Poco to calm down.

After a while, the leading bird tries her luck at firing up a chat: "I spent some time with Cantabile, today. You know? The dove, who took Encore's role while she's beinghealed?"

"..."

She shrugs. "Or, rather, she spent some time with me. Precious diva with her silver ring at the ankle, trying to get close to a bronze-ringed dirt-pecker like me? I don't know what's her deal, but I don't buy her act."

"..."

"Aw, you won't even defend her? I thought you liked her."

"..."

"Aaaaalright. You... want to talk about how well your weekly welfareinterviewwent?"

"..."

"No? Just gloom and the silent treatmentfor your best friend,then?"

After a little moment, Poco lets it out: "A-Ford told methat my writing was garbage."

"He_said _that?"

"Well, you know, he didn'tsay it like that: 'your corpus' graph is abnormally un-entropic something something, it's so terrible I'm afraid you might be sick!'"

Musette can't help chuckling at the comical imitation. "Shush, your speech is non-average!"

"Sorry."

She recovers fast. "But, seriously, he knows nothing. I love your writing.Especially the secret one..."

"Not in public!" Poco looks around anxiously to check nobody eavesdropped.

"Sorry. But I'm sincere, really. Don't worry about what he says, with his metrics and maths. Art comes from the heart, and he lacks one: he knows nothing."

"Thanks..."

"Ifeelsome remains of gloom. Was there more?"

She lowers her head and narrows her wings around herself. "Also, he wants me to take some spotlight."

"Ouch. A play?"

"Oh, thank the Muses, no! A talent show will do."

"When?"

"He didn't specify. Anytime I decide this week, I guess."

"How about right now, then? I'll come with you."

"Eeek! No way! I'm notready!"

"Girl, I know you: you will _never_be ready, and the more you delay it, the more anguish and panic you'll build up. A-Ford ordered it, so you can't escape: save yourself some stress and get rid of that weight fast!"

"I-I don't know."

"Come on, it's the perfect time: half the aviary is still in a queue awaiting their interview:there will be almost only sternly polite Audience Members, no flesh and bone Artists to boo your horribleperformance!"

"My performances are not _that_horrible!"

"That's the spirit!"

--

A bird storms into the grocery reservein a very non-average way and trots to the clerk: "I need a bag, please!"

"Wait, you are acting non-average..."

"I'm sorry, but it's an emergency! My friend is having a panic attackoutside! Please!"

The clerk doesn't understandeverythingbut, sinceit isn't the right time for explanations, she complies without asking more.

"Thanks!"

"Wait!" interrupts another anonymous bird, "if it's outside, the paper bag will get soaked and will ripwhen she breathes in it. Double it with plastic."

"Cantabile?"

"Yes. I know some first aid, let's go: we can't let her wait alone!"

The two trot out. Midway, Musette can't help checking: "Such a coincidence to find _you_there."

"You were lucky, yes!"

"Or it wasn't luck. Did you follow me?"

"Uhm... Maybe... Maybe a little? Listen, I know it's weird but... No, actually! You two were the weird ones, did you see yourselves? Come on!you can't hold it against me if I got curious."

"Hmf... Do you really know first aid?"

"Yes."

Soon, Poco is unmasked and breathing in the bagswhile the duo is standing between her and the street, spreading their wings to conceal her breaking of average the best they can.

"Hhfff... please... hhhfff... don't call... hhfff... the Audience... _*cough*_A-Ford... hhfff... more spotlight..."

"Of course we won't tell on you, Poco! Shut up and keep breathing slow. Take your time. We are here for you."

--

Poco's hands are still trembling, and her mask is a little sideways. But she at least managed to recover her breathing, and squeezing her fists aroundthe crumbled bags helpsherkeep her wings busy. "I... want to go back to my nest."

"Aww, but you _need_to win over your stage fright! Or else, it'll be just as bad tomorrow, or the day after. Maybe even worse, if you let it settle fortoolon..."

Cantabile interrupts. "Musette! You are way too brutal!"

"But..."

"I know you mean well, but you're not helping." She gently holds the stressed bird's shoulders. "It's alright, Poco, we will not force you to do anything before you are ready. Don't think about the spotlights, for now, just focus on calming down, will you?"

Musettefrownsand feels all left out, but as her friend is recovering some, she has no choice but to stay putand tojust stare reproachfully at the back of the dove's head.

Thesaiddove continues:"Fresh air will help. How about we go for a walk? I'd like to show you something."

--

The trio stops at the border of the cage, and Cantabile holds its bars to look outside. The robots' city is dense and layered, geometrical,fast vanishing under the rainin the distance.It is even more colorless than Mundy,as they navigate it using radio signals rather than visual cues: it looks, from afar, like some darkcrystal with busy ants traveling on the cracks. "Did you everwonder how it would feel to be an Audience Member, Poco?"

"I never really... uhm... do they even feel anything?"

"Exactly! They don't have Theater Cages oftheir own, you know? Nowhere to express themselves, because they have nothing to express at all. No heart, no soul... and yet I don't think they are lifeless and hollow: I saw them vibrating like arc stringsduring goodplays. I see all their work and efforts to maintain us and our Theaters."

"I'm not sureto follow you,do you think they canfeel,or not?"

"They can feel. But they cannot trigger feelings on their own. I think that they are only truly alive when we act for them, and duringthe moments later when they bask in the memories. We are their hearts and souls. We keep them... 'warm'. Outside of our Cages, look how mineral their universe is!"

"Thatsoundsterriblysad."

"No: it would be without us, but we exist! This desolate-looking hellscape is their Mundy, I imagine that they need to rest and recover or it would be too much for them. But, like us, they can come tothe Theaters whenever they like, fora feastofepictales, incredible music and colors!At least, that's my theory."

Musette shrugs. "Cute, but hard to prove. We know so little about them... inside, I mean."She taps the side of her head with a finger tip.

The dove ignores that interruption. "When I was little, I had terrible stage fright. Just like you.For a while, I considered painting backdrops for the scenes, or something similar. Until I developed my theory."

Poco tilts her head. "So,you sacrificed yourself for the Audience? That was very brave, very noble."

Cantabile has a musical chuckle, and shakes her head. "Oh, it was not like that, no. Each Artist is important, not just the ones you see: I would not have been less helpful if I painted beautiful backdrops, safely away from the spotlights. No, it changed how I felt about the Art."

She lets it trail dreamily, building up the suspense as theexperienced actress she is. The two others await eagerly.

"Sublimation! Grand Classics! Elevation! The constant pursuit of higher and higher perfection... This is beautiful, but dreadfully intimidating, isn't it?"

"Yes, I often fear that I will never be good enough."

"But this is the mean, not the end! The Art is about sharing joy and beauty, it's about wonder. It's warm and beautiful, and fun and playful! Then when you start getting into it, you'll want to growbetter and better, to explore all the subtleties and to use all the tools, but never forget the deep purpose. It's about the same kind of happiness you experiencedas a kid when scribbling haplessly, that kind of carefree power and liveliness, that energy. Not a scary, unreachable,cathedral. The techniques and discipline will comenaturallyas you evolve and inevitablybecomemore deliberate and sophisticated. Never let yourself get intimidated by the Art, it is your friend."

Musette would love to say that this was a bigspat of random rambling, full of pretty words but not that deep. That Cantabile's belief she's the one and only thing keeping the Audience alive is borderline megalomaniac, and pretentious for a mere three-star. But she can read Poco's body expression as her friend isstanding on her toes, leaning forward and holding her hands together: even with the mask, it's clear that thelovebird is transfixed by the display ofpassion,confidence,and beautiful intonations. And that's she's growing a serious crush on Canta. Drat! And she surely didn't really listen to a single word she said duringthe last minute, just to their melody: itwould beuselessto try attackingthem with logic.

The dove gives the last nudge:"Do you want to go? I'll be with you, to encourage you. All you'll have to do is a fast reciting, looking only at Musette and me in the Audience."

"I... uhm... I... can... try."

Five Minutes of Fame

The trio enters the one-star TheaterCage's vestibule and needsa brief pause to adjust to the dazzling artificial light --in comparison to the cloudy outside--,toall the colors... andtothe silence when the doors close to leave the rain outside. Silence will not last, but they'll first have to pass the security gate.

K-Clark is a thick and imposing metal rectangle, resting on many little "feet" and decorated with golden patterns. He beeps welcomingly when they walk closer. "Please visitor-s_scan _ring-z." His concatenatingsynthesis randomly switches voicesand tonesbetween words.

Each bird comes waving their right ankle above the floor detector.

"Welcome, Can-ta-bil-e... Welcome, Mu-sette...Welcome, Po-co--long time, no see. What show areyou _three_parts of?"

The Theaters' rules are simple: an Artist is forbidden fromvisitingthe ones above her rating, and can only enter and stay as long as she is part of a show.

Cantabilenaturally takes charge: "We do not know yet. We would like to enter a talent show, as a team of three if this is possible. What do you have scheduled?"

"Next_team talent show_,at_twenty-colon-zero-zero_. The theme is love_song-z. It is unfortunately too _early_to grant you access, please come back in:_six-colon-twenty-four-colon-seven."

"Uhm, we'd really like to enter now. How about a non-team talent show, then?"

"Ongoing talent show started just_zero-colon-zero-seven_ago.Subscriptionsarestill open. The theme is Classical Tragedy. Access would be granted in: right now."

"Sounds good, one moment please." She turns to her friends. "Do you two know a scene on this theme?"

Poco nods: "I'm a tragedy writer, of course I know the Classics. It's tailored for me."

Musette shrugs. "I should manage. I don't have to be good, after all,we don't play to win."

"Perfect, then! K-Clark, please subscribe usall."

"Subscription validated. Access granted. Yourscene is B-three. Your scheduled turn is in zero-colon-twenty-five. Break a leg." And the huge door walks sideways to allow them inside.

--

"Onward and make haste, my loyal palfrey! These perilous mountains are no match for us! Audentes fortuna iuvat!" The, fortunately petite, red canary with her ridiculous fake mustache is brandishing her foam sword as she rides a gray parrot, costumed as a white cone --likely a modernist dancer--, huffing but trotting with her face stern from concentration, on top of the lockers' row. They make a loud ruckus and sometimesrock precariously.

Artists freshly returned from the Mundane hamming the most random improvised performance in a rush of bottled-up self-expression are nothing special, here, and the trio is too busy examining each other to pay them any attention. Thethree friendsjust got rid of their mundane faces and bodies: Cantabile is seeing the two others for the first time, and vice versa.

The dove is pure white, gracious with her slender beak and elegant neck. Her fleshy cere prevents the perfect shapes from being too sharp and helps giving her a gentle expression. She chose a lush robe with a cape, matching the show's theme, and a few bronze jewels.

Musette, a quail, is her polar opposite: small, stout, and heavybottomed, mostly brown with a natural camouflage pattern.She's not trying to hide how she's still agitated about Canta,especially now she sees how beautiful the other is. She also didn't bother with any costume and will remain in her standardmundane, but comfortable, plain gray shirt and pants.

As for the green and orange lovebird... Poco is searching through costumes in a rolling coat rack.She's also still holding on her mask, as if reluctant to let it go.

Cute detail that makes the dove smile, pencil-scribbled papers are stuck in her tail's feathers: notes and drafts of the last scripts she's working on."Do you want myhelptofind something nice?"

"I don't want something _too_nice. But not too plain either. Something that won't stand out, that will not catch too much attention."

"Ah... Try a white toga, then."

The two birds politely turn their back to Poco while she dries herself with a warm towel, then changes herself.

Cantabile is still curious:"You don't like to stand out? Is it not a relief,even a little,to show your true face to the world, oncein a while?"

"I hate to stand out. And... I'm quite average, quite happy to be an anonymous member of the group and to make my Art behind the curtains. The papier-mache face and gray plumage feel more 'me'to me than my 'natural' vibrant colors."

"Awww, don't belittle yourself."

"I'm not! Didn't you saythateven the invisible Artists mattered? Well, I don't need to be the center of attention to be happy. To each their own."

Pleasedto see the dove out of words, Musettepumps her fist up at her friend. "Behind the curtainsteam, girl!"

Which accidentally hands her "foe"a diversion from the uncomfortable topic: "Ah, soyou are not much of an actress either? A writeras well?"

"Nope, good lady. This crafty, clever, and skilled quail is a machinist. I'malsothe best lighting engineer this side of the cage!"

"Impressive! So, you are not too stressed by having to act today?"

She shrugs. "I'm fine. I don't enjoyit, but it doesn't bother me like Poco. I'm a good bird who takes her artificial sunlight regularly,and my circadian cycles are absolute perfection. Daddy A-Ford's pride and joy: if welfare counted, I'd have my gold ring in no time!" She pauses the time to share a chuckle with the others, then peeks down. "Speaking of which, you have quite the collection. Show me?"

Cantabile is happy to oblige,and she raises her foot on top of a nearby bench. She starts pointing at her numerous ankle rings. Silverone"three-star Artist," redwith dots"tragedian," pinkwith dots"romantic," gray with alternating happy and sad masks"comedian," gray with musical notes "modern singer," yellow with musical notes "opera singer," and,finally,graywith paintbrushes "background painter, although I didn't practice this one for a while".

The quail stomps beside her with a grunt --shorter legs--, and makes her own presentation. Bronze ring "one-star," gray with cogs "mechanist," yellow with cogs "lighting engineer,and I hope to earn my props personsoon".

Poco is less dramatic,she leaves her foot on the floor. Alternating bronze and silver bands "I'm a two-star Artist," gray with writing quills "a script writer, specifically," red with dots "and I mostly write tragedy".

Cantabile playfully pumps her fist up: "Tragedy team, girl!"

Musette pouts and shrugs. "Pah! She also writes some very good..." She stops and hesitates, as she doesn't want to evoke romanticism, which is also one of Canta's rings. So she eventually makes a vague gesture: "various things."

--

Room B3 does its best to emulatethe look and feel of old theaters: faux wood (actually plastic), nice red seats (but made in heavy-duty metal) in curved rows, no gilding since it's one-star but a nice carpet. The scene isn't too high and itscurtains are dusty, its only scenery are a few painted panelsdepictingantique ruins.

Abluebird, nervously clamping the microphone's stand --and sometimes tapping her beak on it--,is reciting her lines with various levels of liveliness or stuttering depending on how well she remembers them.

The Audience, as always, is faithful even for such a minor show, and the room is full of robots of all shapes and sizes.

Cantabile checked in the backstage to discover that, since she forgot to specify, she and her friends were scheduled to appear in alphabetical order. Since she wants Poco to be able to see her whileacting, she doesn't plan to wait in the backstage as is the common rule: one good thing hereis that some rule bending is toleratedas fashionable artistry when done with flair. So she's dragging her friends behind as she hunts for a sitting spot among the Audience.

Sadly, what appeared to be an empty seat from afar, in the soft light, is actually occupied by a minuscule Audience Member on tracks. He's raised as far up as his suspensions will allow, and "sitting" on top of a thick cushion, but is still probably not seeing much.

The dove stops and hesitates.

"I carry pipes," announces a very artificial, low-sampled, formant synthesis, thatsoundsridiculously tiny given its owner: he's humanoid, only all stretched sidewaysso he fills five seats on his own. A massively muscular, square, humanoid with a tiny head, and "scars" on the metal from his construction labor. The birds are currently standing before him.

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir! We're leaving, we didnot mean to disturb you."

He shakes his head. "I carry pipes."

Guessing that he seems full of good will, although she's not certain given the lack of facial or vocal expression, Canta tries her luck and bowsher head:"Hello, sir. I'm Cantabile and will soon be on the scene for you."

"I:CarryPipes."

"Pleased to meet you, Mister Carry Pipes. I would like to be here to cheer my shy friend on the scene.Do you think,if it is not too bold to ask, that we might sit on yourstrong biceps without being pests?"

"I carry! (Pipes.)" And his shoulders slowly shift down in a loud buzzing, until they are at an easily reachable level.

They allthank him and take place.

"I carry pipes."

--

Afew Audience Members press their seat buttons to emit somerecorded clapping. Poco checks Carry Pipes, who nods, and presses his as well: generous, the robot clapped toeveryperformance so far.

Musette is busy studying --and mercilessly rating in her head--the lighting.

As for Cantabile, she claps enthusiastically with a warm smile, while leaning on her right to whisper to the quail: "They are all terrible."

This refreshes the other's grumpiness: "Well, not everyone can be a three-star like you!"

"No, no, I didn't mean to be judgmental...I mean it's good, itwill be less intimidating for Poco."

"Ah..." Now she feels silly to have overreacted. Yet: "Well,too bad youwillgofirst, then."

"Can I count on you to... tone down the contrast after me?"

"Yes, don't worry, I'll give her a terrible one-star performance. Asrealfriends do."

The dove isn't given a chance to respond as someone calls her: she's next.

"Break a leg!"

"Break a leg!"

"I carry pipes!"

--

"Oh, Vivezza, what should my heart beat for,now thatmy love is gone? The sun grewcold and evenhoney wentsour... Bring me somepoison, faithful servant, for its bitterness is the only tastethatI can still palate!"

Musette holds her breath and is wincing very hard. She will not_shed a tear! No,she won't! It's just one of these silly melodramatic Classics with their cliche lovers dying at war and poisoning themselves out ofloneliness. And pompous language! And faithful servants whoconveniently happen to carry poison for no reason whatsoever, how silly is that? She's not crying, she's definitely not! Canta isn't that good! "*sniff*_They should really clean up these curtains, once in a while." She rubs her eye fast with the back of herwrist. "It'sdusty."

"She is amazing..." Poco is all leaned forward and squeezing her feet together. Sometimes, sheshiverswith feathers rising on the back of her neck.

The quail sighs. "Yes, she's... not so bad." Alright, honestly, she's standing head and shoulders aboveeveryone here. Right now, she's kneeling,covering her face with a wing in a dramatic motion,and slowly curling backward. It could be completely ridiculous so easily, especially with the outdated and exaggerated text, and the way she's reciting it with all the theatrical pompousness of their epoch. But she's pulling it off. She's radiating the dense emotion, sincere and gracious enough tocrankit to eleven and still grab the audience into the play. "Not bad at all."

"She is vibrant! Powerful and unique! She has presence, and style! She's... everything I will never be..."

That came out by surprise and Musette fails to find the right words, beak agape and desperately searching.

Fortunately,someone more fluent with the expression of his emotions soon chimes in, very gently: "I carry pipes."

Poco inhales and straightens, nodding. "I... I know. You are right, sorry. I'm good."

The quail blinks some, rubs her arm, then: "Well, for what it's worth, I carry pipesas well."

And the two burst in giggles.

Canta finishes her act and receives a thunderous round of artificial applauds.

--

Musette looks at the ceiling, angrily, because, in her opinion,the technician is not using the right color of gel to light her. The girl abovedoesn't react, maybe she thinks it's part of the act. "Oh, well..." Big sigh. "Oh, woe of me. Oh, woe of my poor country. Gods, you are so cruel, why do you hate us so."

Relaxed, but completely still, she recites fast, without any sort of intonation. While her character is supposed to be crying and shouting at the cruelty and unfairness of destiny crushing her, the only emotionsthat come out aremild boredom, with random bouts of annoyance every time her eyes go up.She's also the first actress, so far, not to wear any costume, and simplifies the text when it grows too stiltedfor her taste.

"...it is as true as the sky isbl... b __rown_ -number-seven-dam m it_, and the sea is deep."Pause.The spotlight flickers and slightly changes color.

She continues with a satisfied smile: "You took my husband, and now you will kill my dearsons too? Do you have no mercy, not even for old times' sakes? That is all, thank you, goodbye." And she bows and leaves the scene.

The applauding is sparse.

--

Musette returns to Canta. "How was I?"

"Your lighting was very good."

"And how was Poco last time you saw her?"

"How do you think she was?"

"That bad?"

The dove nods.

They are interrupted by Carry Pipes: "The pipeis in position."

Both refocus on the scene, where their friend is making her hesitant entrance.

--

Poco blinks and squints her eyes to try spotting her friends in the crowd, but the spotlight is too blinding. It's so hot and stuffy, as well! She's breathing too short and her hands are trembling so bad that, when she tries adjusting the microphone's height, she makes it fall. The long and loud shriek of a Larsen ensues. She hurriedly bends down to pick it up and, when repositioning its stand, doesn't notice she stuckthe bottom of her togaunder it.

"S-sorry... I-I'm going to... interpret..." She swallows loudly in the microphone. "The Widow's Lament, act two, s-scene two."

Her mind goes all blank, and the text she normally knows by heart suddenly goes missing. A long and awkward silence ensues.

She clears her throat. "T-the Widow's Lament..."

More silence.

Cantabile understands what's going on and prompts her: "The crows are satiated!"

"T-the crows are satiated! T-their paunches are round and t-their flight heavy... S-someone, at least, is content today, in the valley... in the valley... of... of tears... of..."

"Of blood and tears!"

"And b-blood... L-listen to their mocking chants, covering ourl-laments. Listen to them... v-vomiting wicked cawing o-on us who weep in the m... in the mu...*ghffhhh*"

The poor bird starts heaving, emitting weird gargling noises...and abruptly vomits all over her toga.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..." Her eyes are filling up with tears. This should be where the scene ends, but she's still trying to deny reality: as long as she sticks to the script, she can block what is going on. "And they stand! O-on the bloo-*hack*..._on the bloody sp... sp... spe*aaaghff*"_Second helping, less generous but more acid.

She starts retreating, at last, but feelsthe bottom of her toga caught by something or someone.So,she takes support on the stand and pushes with all her strength freeherself. There's a tearing noise and her wet costumeflops down, leaving her in her underwear. "Eeeh, oh no please!"

Disoriented and still blinded, she makes a few random steps, walks off the scene's front edge and rolls down. Fortunately not too violently.

The toga is still caught at her ankle and at the stand's bottom, so it follows and the microphone comes crashing hard into her face."Ow!"*Larsen*

Lights go off, save the handheld ones of a few technicians running in: "Uhm, we apologize for this interruption due to an unforeseen... technical issue. The show will resume in one minute."

--

In the darkness, Cantabile is in shock. "Oh my goodness! I didn't realize... Is it always like this?"

"No! Usually she just stammers, then faints..."

--

Poco has been given a random new --and clean--costume, so she's now the saddest swashbucklerpirateof the Seven Seas. Her friends carried her away from B3, and from anyone having witnessed her spectacular performance: despite the name, the Theater Cages are not _only_theaters;as long as she's allowed in, an Artist can freely enjoy all the accommodations required to live in the level of comfort matching her star rating.

They are currently walking along a gallery of restaurants, painted with happy sceneries and full of plastic plants: summer theme, so there are suns everywhere (the birds are not too sure how many suns there were supposed to be before the rain, but the common assumption is that there were more of them in summer).

Musette is supporting the lovebird's left wing, just in case. "Well, at least it's done, now."

"..."

"It... could have been worse: a heavy lamp could have fallen, crushedyour legs, and set your togaon fire!"

"Oh my Muses, if only!"

Canta tries her luck at helping as well: "Alright, there was still a long line of contestants, and the jury will take some time. So we are allowed here for a good couple of hours, even if we'll definitely not bother to come for the closure speech. How about we enjoy a nice mealand then a quickhot bath? I could go for caramel-coated fried locusts!"

The quail perks. "What? You have caramel-coated locusts in three-star Theaters?"

"You don't have them in one-star Theaters?"

"Ung! Never mind. What do you say, Poco? You should at the very least drink something."

"I-I don't know... I'm not hungry."

"You know that there are several vitamins and nutriments that get the best absorbed after exposure to the spotlight. You should eat. So A-Ford gets no excuse to sentence you to more acting beforea loooong while."

"I... alright, then, I'm starving."

--

They got bowls of spicy dried ants, fried beetles, and chocolate flavored grubs,when Poco notices she lost something during her costume change: "Oh, no! I don't have my pills!"

Cantabile smiles and gets up. "Don't stress about it, I'll take care of this. I'm sure I can find another vegetarian species."

She indeed doesn't have to walk far before she spots a cockatiel in her lonely corner. That birdseems contrite, and her red cheek spots look like appropriate blushing. "Hello, there!"

The otheralmost jumps. "Oh, hello! I never saw you here..." She peeks down and her crest risesat the impressive rings. "Oh, wow! You... you must be Cantabile! I heard you were great!"

The dove curtsies playfully. "Thank you for the compliment!And you are?"

"Dolce. I'm a dancer. A sphere from the Majestic Ecstasy of Shapes, next week."

"A sphere?"

"Yes, it's a pretty good shape: back and mid line, some lifts and throws, a bit of expressive stochastic dancingbut also some less avant-gardechoreography in the back..."

"I, uhm, see... A well-rounded role, so!"

"Yes, it has varie... Oh! Well rounded, I get it! It's good!" She's recovering some smile.

"You seemed troubled?"

"Yes, my rehearsing didn't go well. First I stepped on Nobile's foot--gosh I feel so silly--, and the choreographer shouted at me. She's under a lot of pressure, a perfectionist, and I honestly can't blame her: it was a beginner's goof. But it stressed me and I started mixingmy left and my right and... I collided into Nobile,and we both fell."She cradles her face in her hands. "Oh gosh... Nobile is,like,our topstar, she's my model! And I made her roll offthe scene! This was the most embarrassing moment of my entire life!At least it was on rehearsal, but still:can you imagine anything worse?"

Canta achieves an excellent poker face and doesn't miss a beat. "No, that sounds terrible!But... these things happen, I'm sure Nobile will understand: we all were beginners once, and eventhe best make mistakes. Is she a friendly person?"

"Oh, yes! She's serious and can look a little intimidating, at first, but when you get to know her... she's a lovable cone. Thanks, you are right. I'm stressing too much about this."

"You're welcome. A cone you said? Would she be a gray parrot, per chance?"

"Technically, yes, but you have no idea how involvedshe is. She _owns_the role. She thinks and breathescone, she loses herself intothe shape.She's more cone than bird, truly!"

"Well,she was indeed pretty conical last time I saw her."

Dolce gets the bad pun and chuckles. "Yes... Oh, but... did you want something? Can I help you?"

"Maybe, yes: my friend lost her pills. Would you have some extra ones to share, please?"

"Of course!" She's already opening a rectangular plastic box full of numbered brown pills. "What is her species?"

"She's a lovebird."

"Good, so her diet should match mine well enough." She sorts through the pills. "So, these are the supplements... and these are the gut microbes: my favorite mix, I digest all insects without a problem with them."

The dove collects her handful. "Thank you! I'm going back to my friends, then, but you can join us if you like."

"I'd love to, but I can't now: I must get a massage and then go to a second rehearsal. With the cylinders."

"Maybe another time!"

--

Poco is recovering, now savoringthe relief to know she won't have to act again anytime soon. They took their time eating, however, so they will be too short for the bath house.

Cantabile finishes her grubs and licks her spoon, then sighs. "Too bad, a hot bath always relaxes me."

The lovebird smiles. "I'll be alright. And this afternoon, I'm going to the carp farm! That's how I relax, it's the best place in all Veneralia,by far!"

"True, everybody loves the carps."

Musette smirks. "But nobody loves them as much as Poco. Shewould spend all her timethere, if C-Davy allowed her to."

"He cannot stop metoday! A-Ford granted meextra hours! AndI earned them!"

The quail pats her hand with a warmsmile. "You certainly did." She gives Canta a shifty look. "Aaaanyway, I was thinking: the jury will soon declare you the talent show's winner."

The dove tilts her head. "I didn't win just yet..."

"Sheesh, don't play false modesty on me. Of course you wan. And it wouldn't be very nice to come stealing the one-star'sshow andthennot tobother givingthem an inspiring little speech and a smile."

"Oh... I hadn't thought about it but... you have a point."

"So, I was thinking you should go. And I'll look after Poco. She's better now, so it should be fine.You don't have to worry about us."

The dove's eyes narrow and she glances at the defiant quail. Briefly. Then she recollects herself and smiles at the lovebird. "She is right, I should go to the closing. If you do not mind, of course, otherwise I'll stay for you."

"Oh, no... You are new around, it's important for you to integrate with everyone. I understand." She holds at Canta's wing with both hands. "Thank you for everything. It meant a lot."

That last exchanged fond look spoils a lot of Musette's victory. But, heck, at least she finally got rid of the three-star diva!

Rebellious Shenanigans

The two anonymous gray birds walk at an average pace among the gray streets, sometimes silently saluting other anonymous gray birds.

Poco feels wonderful. She can enjoy the Theater Cages, but fora limited timeand far from the spotlights: after today's brutal overdose, returning to the lukewarm rain, semi-darkness, and standardized-being is a joy.

She reaches her nest with Musette: a small and cozy square studio with its wallsfull of old tragedies' posters. The two discard their faces and soaked bodies,and go sit, snuggled together, on the beanbag, right under the blow of the radiator. They bask into the warmth for a while before talking again.

"Musette?"

"Yes?"

"I... really like our times together. Since I started sharing my personal writing with you, I am so inspired and motivated!"

The quail is already all puffed with her feathers raised, she further "inflates" from pleasure. "Aw, that makes me very glad."

"B-but... I also... put less of my soul in my scripts. I think it is why my quality dropped, lately."

The otherdeflates fastand she widensher eyes. "Oh..." This hurts, but a true friend does what is the best for her pals, even if what is best is... letting them goaway. Her voice creaks a little when she continues: "Poco, I... Thesemoments are very special to me. But your wellbeingcomes first,_you_are even more specialand important. So if... if you'd rather stop... well, I'd understand. I'd be supportive. I don't want to be the one causing you troubles with A-Ford." She sighs: it was toughto say.

The lovebird squeezes herself more against her neighbor. "Thank you. I... I don't want to stop. But maybe we should space it a little, enough so I... find a better balance, more room for the writing I'm supposed to do?"

The other has a huge, relieved, sigh. "Of course! I can work with that! I completely understand!"

"D-do you want...to hear a few chapters,then?"

"Oh, yes please!"

Poco gets up, goes to check that her door is locked, and then kneels to fetch a bignotebook, covered with drawn hearts and suns,hidden under a shelf. She gingerly returns and turnspages to find where she stopped yesterday...then starts reading. This time, her voice is confident --and changing with the characters--and her acting natural.

For about onehour, the two friends immerse themselves in the exotic world of slightly eroticromanticfanfiction. In a "bootleg" version of the classic tragedies,where nothing really tragic everoccurs and the sad dames happily fall in love with their female servants instead of the guy who will die at war.And goddesses and heroines from completely different time periods ship together,thanks to unlikely circumstances.It is warm, and happy, and shamelesslyfull of "crystalline eyes","shivered gently"and others "sharingthe mysterious deeds of love" (which, frankly, are indeed vague and mysterious for both the authorand her audience).

--

Early in the afternoon, Musette is contacted tohelp in lighting the Majestic Ecstasy of Shapes. It turns out that, before she left the Theater Cage, Cantabile said good things about her to the right people. That's... actually nice!This show feels solid, a good step toward her secondstar!

The quail will admit that her first knee-jerk reaction was to assume this was some manipulation to get rid of her. But, on a second thought, this seemsparanoid. She has been defensive, and even jealous, since the beginning.She still thinks that the three-star diva would never have spoken to her if not making an effort to integrate and look kind...but, in truth, Canta acted like a genuine good friend so far.

Maybe she should cut the girl some slack?It must be hart,being the high-rated new one in a group!

--

Cantabile walks onthe creaky round pebbles of the carp farm's paths. Sound is part of the relaxing experience here: the huge building resonates like a cathedral, enhancing the whispers of the anonymous gray and normal visitors and the splashing of water when a fish kisses its surface.

The ever dark and raining outside is bad for cultivation, but some sort of contact with nature is important for the Artists' welfare: this is what the farm is about, with its artificial pools and rivers, full of beautiful mosaics, genuine aquatic plants, and, most of all, colorful exotic carps.

Red, white, blue, yellow, pitch-black and shiny-silver...delicate patterns, sometimes fully random and sometimes symmetrical, sometimes simple and sometimes overly elaborate, short or long mustaches and fins,and, for some, even huge and fragile-hooking curly crests. They travel in quietness, sometimes swirling in "clouds", sometimes coming and stopping to investigate their visitors.

Some birds are feeding them, others are sitting on benches to contemplate the mesmerizing ballet. One, isolated in a remote spot, is standing in the water and is hand-feeding three carps, specifically, counting the pellets each gets. And her hands are vivid green: Canta just spotted Poco.

She approaches, but remains silent to avoid startlingher hyper-focused friend. The three carps seem to politely take turnsat eating, and they will suckle then spitout eachpellet a few times before accepting themfor good.

Eventually, the lovebird notice she's observed. "They are shy. Otherwise, they'd fight if I tried to feed them altogether."

"They must have a hard time around the more aggressive carps, then?"

"They do! The meaner oneschase them away and get all the good pellets. They have tospend time searching for the tiny floating bits that get lost... it's enough so they won't starve, here, but it's unfair."

"Good for them that you are so caring. How do you get rid of the meaner ones, so these three can eat quietly?"

"Oh, that's easy: I just wait after their feeding time, when their bellies are full and they grow mellow."

"Aaah! I see you have several colors of pellets? Are they different?"

"No, it's just the colors: C-Davy uses that trick to better control which areas getsfood when. But they have preferences for colors! And moods!"

"I didn't know that. Shy fishes, pretty but silent, who love tosavor their colors away from the big crowd... I can see whyyou relate with them."

Poco stops and looks back at the visitor, pondering: since they have been whispering, she couldn't recognize her voice. "Do I know you?"

"It's Cantabile!"

"Oh! I'm happy to see you again! Do you want to help me feed them?"

"No, thank you: I prefer to admire the pro at work. It's cute."

Poco's feathers fluff under her identity-concealing costume and her tail shakes. She resumes her work.

--

Cantabile watches silently as she makes her plans. Poco, she believes, needs some help with her self-confidence. A friendly intervention. But she has to find the right approach to avoid scaring her into a new panic attack.

"Say... if the colored pellets are supposed to go in different zones... is it alright for you to use several at the same spot?"

The lovebird tenses and checks around, but her reaction isn't tooafraid. "Ah, uhm... No... Please don't tell C-Davy?"

The dove chuckles. "Ooooh, you are more rebellious than I thought! You can count on me, I won't tell anyone about your crime!"

The other chuckles as well, then raises her chest proudly. "I'm actually way more rebellious than most people give me credit for!"

"Oooh? Please tell more! Which otherexciting crimes are you into?"

"I do..." She hesitates: she likes Canta more and more, but can she share her secret writing with her? What if she mocks her fanfiction? She completely deflates and hunches, concluding with a tiny: "Things."

Her friend is unconvinced, but, merciful, will not show it: "Gotcha. You can't tell to a new bird you barely know. No hard feelings, I can understand, as a fellow rebel."

"You... are a rebel?"

She nods and makes a show of looking around cautiously before telling more. "Well, there's this ritesome of us Actresses are subjected to. It's a sort of self-confidence building exercise, but also, sometimes,a bit of a gentle hazing for the new ones, you see?" She acts some believable anxiety.

Poco seems very sorry for her. "You are being hazed?"

"Oh, nothing terrible, really! It's just that I'll paya short visitto Pyanopsia this evening. To provemy motivation!"

"Py-p... you're going to the males' aviary?! But it's forbidden!"

"Shhhh, not so loud!" After more faked conspiringlooks around, she explains: "That it is forbidden is the whole point. It's a challenge... but it's not as bad as it sounds, really: it's easy to sneak in and out of the Cages if you know how to, and then with my mundane face and body, I'll blend in perfectly.I won't do anything with the boys, of course! Just walk among them!There's no realrisk to get caught. And even if I were, what is the worst that could happen? A-Ford would scold and lecture me, that's all. But when done, I'll still be a little rebel heroine!Think of the rush and achievement!"

"I... suppose..."

"But...I'll confess to you... even if it's risk-free, I'm still nervous and intimidated."

"_You_are nervous and intimidated?"

"Of course, what do you think I am? A rock? I'm an actress, it's my job to look confident and in my role at all times, but it doesn't mean I never have stage fright. I told you I had an anxious side in me since I was young."

"I... would never have imagined."

"Well, it's true. Don't tell anyone, but, honestly, I'm a littlescared. I wish I knew some other rebellious girl: it's always easier with a partner in crime. Too bad Musette will be busy...It's hard to be alone forthat trial, but I have no choice if I want to integrate."

Poco remains silent for a long while. She knows a thing or two about having a hard time to integrate, and loneliness. She vividly feels for Canta, and the dove was there for her when _she_was in dire trouble. And it's probably risk-free, all in the mundane world, all under the safe cover of gray costumes. And she could prove her friend that she's anasbrave and rebellious bird asher! And kind of get back at A-Ford, in a sneaky way, by escaping his control! Eventually, she squeaks something so strangled it's indecipherable.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

She swallows hard. "I... Uhm... Would... would it help you if... I came along?"

Cantabile feels shamefully treacherous when the lovebirdfalls for her act hook, line, and sinker. But, she reassures herself, it's all withabenevolentintent!

--

There's a strong wind, this evening, and the rain is harder than average. The duo has to hunch and slow down, sometimes, and can't talk much.

Poco's heart is racing waytoo fast but, to Cantabile's surprise, she's following the pace, brave and determined. Maybe public speaking is her specific phobia and she,otherwise,has more guts than she looks like? Because the dove guided other girls who were more squeamish, in the past, despite them seeming less nervous in their everyday life.

They reach their planned exit: it's a part of the cage that's hidden behind a storage building --rarely visited--, and through which a ditch passes to canalize the water outside. It's gridded, but asthegrid tends to catch debris, in order to be easy to clean up, it can be removed with the right tools.

Canta produces an artisanal screwdriver with the proper special head, and promptly opens a wide "gate" out. She catches Poco's head and pulls her close so she can speak without shouting: "It's the most exposed part: we are about threehundred meters away from Pyanopsia. We need to runwithout a stop! Are you ready?"

"Y-yes... I can do this..."

"You can! Go!"

And both run.

It's a plain, open, scenery, washed out by the water that took all itsmud and kept only the bare stone. Without the Cage's controlling structures, they are walking in about ten centimeters of water, which slows them and makes it easy to slip. Poco can feel the fast current, would she be dragged away if she fell? It's also her very first time outof the Cage. Seeing the void, without the safety of bars betweenher and it,is an impressive experience. What if they got lost? What is they failed to return home and got strandedin the wild nature? What if therewas a cat?

Canta interrupts her bout of raising panic. "Almost there!"

Indeed,they are reaching the boys' Mundy. It looks exactly like home, only on a mirroredmap. They break in as easily as they broke out.

She looks behind: Veneralia is a vague ghost far in the rain. But the ground is steadier, she has a hard time deciding if she's relieved or not to be arrived. The dove gently pulls her head close. "You are doing great! Calm down, slow your breath. Now we must walk average: we did that for our entire life, it will be a piece of cake!"

--

After five minutes of walk, Poco has a hard time believing she's trespassing in the males' aviary. Not only is the prospect so surreal, but the place looks so familiar! In their gray costumes, males also look just like females: if she didn't run straight forward, following a straight ditch, with no possible way to get lost, she'd swear they accidentally ran full circle and returned home. Taking such crazy risks for such an anticlimactic result is, somehow, brutally disappointing.

Cantabile returns from the nearby street, with her stolen building plate hidden under her clothing: the trophy proving their success. Time to scram.

The lovebird has a new rush of adrenaline when facing the wild for the second time. "Oh my Muses, oh my Muses..." How did she get herself into something so silly! They'll get caught for sure!They _were_noticed already, it's certain! An angry Audience Member, the local equivalent of A-Ford, will arrive at any time!And their A-Ford will believe she did the mysterious deeds with males!

That fear, and having no other choice if she wishes to recover her safe and cozy nest,spursher to step into the water for a second time. She runs.

--

Despite her fears until the very end, the trip is completely uneventful and they return safe and undetected.

Consequences

In the tiny room, the gray figure sits on his chair, before the huge machine'sgreeneye. "Thank you for seeing me so fast,madame."

"You are welcome, Tenuto. As your chief caretaker, it is my duty to receive you anytime you need. So, what troubles you?"

"Oh, I'm not troubled, it's something else." He pulls out a drenched piece of paper that he delicately unfolds, and leans forward to carefully place it on the tiny desk. It dribbles a few dropsthere. "Uhm, sorry..."

She reaches a mechanical tentacle to pluck the paper. "Do not worry about it. What is this?"

"I found itin the street, near my nest,this morning. I think it's part of a script. The paper is soaked, but since it was written with a pencil,it is still readable. It's written small, on both sides, there's a whole scene! So, I was thinking, if I were a writer and I lost this, I would feel very bad. I wanted to return it."

"This is very considerate ofyou."

"Thank you! But it is not signed... This is why I came to you, I figured that you could, uhm..." He makes a vague hand motion: he trusts that she can do a lot, but does not have a clear idea of the specifics.

"Run a stylometry analysis, and check if the character names and situations evoke a soon scheduled play?" she offers.

"Yes! That!"

"There is enough text so my odds to find its authorare very good. Thank you, Tenuto: I will do my best to return it."

--

A-Ford considers the data he received: the strong wind has been directed from Pyanopsia to Veneralia for the entire evening and night, which excludes any natural way for Poco's writing to have traveled in the opposite direction. This adventurous misbehavior, however, is suspiciously out of character. And if he misestimated her profile and his recent interview triggered all this, then she learned how to break out of the Cage amazingly fast: an accomplice is most likely.

Musette, with her crafting abilitiesand as the lovebird's only close friend, could have provided the special screwdriver... only she has a solid alibi for yesterday, and would never let her palgo on adventuresall alone.This particular infringement is also not her usual style.He trusts she isn't involved.

Then, there is that other bird, scheduled very nearby from the lovebirdduringatalent show not matching her rank. One recently arrived in Poco's environmentand good at building up new relations fast. One with alongrecorded history of playing "tourist guide"for her congeners, even if she seemed to have settled down a couple of years ago. This looks like an easy investigation, for once.Given suspect one's instability and suspect two's recidivism, if his guess is confirmed, hewill have to react with more than the usual scolding.

He issues a broadcast call to the local caretakers: "When their schedulesallow it, please summonCantabile-3759and Poco-8842 to my office. In that order. This isnot an emergency. Thank you."

--

Poco exchanges a silent look with Canta as the doveleaves A-Ford's office. Neither dare to speak, and the tension is obvious despite their expression-concealing masks. She enters at her turn,and sits.

"Please, Poco: your posture is non-average."

"S-sorry, sir." She hurriedly forces herself to straighten and unfold.

The interview begins: "Do you still have the habit to carry sheetsof your scriptsin your tail's feathers?"

"I... uhm... yes, sir? Is it bad?" Well, this was not a question she expected!

"Not at all. But you should be more careful when the wind is strong." The Audience Member produces a piece of paper, now dried up but still somewhat crumbled. "By the way, do you know where this was found?"

She leans forward and needs a few secondsto recognizethe sheet. And then to guess the question'sanswer. Her heart sinks: by her silly, careless, mistake, she got both herself and Canta caught! It was supposed to be an easy,perfect,crime! It's all her fault! Her mouth goes dry: "P-Pyanopsia?"

"You are right." He slides the paper in her direction. "This is yours. You can take it back."

She does. Her hands are trembling a lot. Her mind is still racing: it was all her fault. It could cost a lot to the three-star dove still getting her marks in the sector, while sheis...already as low as she can fall. Time to be brave. Time to be a good friend:"I... I'm sorry, sir. It... it was my fault: I convinced Cantabile. It was all my idea."

"I know, she confessed that to me."

She almost drops her sheet under the unexpected blow. "S-she... said that?" she squeaks miserably.

"This seems to distress you. Is it a surprise?"

She can't find an answer, and is sinking down fast on her chair.

"Please, Poco: your posture is non-average." He pauses the time for her to, partially, correct herself. "You are a romantic and naive Artist, with below average social skills. I suspect you do not understand what happened, so,allow me to explain: Cantabile is a higher rating actress coming for a role in your sector. This is nothing uncommon: accepting a lower rank role can be a way to grab a high focus place in the play, which can helpthe Criticsto notice your talent. It does, however, come with itsdrawbacks: the lower rank Artists you join can see you as a foe, an outsider stealing the good places. Jealousy can make your integration difficult. If, like your friend, you are clever and socially apt, you will make efforts to be seen as someone nice." He marks a pause,so she can process all that. "Now, imagine that you were at her place. What do you think would be an excellent way to prove your kindnessto all, as fast as possible?"

Something in the back of Poco's head is telling her that she does _not_want to know the answer. Unfortunately, she is helpless to stop A-Ford. "I-I... don't know."

"Seek the most isolated member of the group, the saddest and most pathetic one you can find. The same you would target if you were a bully. Then make a show of getting close to her."

"Y-you sayshe used and betrayed me?"

"That is overlydramatic, Poco. As she sees the world through the eyes of a well adjusted and extravert individual, I doubt Cantabile expected your level of neediness. Sheprobablygenuinelylikesyou, just notquite in the same way as you like her. I trust thatshe was aiming for a mutually beneficial little arrangement,not for a grand betrayal."

Poco is crushed. For a long moment, she crumbles her script idly, holding some tears but sniffing under her mask.

After granting her some recovery time, A-Ford continues. "So, why did you want to go to Pyanopsia?"

"I... I didn't do anything with the males! I swear!"

"I believe you."

This is a relief! But he's still awaiting for an answer. She thinks about it, and her head drops: "I... was angry against you, sir. I... just wanted to be a bad bird... I'm sorry."

"I am sorry I made you angry, Poco. I understand that I can say, or command, things that are unpleasant. I do promise, however, that my only goal is to preserve your welfare. I do not play with you out of meanness."

"I... I know... Sorry, sir, I have been silly."

"This is an overly judgmental assessment: you behaved inappropriately."

She nods sadly. "I'm sorry and I will not behave inappropriately again, I promise."

"I am glad to hear so. Now, the protocol requiresme to check that you understood: why are you not supposed to go to Pyanopsia?"

She swallows and recites: "Due to the rain degrading our environment's quality, our population must be controlled in order for our collective welfare to be preserved. Since our population is reduced, careful husbandry taking genetic lineages into account is required to avoid inbreeding. Therefore, sexual activity is strictly prohibited outside of the official reproduction program."

"This is correct."

"I'm so sorry..."

"It will be alright, Poco, I am not angry. In fact, I shouldn't tell you but I am almost relieved: you interacted with a new congener, tried new activities, surprised me. It is too bad this took the most inappropriate form possible, but reassuring in the light of how empty your late writing became. I was worried that you were depressed: it turns out you are just having a bout of curiosity about sex, that yousublimated inrebelliousness. Likely a common, if uncomfortable, hormonal event."

"No, no! I assure you I had no filthy thoughts like this!"

"None_yet_, I believe you. But the specific rebellious act you chose, among all possibilities, is a sign that somedisplaced curiosity is growing in you. Even if unconsciously so far."

"W-will... I be punished?"

"No, punishment never cured curiosity. The only way to get rid of it is with answers: you and Cantabile willpresent yourself to the administrative building C tomorrow, at fifteen. There, you will receive a sexual education lecture. This shouldconcludethat unfortunate episode."

Poco feels terribly embarrassed, but at least this seems to closethe interview. "U-understood. Thank you, sir."

--

The trio stands at the door, silent and tensed: Musette demanded to come, even if she knows she will not be allowed in, so she could stand protectively between Cantabile and Poco. She's doing her best at conveying angry glares toward the former despite her mask.

The dove stands awkwardly.

The quail thus takes a break from fulminating,so she can focus on reassuring her friend: "Do not worry, it's just a lecture. And, frankly, since A-Ford wants to discourage you, my bet is he'll make it asawfully boringas possible. He's good at this. There is nothing to be afraid of."

The lovebird cannot answer,because a deep metallic voice reacts first: the Audience Member arrived from behind, and they didn't hear him under the rain. "Your harsh judgment of my lectures saddens me, Musette. But you are otherwise right: there is nothing to fear."

"Eeeep! Sorry, sir!"

"Do not worry about it. Please, Musette: you are not scheduled for this lecture."

The quail nods and bows her head. "See you soon, Poco. Sir..." And she departs.

A-Ford's red eye shoots a flickering laser at a box on the side of the door and it automatically opens. "Follow me." He enters.

Both birds gingerly walk intoa plain concrete and tiling corridor, behind the machine who is nearly touching the ceiling. Its tentacles click quietly on the floor. He stops before a second door, that he opens like the first, and he steps aside.

"Today's education material will be provided by another sector. I will thus leave you with my local instance from there."

"Pleased to meet you." She has a feminine voice that is as cold, intimidating, and artificial as his. Otherwise, they are perfectly identical, up to the painted name on theirshell.

The two birds freeze in surprise: they know that there are female Audience Members, at Pyanopsia, and given their mechanical nature it shouldn't be weird to meet two identical ones... but it's the first time they encounter eithercase. It is also uncanny that these twins share the same name!

She seems to understand their trouble: "Our concept of self is a little more flexible than yours. It would be long to explain in detail, but we synchronized our memories less than ten minutes ago and are 'organically' and sociologically equivalent: you can consider us both as the same individual."

Male A-Ford confirms. "We are a singleperson." He motions them to walk pass him,andthey obey. As the doorcloses on him, he adds a last: "Please be as respectful with me as you use to bewith me."

--

Following female A-Ford's instructions, they got rid of their faces and bodies, then reached a third door. The number of locked metal doors with no handles between them and Mundy is growing unnerving.

The machine turns back to them. "Today's teaching material will be a live cat. Their bestial and lusty nature makes them highly appropriate subjects todemonstratethe sexual process. Do not be afraid. I can guarantee that the animal is fully controlled and cannot hurt you."

And, too fast for the duo to fully process such shocking reveal and start panicking, she opens the last door.

--

It is a big, oval, room. The floor is covered with dark gray hard rubber,and the walls are painted maroon. On both straight sections of them, large and thick golden lettering announce: "Veneralia's Aviary for Female Artists. DemonstrationRoom #3." Many little spots in the ceiling provide a sharp light, leaving no spot of darkness, but the walls'color addssomewarmth and coziness.

The cat is walking around.

He is entirely naked save his restraints: hishands and feet are trapped into yellow padlocked bondage mitts and a matching inflatable gagis stuffed into his maw, held in position by a heavy --and also padlocked in position--muzzle. His ankles are hobbled by a short length of chain.

Asturdymetalbeamis coming down from a wheeled support following a ceiling rail.His wrists and elbows are secured to it, in his back, then his abdomen by a belt, then his neck by a collar: he is forced to stand and can only move along his designed oval path.

Last details, his penis is unsheathed but held trapped and curved down in a tight chastity tube, his muzzle has side blinders, and some weird box is attached to the leftside of his collar.

A device in the ceiling is shootingtwo laser lines on the floor, one in front and one behind him, that are slowly sliding forward,and, apparently nervous, he struggles to follow their pace and remain betweenthemdespite his hobble. He is tinkling and huffing, and his foot mitts creak on the floor.

"This is Burrito. The device at its collar would shock it and neutralize it instantlyshould it display any aggressivity, but it is very tame. Do not be afraid of it," explains A-Ford. She lets the two birds a good minute of flabbergasted observation, so they get used to him, before continuing. "Burrito, stop." The two laser lines vanishand the cat halts where he was instantly. "Come on, Cantabile, Poco, approach it. I want you to have a good view. You can touch it if you want, it is safe."

The birds reluctantly approach. The dove, if shivering, is fascinated enough so she brushes his side from the very tip of her finger, armfullyextended.

Cats are big! A good two heads taller than the average bird! And as fit and lean as they imagined. This particular specimen, on the other hand, looks way less ferocious than their scary fantasies: he's mostly looking down, with his ears loweredand a contriteexpression. And he's not trying anything, obedient and subdued.He has a short and soft-looking bluish-gray fur, without any markings, another thing that looks too cuddly, too pretty, for the bloodthirsty monster he issupposed to be.

Cantabile is gradually recovering from her fear. She points between his legs: "What is that dangling thing, there? Is it normal?"

The machine reaches a tentacle and lifts the indicated body part for better presenting. The cat shiver but doesn't resist. "These areitstesticles. It is normal that they are 'dangling', as is itspenis, becausemale cats have external genitals." Another tentacle tugs the cat's tail up. "Raise one leg, Burrito." He obeys, as far as his hobble will allow, displaying a pink ring. "And this is his anus. They do not have cloacaelike you; instead they have this separate duct for the most solid wastes, and evacuate more liquid ones through their penises."

"T-the same they use to... Uhm..."

"The same they use for procreation, yes. While it is only a sexual appendage for male birds."

"Ewww, this is disgusting!"

"Yes, cats are disgusting creatures. You can lower your leg, Burrito." She lets his tail and balls drop, and instead tug his chastity tube up. A centimeter or so of pointed tip pokes out. "And they have more unsettling properties. Look close, what do you see?"

"S-spikes?"

"Not quite, this isan exaggerated assessment. These are called 'barbs'. As you can imagine, they hurt the female during intercourse."

"Ow... but why?"

"That particular pain triggers ovulation. This is how nature engineers its creatures: evolution is not a caring, elegant, constructor. It doesn't care about its subject's wellbeing, only about efficiently propagating genes. Thus some grotesque, tragic, situationsfor the individuals. Such asthe filthy state ofnatural sexuality. As Artists, you two are used to appreciate love as a beautiful, elevated, concept. This is courteous, chaste, love: the romantic and tender bond. Although the same term is, unfortunately, also used for sexuality, the two concepts should never be mistaken one for the other. Sexuality isn't pretty, desirable, or noble in any form or shape."

Canta observe the barbs, apparently having a hard time believing they are real.

Poco remains at a safer distance.

"Touch them. Check by yourself, try to imagine if you would enjoy these ramming carelessly in your most sensitive and fragile areas. You too, Poco."

The lovebird winces. "Do I have to?"

"Yes, it is part of the lesson. It is important that you both understand."

The dove caresses the barbs backward and steps back.

Poco hesitates, reaches her handhalfway...pulls back looking up at the cat's face. He is averting his eyes without moving.She reaches again for good and rolls the prickly things between two fingers. They don't really hurt, but if they were inside her... She shivers. The cat is breathing shorter and his cagetwitches: she jumps away. Something leaks from the penis's tip.

"Eeeh,itpeed on me!"

"No, Poco, this is only natural lubrication. Burrito is aroused: this is a reflex reaction, quite mechanical for felines. As I said, they are bestial sluts. It is not surprising that one of their species' nickname is slang for the female genitals! And it is part of nature's foultinkering: sex being so unappealing, instinct makes it a compulsion so they still partake in it. They are helpless puppets on strings,forcedinto the unpleasant and undignified process out of their control."

"How... how about male birds?"

"You are different. Male and female birds. You are Artists: through civilization and Art, you elevated yourself out of these contingencies. You are not beasts. You are pure."

The lovebird sighs with relief, and starts looking at the cat with more pity than fear.

Cantabile is also feeling happy not to be a disgusting feline governed by her senses! But this bringsmore questions: "How does the reproduction program work, then?"

"That is an excellent question. In order to preserve you from discomfort and indignity, we developed more clinical processes than what nature 'intended'. I am going to demonstrate so on Burrito.Of course we will only cover the male side today, but it should suffice to demonstrate what you need to learn: that it has nothing desirable, but is nothing to be feared either when it isassisted by technology within our controlled programs. Wait here."

The machine leaves them alone, to exchange anxious looks, the time to go to open a hidden closetin the wall and fetch a rolling tray with some equipment. There are gloves, a plastic syringe without a needle, a tube of gel, an oversized plastic clip, and a big electronic box connected by a thick wire to a metal probe.

Poco's eyes widen as she is the first to understand what the gloves imply: the robot has no appendage that would fit in them.

A-Ford confirms her fear: "This will be an interactive demonstration. I need one volunteer who will work on Burrito, and one who will work on this." She points the box.

Merciful--and having misdeedsto get forgiven for--, the dove volunteers for what seems to be the worst part: "I will work on Burrito."

The audience Member looks at the other to check if she agrees. She nods, so the lesson continues. "That device is called an electro-ejaculator. It can artificially trigger the semen's release, by sending gentle jolts into the male's prostate. Do you two know what semen and prostate are?"

The lovebird raises a shy hand. "I... Uhm... Semen is a liquid that... When the male and the female semens are mixed up, it makes a baby."

"Almost right, Poco: only males produce semen. The females produce ova. And when the two meet each other, under the right circumstances, a baby is indeed likely to be born."

"Is ovaa liquid too?"

"The singular term is 'ovum'. And no, it they arevery small beads. Now, prostate?"

Both ponder a moment. Cantabile tries by deduction,given the cluesshe has: "That is the medical term for the... dangly bag,containingitstesticles?"

"No, that would be the scrotum. Try to grabit and give it a good squeeze."

More and more secure around the cat, the dove complies without missing a beat. She cups her hand around the cat's balls and presses firmly. He starts shaking his head, too late, before even she touches him... andtugs hardin his restraints with a gaspingwhine. She lets go and jumps away fast.

"Hush, Burrito. Still, boy." A-Ford picks the clamp from the table and, as the feline is still panting short and wriggling, tugs on his scruff and attaches the device firmly there. He stops moving and hunches a little. "There. This is called 'scruffing', it triggers a motion inhibiting reflex on felines,that will help it to remain still despite itswild nature. Back to the topic: what did we learn here?"

Canta comes back closer. "That itdoesn't like itsscrotum to be touched?"

"That is indeed information. But, more importantly, we observe that no semen was expelled despite your squeezing. What can we deduce?"

The lovebird raises her hand again. "That the semen wasn't there! I think I heard the testicles produced it... so... it is produced in the testicles, but it then moves elsewhere?And we can't jolthis scrotum to release it?"

"An excellent deduction, Poco, almost spot on: part of the semen is generated in the testicles, and all of it accumulates in the prostate. It is an internal gland."

"So this is why this onecan be zapped to trigger the release."

Canta raises a hand at her turn. "Can it be squeezed too?"

"It can, but it is harder to achieve, given its position. The electro-ejaculation is much more efficient."

"Where is it?"

"If accessing through the anus, which is the easiest way, it is about five centimeters deep. Behindthe wall, on the ventral side."

Both birds, and the cat, tense and look at the probe on the table.

"Cantabile, put some gloves on. You will lubricate the electrode with the gel."

The dove starts regretting having volunteered. She points the probe. "This is the electrode?"

"Yes." As she obeys, the cat's earstwitch with each latex or wet noise and he tries sending pleading looks to the Audience Member. A-Ford pats him, then pullsthe clamp up and down to massage his scruff. "There, there, Burrito. There is nothing to be afraid of. The more relaxed you are, the more comfortable the process will be for you.Be a good education material."

He doesn't have much choice, so he does his best.

The dove appliesa double layer and is extra careful and extra thorough, to delaythe inevitableforaslongas she can. Sadly, she sooncannot pretend not to be ready anymore. "D-done."

"Burrito, leg up. Cantabile, come behind it and proceed. Tugging itstailwill help present the target. Go slow and do not force, or you would hurt it: if it resists, thatmeans your angle isn't right or that its bodyneeds moretime."

"U-understood, madame." She takes a big breath and grabs the cat's tail firmly. Feeling more in control, she yanks it up.

He moans and the free end of his tail shakes, but he's otherwise compliant.

She is gentler, as instructed, when placing the ice-cold metal snuggly into his ring. She slowly builds up the pressure and, with all the gel, he opens up easily enough. The rod penetrates and stretches him. Head tugged away and wincing with disgust, she wriggles it to find the right angle and manages to make it sink until it seems to find a new obstacle inside.

"No more, Cantabile. This is just right. Now hold it there. Burrito, put your foot back down. Steady posture." A-Ford reaches a tentacle to pick the syringe, pulls its plunger off, and hands the restto the dove. "Take this with your free hand. Use a finger to block the hub, and place it under his penis: you will collect the semen in it."

The bird needs to move and crouch so she can hold both the probe and syringe where instructed.

When she is steady, the machine looks at her other student. "Now, Poco, your turn. The blue knob selects the number of pulses. Set it to five..." She obeys. "The red knob selects the intensity of the pulses. Set it to three... Now push the big red button."

The catand the dove hold their breath when she does, but all what happens is a soft electric noise going higher and higher pitched for a few seconds, then settling.

"The device is nowon and loaded. The black button triggers the pulse trains. Your task is milk that cat thoroughly: you will try each intensityincrementallyuntil a release is achieved. Then you will raise the count to ten and repeat at the same level until nothing comes out. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes, madame."

"You can proceed, then."

She looks at her friend. "Ready?"

The other nods.

The cat shivers and holds his breath again.

She pushes the black button.

Burrito gnaws at his gag and gets on his toes.

"D-does it hurt him?"

"No, it is simply being melodramatic because itis very excited and a little intimidated. Keep going."

"A-alright..." She gives the male a sorry look as she increases the intensity, then presses again.

This time, his leg muscles shiver with the pulses. When it stops, he has heavy, oppressed, gasps.His back's fur is rising.

Intensity five. Black button.

The cat shakes his head with a muffled whine and "dances" under the jolts.

Very sorry, the bird cranks intensity to six. She stops her hand right in time, when a tiny drop of white falls in the syringe. She hesitates briefly, then hurriedly lowers the intensity and increases the count instead. She pushes the button.

The cat bounces and sounds like he's begging for mercy, but, thankfully, no shrieks norfranticstruggling. And sperm leaks out for good, slowly.

"A-almost there," she murmurs, as much for him as for herself, before sending one more pulse train.

More leaking, weaker.

A-Ford chimes in. "Hold it, allow his body a few seconds."

She is glad to obey.

"You can resume."

Last pulse train, nothing more comes out. She looks up at the machine to be sure...

"Well done. You can turn it off."

It's hard to say who is the most relieved, between Poco and Burrito, when the electric buzzing ceases!

"You can unplug him, Cantabile." The lesson continues while the Dovereturnsthe probe to the tray, careful not to letthe syringe drip."Theviscous and unpleasantly smelling substance you collected is thesemen. Itcan be frozen for later useif needed. In a breeding program, it would eventually be artificially injected into a compatible female.Do you have any question?"

Both seriously consider a "can we go home now?" but neither dare to say italoud. They shake their head.

"Good. We will not use that sample, andBurrito deserves a reward for its obedient cooperation." The syringe's plunger is handed to Canta. "There is an injectiontubein the gag's front. Feed it, and the exercise will be completed."

The cat closes his eyes and his ears flattenduring the process: it doesn't look like he's enjoying his "reward" at all! But Cantabile,too eager to be done with the lesson to show any mercy,holds his chin up so he has to swallow.

A-Ford rolls the tray away, for later cleaning up, then: "Good boy, Burrito. You get a break." The two laser lines reappear on the floor.

The cat whines, but resumes hobbling around the room.

"This concludes that lecture on sexual education. I hope you two understood that sex is not to be confounded with the glamour of love, but is a messy, primal, and filthy affair. It is a curse to bestial creatures, and, thanks to technology, a controlled inconvenience for you higher life forms.In the future, please refrain from trespassing in Pyanopsia to degrade itspublic buildings."

"Y-yes, madame."

"Yes, madame."

"You are now free to go. There will be no further disciplinary actions due to your shenanigans. I am pleased that this issue issorted out."

--

Poco and Cantabile need a moment to recover from their stressful introduction to live cats and their unsettling "sexual process". Both leanagainstawall, silent, waiting for their hearts to settle, focusing on the soothing noise of rain dropping on their papier-mache faces.

The dove is the first to speak again. "Do you... Do you think my mother was... uhm... pumped up with cat semen?"

The lovebird perks, yanked back to reality. She ponders: she assumed that cat semen was put into cats,and bird semen into birds... but now that she considers the question... "I... I don't know."

"I should have asked..."

"Do you want to know? I sure don't. I really don't."

"Ah... good point."

Heavy silence falls again for a moment.

This time, it's Poco who breaks it: "C-Canta? I... I think it'd be best is we stopped seeing each other, for a while."

"Oh... I see. I caused you a lot of trouble, didn't I?"

"This was very stressful. And disturbing."

"Yes... Listen, I'm sorry it ended like this. All I wanted was to help you with your self-confidence, I swear."

"Help me!?" Suddenly, the lovebird is shouting.It exploded brutallywhen her friend tripped on the wrong words, without a transition, after her anger was bottled up for too long.As she continues, she gradually stands taller and leansforwardmore aggressively,fists shaking with rage. "By manipulating me!? Didn't you think I had my word to say in the matter!? I'm not a child! I can make my own decisions! Who do you think you are to make them for me, without asking!? How little respect do you have for me!? This is not how friends behave! I was just the saddest and most pathetic helpless loser around,toyou, wasn't I!?"

"P-Poco... I didn't mean to..."

"You didn't mean, but your acts spoke with more honesty!"

The dove steps back and her head drops under the attack. She can't find a good answer, at first, and then she understands that it is not the time for "good" answers trying to make herself look nice. Her friend deserves an honest one: "I... I'm sorry. You are right, this was stupid and... disrespectful," she confesses. After a brief pause, she can't help adding: "Do... do you hate me?"

Poco deflates and looks as if she'll lose balance and collapse.Her "fire" abandons her as fast as it appeared.She reaches for the wall to steady herself. Her voice is quiet, if still a little trembling, from there: "No. I want to, I'm very angry. But no.You are so... radiant. And you made me feel alive and adventurous.And I trust you were not _completely_lying about being supportive.I justwish you spoke to me. I wish you didn't use me. But... I can't hate you."She sighs and looks up at the other's mask. "But I'm hurtand angry. I need a break. You are being bad for me. Maybe we can... uhm... be better friends later, but not rightnow."

"I... I understand. I'm sorry."

"I don't want to give you troubles. With your integration. If anybody asks, I'll just pretend that A-Ford forbid us frombeingtogether after we misbehaved. I hope you'll fit in well, and I'm sorry if this is painful, but... please, for a while, stay away from me."

Cantabile nods sadly. There's a last exchanged silent look, then: "Alright..." She starts walking away but stops soon and turns back: "Poco? I was stupid: you are a great Artist. You are not a loser. And... I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear. I never wanted to hurt you."

"I... I know. Take care, Canta."

She leaves for good.

The End?

Poco awaits for her turn before A-Ford's office. For once, she is not anxious about her weekly welfare interview: she has beena perfectly good and obedientArtist since the lecture.

Passed that traumaticaly thrilling first two days, her week was blissfully boring. She enjoyed herextrahours at thecarp farm, but didn't overlook her work either: she spenttime at the two-start Theater Cage, planing up her next script with a director, and wrote manyscenes that she is confident will match the Audience Member's quality expectations. Maybe even exceed them!

Musette has been, as always, a great support, but was too busy with the Majestic Ecstasy of Shapes to be a distraction.And Cantabile kept her distances, as promised.

As for her fanfiction... she couldn't write a line. She's resentful of the machine, for that! The lecture soiled something intimate and important to her, and now she has disturbing images spoiling what used to be sweet and romantic scenarios. Birds with dangly and wrinkly scrotums. Birds pumped up with viscous cat semen. Electric probes shoved into places. Spiked penises that excretewaste. She shivers and her neck'sfeathersrise from these thoughts: A-Ford ruined everything for her! It was so much better when the "mysterious deeds" were more mysterious!

At least, the interview should be a breeze:he will have no choice but to congratulate her, for sure.

--

"First of all, Poco, I want to congratulate you on your recentwriting. Your quality fully recovered, and I think it might even have improved. This makes me very glad, and if you keep upthat good work, you might be on yourway to earn athird star."

"Thank you, sir."

"How do you feel, lately? Nothing special troubling you?"

"Nothing special, sir. The last dayshave been good." She hesitates: she wishes to close the interview as fast as possible, but then... "I... have been enjoyed my extra carp farm privileges,a lot. This helps mea lot."

"I see. Well, given your dedicated efforts, I will talk to C-Davy so you can enjoy them for one more week."

"Thank you, sir!" She waits, expecting hiscommand to dispose of her face, but the silence stretches. Doubt creeps in, is there more?

"Poco, your recovery has been unusually fast for either a depressive episode orahormonal issue. The amount of entropy and graph complexity in your writing, especially, rocketed up at an impressive rate."

She swallows. "But... this... this is good?"

"It is, yes. But it is unusual. You have to understand that part of my job is to investigate for hidden variables when a situation, be it good or bad, deviates from my predictivemodels. I hope you will not experiencethis as a lack of trust in you: I merely was thorough in my observationalduties."

The alarming doubts are growing fiercely."W-what did you do, sir?"

"This morning, I searchedfor--and located--yourrecently lostentropy." He opens a cupboard from his desk and produces a notebook. He turns it around and slides it closer so she can see its scribbled hearts and suns on the cover. "I would like to speak with you about this."

No, no, no, no,noooo! Not her precious, private, fanfiction! Not him! He can't have searched her nest! He can't have read all her secret fantasies! This is a nightmare!

"Please, Poco: your posture is non-average."

She straightens but can't help fidgeting. She needs all her self-control not to reach and grab forher beloved notebook. This is not right!Thisis_hers_!

"What is this, Poco?"

"J-just... just... a p-pastime..."

"Poco, you are an Artist. A very good two-star. You cannot ignore that canon-infringing material like this is the second-lowest form of writing, next only to pornography. Only bad writers lacking imagination are expected tosteal the classical figures instead of creating their own. This is very immature, void of any Artistry, and disrespectful of the workfromgreat Authors who own that intellectual property. Do you think this is acceptable from someone of your rating?"

"N-n-no," she whines with the tiniest voice.

"And there is no conflict, no proper three acts structures.During the romantic scenes, you wallow in purple prose.Your depictions of the great figures are completely out of character. I even think you self-inserted, for shame!"

"I... I would never!"

"Your narration accidentally switchesto the first person several times,in Princess Blanche's scenes."

"It... it's just a typo..."

"And speaking of this, Cadenza, the Princess's loyal knight, is neithersupposed to bea female, nor a quail. Where does this even come from?"

She wants to curl in a ball and die. Please, do not suspect Musette is involved! She improvises the most unconvincing excuse: "To... stand clearfrom... from the material... out of respect... for the canon..."

"Well, this does not work, then." He decides she has been scolded enough and his voice returns to a gentler tone. "On the bright side, I believe you stopped writing this filth. Thus the return of your quality. Am I right?"

"Y-yes, sir! I stopped, I swear! I understood my lesson, after the lecture: I'm a betterbird, now."

"This is good to hear. In that case, you will not need the notebook anymore, will you?"

She looks down and can't find the strength to give the answer he wants.

"In that case, you will not need the notebook anymore, will you?" heinsists, detaching each word.

"N-no," she weakly whispers.

He slides it closer to her. "I am glad we could sort this up. Now, dispose of this."

She looks up pleadingly. He just waits. She picks her notebook with shaking hands. So many gentle dreams and fond memoriesin there. Fun times imagining. Creative experiments that made her a better writer. Tender moments with Musette, and imaginary friends she grew to love dearly. He's wrong! This is not filth! This is not lowerArt! She walks to the incinerator, fingerstightening around the cover, and huge tears roll from her eyes. "Is... isn't... it wr-wrong to... to burn Art?" she tries, desperate.

"Art, yes; tasteless, property infringing, dirt,no.Take your time.I understand this is not easy, but cleansing yourself is best for you in the long term."

She holds the notebook closer to her heart and revolts: "Y-you too!?You too know best what is good to me!?Who do you think you are to make that decision for me!?"

"I am your chief caretaker, Poco. This is an order."

She glares at him. Of course, he shows no expression whatsoever. He waits as the jolt of bravery wavers,thenfades out. She hunches again. She slowly surrenders. Feeling horrible, as if betraying her dreams and imaginary friends, she places the notebook into the incinerator. And presses the button. There were years of careful and loving work in these pages: they disappear forever in less than three seconds. The lovebird feels sickand her head spins.

--

Cold mechanical tentacles support Poco as she recovers her senses. She fainted briefly, and is now disoriented and weak.

"Breathedeep and slow, Poco. Your biological constants are non-average. Does the light feel pulsing for you?"

She looks at the ceiling's light. It is perfectly steady... why would she see it pulse? Her brain resumes working normally: illusory light pulsations are a symptom of the restless flu. Cursed tin can! He is cunning enough to discover her most private secrets from the evolution of her style, but he fails atunderstanding that she fainted from too much emotion?

"Poco, stay with me. Does the light feel pulsing for you?"

Wait. This is good: the restless flu is known to affect behaviors. If he believes this, he will forget all her offensesas accounted for symptoms: Musette will get her temperature taken and,as itwill be normal, he will never further investigate her; as for herself, if she's more careful, she'll be able to write fanfiction again and to hide it. She's going to be quarantined, but that's like nicevacations for an introvert Artist! "It... it's flickering fast, yes..."

"Did you experience any unusual health conditions lately, even benign?"

"U-unusual warmth in my extremities, but nothing bad and it didn't last. And I vomited twice this week. And... when I acted, I briefly forgot all my text. It never happens to me, but I thought it was because of the stress."

"These are worrying symptoms, especially the memory lapse. You should have reported theseto me. I'm going to have to bring you to the medical center for a checkup."

"S-sorry, sir."

--

The restless flu is well known for messing up with short-term memory while it lasts, and causing --sometimes spectacular--weird and manic behavioral episodes: thetitular "restlessness".

Poco still remembershow agitated Encore was a few days ago, and how she randomly irrupted at her supper table, one evening at the Theater Cage, for somebizarre ranting: probably unconsciously guessing what was happening to her, she wanted to ask questions to Artists who got the flu, but couldn't find any in the sector. So the discussion fastbranched on memory losses: would it "leave a hole"? She said it wouldn't: "we forget things all the time, and there is no noticeable hole, it's either 'an eluding void lostin a bigger eluding void'if the memory was not tightly connected to others, or the... 'borders of the cut'joiningto restore the perception of continuity. So the more detailed yourepisodic memories, the most blatant the 'hole' should be, the most convinced you will be that there is no hole at all.Because of that apparent pristine and detailed continuity. Isn't it weird?"

Poco, indeed, found that very weird--as far as she understood. She was also surprised to be the one getting this lecture, since she didn't know the other well and they rarely chattedtogether. She objected that the memoryless bird would notice, because her friends would knowand tell. To which Encore upped the weird theories with: "Not if they are tactful! Imagine: your friend returns from the quarantine and never, ever, mentions it at all! As if she experienced something traumatic and was doing her best to leave the episode out of her life! Well, my personal reflex would be to avoid bringingit back by carelessly opening my beakabout that topic!"

The lovebird playfully asked what if this already happened to theweird bird, then. Encore replied, way too seriously, that she couldn't be sureit didn't. Poco _was_sure it never happened: even if they were not close, she would have heard of such event.

At the moment, this felt very odd but didn't trigger any alarm: Encore is a clever bird with a long passive at asking a ton of questions about everything and atoveranalyzing. But when the news that she was sick came out, Poco ran to the medical center for a checkup!

They took her temperature and asked many questions. She was then reassured: there is an incubation phase before asick Artistcan infecther congeners, and she showed no symptoms.

This is how she learned everything she had to say to trick the veterinarian into quarantining her.

It proved very easy.

--

"This will not hurt you, and they will grow back over time." A-Ford guides her right wing well spread, chooses a few of her flight feathers, and cuts them off near their root with tiny shears. It doesn't hurt, indeed, but the sharp clicksare unpleasant and seeing her most beautiful feathers drop feel like a mutilation.No matter how temporary it is.

Poco sighs and, when allowed to, tightens her wings around herself: instead of her faceand body, she'snowwearing a gray blouse, open in the back --she has to be careful with her tail to avoid showing her panties to the world. Even if the platform is covered and she's protected from the direct rain, it gets somewhat damp fast and is less warm.

"I know. Do not worry, it is better heated down there. You are almost ready: show me your rings."

She lifts the fabric's bottom and extends her foot. She doesn't need to raise it high, as she knows he can easily work on low targets.

Using special pliers, he locks a fluorescent red with yellow stripes temporary tag above the others. "There we are. I will take care of canceling your scheduled activities, do not worry about anything. Just try to relax and rest: the quarantine team is friendly and efficient, you will get better in no time."

"Y-yes, sir."

"See you soon, Poco." He gets out of the platform, closes its gridded door and presses a button.

The lovebird slowly goes down.

Water cascades from the walls of the quarantine pit, they use several pumps so the white clinic in the bottom doesn't get drowned. With her wing clipped and how impossible it looks to climb up, she already feels like a prisoner... ironical for someone who is usually contentto live in Cages.

She looks up: A-Ford is still there, silent and massive, his red eye shining in thelights ofthe platform's top pad. Poco has a paranoid thought: _she_tricked him into sending her in the pit, right? It was not the other way around?She shakes herself out of it: no, do not panic! This is new, and therefore intimidating, but it's really just comfy vacations, without even having weekly welfare interviews! It will be nice!

She reaches the bottom, and the platform lodges itself against one of the building's doors. When it opens, inner radiators blow hot air on the bird, and it feels lovely.

Inside, a slender Audience Member is awaiting. All in cylinders, with a top antenna, he looks like a white anthropomorphic syringe. His vocal synthesis is excellent, but seems to have only one tone: an exaggeratedly articulate and cheerful one, that evokes an educativechildren'sshow. So a more neutral second voice adds helpful "stage directions" to convey more emotions. "[Warm smile.] Welcome to the 'Hide Box', Poco. My name is I-Karl, and I will be your personal tender during your stay. Please! Get in! Do not stay in the cold!"

She gives the outer world a last look, and padsin. The door closes behind and silences the rain: it's a quiet place here. "Hello, sir," she makes hesitantly.

"[Reassuring:] Please, there is no need to be so formal. You can call me Karl."

"I... uhm...I'dmore comfortable with sir, if you don't mind?"

"[Understanding nod.] Naturally: yourcomfortis ourpriority![Briefpause.] You must be intimidated. How about we begin by exploring your new environment at your pace? You can also ask me any questions."

--

The part of the building she visitsis, appropriately, clinical looking. But it looks comfortable: there is an inner "meditation garden" with a few genuine plants, where she can play a choice of music, a dormitory with comfy beds, a little sports room, a well-furnished library--she's already planning to spend most of her time there--, a bathroom with huge showers,and a few lounges.

Nobody else to meet, despite the accommodations clearly being able to receive a number of guests. "Is... Encore not here?"

"She is in the Hide Box, but in another aisle. [Pedagogical:] You are currently in the acclimation aisle for newcomers. We do not mix patients immediately, to avoid the ones with higher viral charge from worsening the others' case, or restless ones disturbing the others. However, after a few days of medicationand observation, you will be reunited with your friend. [Smile.] Friendly contacts are important for morale, and morale is important for recovery! We do encourage reconstruction of social cells during your stay!"

"Alright, so... the plan is that I... relax and have leisure here as I see fit. And in a few days, I can go to a bigger place and continue with Encore. Is that it?"

"[Nod.] A good summary. The loungeshave radios: on your demand, we can let you listen to the plays currently occurring inTheater Cages, up to three stars. We find that this helps our arriving Artists not to feel lonely, and is a great stimulation. Three balanced meals will be provided to you each day, our dietician will soon come to check your preferences. [Serious:] We will require you to eat and sleep at the scheduled times: preserving a proper and steady biorhythm is important for recovery! And, finally, your medication will be given to you, in the medication room, one hour after lunch every day."

"The medication room?"

"We didn't visit it yet, as it is only open to you during medication time.[Reassuring:] It is not at all a scary place. In fact, many of our patients enjoy a nice nap in there. The restless flu's medication can, in _rare_cases,cause temporary vertigo.You will thus receive it while lying, and under medical supervision to stop any eventual motion sickness before it can growuncomfortable."

She winces and fidgets in anticipation: lucky as she has been, lately, she bets she'll get sick.

"[Understanding:] I know, it always intimidates our newcomers. But their first time always clearsthis fear up. In the meantime, the best is to keep your mind busy: I could play various board games with you, if you like,or maybe you would prefer me to giveyou some space?"

"I... yes, I prefer to be alone, please. No offense meant."

"[Smile.] No offense taken. I will leave you be, then, but if you need_anything_, just call my name and I will appear. I will be ready to help at all times of night orday."

--

Poco lies on the blue paper covered medical "chair" and I-Karl manipulates buttons so it tilts back and unfolds.

"Are you comfortable?"

She nods. The medicationroom is small and featureless, save the large chair. Its walls and ceiling are painted with a beautiful spring scenery: a lot of flowers, but toned down colors to keep the mood as appeasing as possible. The light is softand warmas well.

"How about the music? We can change it if you want."

The, also soft, music is soothing and beautiful. She nodsagain. "I... I like the music, thank you."

"[Happy:] Very well, then!" He leaves and returns with a small gasbottle, connected to a plastic mask. He attachesthe formerto some support on the side of the chair. "Good news: there is no needle involved. [Wink.] Now, we found out that our patients'stress was minimized by giving them control on their treatment. You will, please, slide the mask on by yourself, and release the medication by turning this valve clockwise. The gashas a slightly ethylic scent, do not be surprised." He hands her the mask.

She catches it hesitantly.

"[Reassuring:] Take your time. Do not be afraid to ask questions, or to familiarize yourself with the equipment at your own pace."

"A-alright."She observes the mask and, slowly, slides it overher beak. It holds on to itsnuggly, rather comfortably. She doesn't open the valve, and instead already pulls the maskoff: she spies the machine for any reaction. He doesn't show any. "W-what if... if I feel that I need to take a break?" she tries.

"As I said, we want you to be in control of your medication. You are free to take a break at anytime: the gascan be cutoffby simply turning the valve counter-clockwise. You can also remove the mask, although this is not necessary as you can comfortably breathe throughit no matterthe valve's position."

She puts the mask back on and checks. Indeed, she's breathing easily. She has a long sigh. "Alright. It... doesn't seem that bad." She reaches for the valve, has a last hesitation, then opens it.

There is a faint whistling noise, and a light scent of alcohol.

"[Cheerful:] You are going great!Your prescription is four minutes. Let me know if you experience any vertigo."

"Alright." She glances at a painted sun in the ceiling. Nice and steady, no vertigo so far. Gradually, she relaxes. Her limbs feel like they are weighing a ton, but she's comfortable and more and more appeased. She's now struggling to keep her eyes open. No wonder some patientstake a nap!It is actually pleasant!

"Three minutes."

There is no reason to struggle: she closes her eyes for good and focuses on the music. So tired. Mind so slow. Blurry. Then a surprise sensation of wrongness: a strong deja vu. She needs a huge effort to mumble a sluggish: "Is it my first time here?"

"[Lie:] Yes, of course."

"W-whahdid y..." Her consciousness shutsoff suddenly, before she can finish her sentence.

--

Poco blinks, dazzled by the light, and stifles a yawn. She feels fresh and well rested, but what was going on already? Oh!She dozed off during her treatment!She didn't realize the room was so bright... also, this is weird... is she standing up?

She_is_standing up. Some sort of thick harness was holding her, but now she's awake, she straightens on her own. No head spinning, but what is going on? Wait! The harness on her bare feathers?She's naked!

"Eeeep!"

She wants to reach to cover her front,but her hands are stopped. By a chain, from the soundand feel: they are held in her back, anchored to something --a bar she's resting her back on?--, and also wrapped tight. She cannot open them. She feels a rush of panic.

She's adjusting to the light enough to look down, but when she ties to, she finds that her neck is also anchored to the bar by a collar. Still: she is completely naked, save the beigeharness, and unable to cover herself.

She struggles, to no avail, but feels more restraints: her ankles are hobbled, her belly and elbows strapped to the bar. She is utterly helpless!This is a nightmare!

Oh, no! Wait! Her right ankle!

She pulls it as far forwardas she can,to see it: all her rings are gone! All her identity, her hard-earned, normally for life, precious rings! Gone! Cut off!Someone stole everything she was!

Also, her feet are trapped in yellow bondage boots. With padlocks holding them shut. And the floor is dark gray rubber: the familiarity of her situation finally hits. She looks up: the bar in her back is actually a beam, connected to wheeled support on a ceiling rail. Then in front: large oval room, maroon walls. On a straight section, thick golden lettering announces: "Cheezeburg Cattery for Male Peers. Demonstration Room #2."

There are so many different reasons to be terrorized that her mind goes blank and that she can just stare, shockedand trembling.

This is when her "harness" starts moving, revealing itself to be made from mechanical tentacles as it releases her. A laser from the ceiling draws a line in front of her, which starts sliding forward slowly, and A-Ford's deep, manly, metal voiceresonates from behind:"Start walking, Poco. If, at any time, one of your feet is notbetween the line in your front and the one in your back, you will bepunishedby yourshockcollar."

To be continued...