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//: City of San Iadras. Spirit of '67 adult club/theatre. Troy had stopped by Florence and Dallas's after Jennifer had stepped into her cab at six. She'd given him a key to get into her apartment, but, somehow snooping around there without her felt like a bad idea. So Florence had lent him a few things to wear, and they'd let him use the shower. He'd helped Dallas with a section of his dissertation in astronomy, but his heart hadn't been in it. Too absorbed with thinking about Jennifer. She was a strange mix of strong and soft. Eventually he'd taken a cab, telling Dallas to check with Denver on the math, and he spent his time waiting to get through the traffic fidgeting with the card Jennifer had given him with the address. It was interactive, and had a directory listing for the club, along with a short piece of promotional material. By the time the cab dinged and let Troy out onto the sidewalk, he'd also spent a little time looking the place up on his cell phone. The place seemed to be a strange mix of retro style and a blunt openness about sexuality, along with such oddities as live theatre and music. Of course there were darker rumours, but those seemed to be just that. Rumours. He took his place in the queues outside, staring up at the building. A facade with a rounded centrepiece, with 'the Spirit of '67' printed in luminous red neon tubes, throwing pink backlight against the rest of the building's facade. Banks of partly shaded lightbulbs were animated, flicking on and off to show plain text ads for various shows. It was archaic, quaint. Troy flicked the business card against his fingertips while he shuffled along, curling his tail lightly to one side to avoid taking up too much space in line. The others in the queue were mostly human, as usual, though here and there another fur stood with others in couples, or mixed in with small groups. It felt a little isolating, but no one tried to strike up conversation with him in the queue, though he heard some laughter. Finally he left the queue, moving up in front of one of the ticket stalls. Troy found himself vaguely shocked to be confronted with a human face behind the glass, instead of the console he'd expected. "Good evening sir. Here for the performance of My Fur Lady?" "Ah, no, I think I need a general admittance? I was invited by a friend." The teller nodded, "I see, sir. Your name?" "Troy Salcedo." "Yes," the Teller nodded rapidly, slipping a plastic tag through a recessed slide beneath the glass. "Mr. Emerson will be with you shortly in the lobby, enjoy your evening." Troy picked up the tag with a nod. "Ah, thank you." He stepped aside, looking the tag over. A fairly simple piece of electronics emblazoned with '67'. The doorman nodded politely and held the doorway open as Troy stepped through to the lobby. White walls, plush brown carpets which meshed with the wood panelling. It might've been cheap foamed ceramic, but given the amount of money it took to hire a doorman, Troy didn't think they'd taken the cheap option with their decorating. Posters on display advertised a number of shows, and glancing around without recognising anyone that might be a Mr. Emerson, he paused to study them. My Fur Lady, an adaptation of My Fair Lady, seemed rather popular. Weirdly, the cast seemed to be all furry. There were a succession of Andrewses and Edwardses, a pair of McCalls, an Estian, a few other surnames linked to furry genotypes. How would they find enough actors for that? "Mr. Salcedo?" A kindly looking older gentleman, dressed in a tuxedo and marked with cheetah-like markings across his face, with his greying hair dyed a pale blonde. He offered out a hand. "Mr. Jason Emerson." Troy blinked a little, taking the gentleman's hand and shaking it lightly. He was human. But... Not. "Ah, hello." The gentleman smiled warmly. "Miss Dante spoke quite highly of you, sir. Charmed to make your acquaintance." He leaned back slightly, placing his hands behind his back. "Likewise," Troy ventured after taking a moment to digest this. "Ahh, Dante?..." "A stage name. Miss Dante is quite enamoured with retaining her privacy from the public, you understand." Troy nodded. "So. This is, quite the establishment," he said, letting gentleman's formal mood overtake him. The slight stresses on tone here and there were almost reassuring. Somehow Troy couldn't see Emerson's tattooed face behind a surgical mask. The gentleman smiled proudly, then, glancing about briefly. "Yes. A sort of mixture of the new and the old. A bit of burlesque and the performing arts, an element of the old gentleman's clubs. A little of the," he chuckled lightly, "Spirit of Twenty Sixty-Seven." "I was wondering about that, actually." Troy tugged lightly at the collar of Florence's loaned shirt. "A reference to Marika Estian?" The gentleman nodded. "Quite. It represents a turning point. Where what it means to be a thinking being changes." "Transhumanism," Troy supplied. "Exactly so. Of course, there are more beings involved than just humans now." Troy bowed his head to that. "So what line of work are you in, Mr. Salcedo?" "Ah, Academia," Troy admitted, lifting his hand half way, then dropping it into a pocket before he could start scratching at his neck again. "I'm working on my research dissertation in Nuclear Chemistry, investigating fusion with some hopeful looking synthetic atoms." The gentlemen nodded his head, pressing his lips tightly together in a smile. "Mm. I wish you luck with that, it sounds quite specialised." "It is," Troy agreed, letting his ears relax a little with a deep breath. "Yourself, Mr. Emerson?" "The club is my life, really," the gentleman explained, "I provide for the performers, keep things running smoothly. Speaking of which," he said, glancing at his wrist, "Miss Dante shall be quite irate if I don't have you seated well within time for her performance." "Ah." "She described you as a rather quiet fellow, Mr. Salcedo. I presume a quiet table won't be amiss?" the gentleman asked, indicating a doorway labled 'Main Club Room'. "No, ah. Not at all. Thank you." The usual routine for a Saturday evening rolled into motion. A few last minute patrons were admitted into the main clubroom of the Spirit of '67 and were led to one of the few remaining free tables by the club waitresses. They were all pretty young women, wearing a variety of costumes which tended to integrate animal ears and tails. The lights within the main clubroom slowly began to dim, with just a little back lighting throwing the nude sculptures around the edges of the room into silhouette. The club waitresses started to deliver the last round of drinks, carefully lifting the glasses from their trays and placing them before the patrons attending this evening. Troy shook his head lightly at the offer of a refill, having been nursing a soda water and lime for the past few minutes. Bit by bit the room sank into darkness, until the last of the waitresses slipped through the finely carved doors and into the back rooms. "Ladies and Gentlemen," droned an announcer Troy thought might have been Mr. Emerson. "Miss Elle Dante. She has requested silence throughout her performance this evening, and any tips or gifts you may have for the performer may be sent via club waitresses afterward." Troy blinked a little as a Spotlight snapped on, illuminating the main stage with its heavy velvet curtains. "Sometimes," a husky woman's voice - Jennifer's voice - whispered, boosted by speakers. "Sometimes, a look, is just a look." She slipped through the velvet curtains, moving them aside with one hand, her yellow-brown fur bright under the lights. "A look across a crowded room, between strangers," she breathed into a slim pen mic, running one hand along the dress she wore, dark scarlet and silk. She stepped down from the stage, along a set of steps, the spotlight following her. The dress was open from her tail, up along her back and up to the shoulderstraps holding the dress in place. She turned her back to the audience, revealing, as she turned, that the tiger-like stripes starting at the tip of her short, blunt tail continued up to just beneath her shoulderblades. She drew a deep breath, causing the stripes in her fur to ripple along her back. She reached up, flipping her red hair over a shoulder, looking off to a side and putting her canid-like muzzle into profile against the whiteness of the wall. "Sometimes, a look is more than a look," she said, twisting around to glance back over her shoulder into the audience, running a hand down along her thigh, smoothing her dress. "A look across a crowded room, though, between lovers to be," she continued, green eyes flashing as she glanced across the darkness of the main club room. One long moment of eye contact in the dark sent shivers along Troy's spine. He tugged at the neck of his shirt, staring up at her. "That," she said with a heavy breath, "is more than a look. His eyes," she continued, turning to strut around the bottom of the stage on high heeled shoes, built specially for her slightly weird, paw-like feet. "His eyes will tell you everything," she said, stepping up the stairs on the opposite side of the stage. "He'll glance away, and you'll know, you'll just know, that he's scared. Scared you'll notice, even though you saw him first. Afraid of how he's going to approach a pretty thing like you." She slipped up onto the stage, swaying from side to side in front of the curtains, flicking her tail out to the side. "Out in public. Looking at a pretty girl like you, that's not just looking." She bit her lip lightly, turned around slowly, showing her naked back to the audience. "No." She turned her head again, flicking an ear and reaching up to smooth her hair. "That's more. And take too long doing it, and people will think, my god, he's staring at her." She crouched a little, shaking her hips until it sent her tail asway, gentle music starting to play. "He wants her. Can't he keep his eyes to himself? Can't he go and tell her?" She smiled back across her shoulder, running her fingers through her hair and tossing it back. "He doesn't have to tell you a thing. His look tells you how beautiful you are." "Then there's that other look," She turned her side to the audience, cocking her hips and stepping forward a little. "That intimate look," she whispered roughly, taking a breath and pulling at the fabric of her dress so that the folds drew taught against her breasts, exposing every curve in profile as she arched her back in a rolling motion. "That long gaze while he wonders about your body, can't take his eyes off you, wants to know what it's like kissing you." She took long breaths that sent her chest heaving, biting her lip lightly, smiling invitingly out at the audience, her eyes sneaking back to that one quiet table where Troy sat. She pouted her lips, as if blowing a kiss. "That look, where time stands still," she concluded, releasing the dress, turning to step towards the velvet curtains. "But he can't look too long, or they'll all know he can't get his eyes off you." She slipped through the curtains, the spotlight flicking off with a snap. "But what about," she asked, "when there's nobody else but him?" All was dark without the spotlight. But the music kept playing. Troy wondered whether or not it was already over, nervously taking a quick sip of his drink. The sound of the curtains rolling back in the darkness overpowered the music, but then there was the click of a latch, and a doorway slid open partway, spilling bright light out across the stage, a narrow slice of it cutting across the bar room's ceiling. Troy's chest tightened. "When there's nobody else but him, he'll look at you differently." There was a flash of red silk behind the door as the performer slipped up to a mirror visible to the audience, watching herself in it. And, Troy realized at the green flash of her eyes, watching the audience. She held her hands in front of herself, turning her almost nude back to the door, only a little obscured by the doorframe. "He'll almost touch you with his eyes, if he thinks you don't know," she whispered into the mic, swaying again, sending the hem of her dress swinging back and forth. "He'll start at your shoulders, looking at the curve of your arm." She lifted up an arm, turning it so that the tawny white of its underside was visible in the mirror. She licked her lips. "He'll imagine those arms of yours around him, and then he'll start working his way down." She reached up and slipped the shoulderstrap of her dress off a shoulder, twisting the thin scarlet material around her fingers while she slowly tugged the dress down, holding the front against herself. "His secret thoughts about you will start to bubble through his imagination,he'll finally start admitting to himself how much he wants you." Her gaze lowered to her own body, breathing a little fast. She lifted up the mic, turning a little, her nude back to the audience, the soft tawny white fur of her throat and chest exposed, reflecting vividly from the mirror. "He'll imagine holding you close, pressing you against him," she breathed, hugging the front of her dress to herself, slowly letting it sink, sinuously moving her hips from side to side, letting the slack in the dress pull it down from her hips, revealing her tiger-striped butt, the way the dark stripes stretched down her thighs. The open back of her dress drifted down to her knees. "Touching you," she sighed. She let the front of her dress slide down in her hands, over the gentle curves of her breasts, till she stopped it at her hips, staring at herself in the mirror, staring at her own white-furred curves, the tan flesh of her nipples. "He'll want to find out where you feel soft," She tossed her head, flinging her hair across her chest. She reached up with one hand, lightly cupping her own breast, pressing down so that her breast deformed a little from the pressure, and she groaned hard, strands of hair swaying across her chest. She dragged her hand down her body, a slight line of darkness trailing her touch as the fur was held flat beneath her fingers, revealing tan flesh where her fur was parted. "Want to know if your stomach's firm," Her hand trailed down underneath the dress she held against her body, as if she were touching herself somewhere more intimate, and she moaned, with an almost urgent yip to her voice, "or if you're wet for him." She swallowed in gulps of air, before backing away from the mirror, away from the door, out of view. "Sometimes, when he can't quite see you, he'll go wild," her voice groaned, as first one bare leg, then the other unfolded to extend out into the doorway's line of sight. The heels of her shoes clicked as she braced herself against the ground, then her legs flexed as if she were arching her body up off the stage floor. "Because," she moaned, breathing heavily, "he has to imagine what it is you're doing." Her knees parted, and a slightly wet sound slipped over the speakers as she grunted. "Are you're laying there, thinking of him?" Her breathing was rhythmic with the flexes of her legs. She groaned, long and loud. With an almost wanting whine she asked, "Are you desperate for him to do everything he imagines?" Suddenly she kicked at the door, and it slammed shut. The audience was bathed in darkness again, but still her heavy breathing could be heard, quickening in pace until her voice rose, almost sonorous, in a quick series of almost agonised, wailingly needful yelps. Her breath slowed, and she once again whispered, voice a husky wheeze, "I am." A moment passed until the sound of her breath faded and the music stopped. Troy dry swallowed, trying to remember how to breathe while the lights came up. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen who joined us this evening," the announcer voice said. "Any tips or gifts for Miss Dante may be forwarded to her through the club waitresses. Those of you who wish to attend My Fur Lady, may be interested to join some of the cast for drinks in the upper lounge prior to the performance. My Fur Lady is an adaptation of the antique and multiple Tony Award winning broadway musical, My Fair Lady, featuring Christine McCall as Eliza Doolittle and Richard Edwards as Henry Higgins, with a performance tonight at Ten Thirty." Troy tensed his ears, trying to make sense of what he'd heard. He couldn't. His mind was moving too fast. He shut his eyes, taking deep breaths. Jennifer. Up on that stage. Part of him was aroused. Part of him disturbed. He glanced briefly around. The audience was mainly made up of men, obviously. But here and there was a woman. Not many furs, and Troy dry swallowed reflexively. He shut his eyes briefly, trying to block out the realization that he'd felt almost as if he were alone with her in the darkness. But he hadn't been. He didn't know how that made him feel. Jealous? The bitter taste in his mouth didn't last long. Her eyes, after all, had met with his. She'd kissed him, not these other men. There was a click of paper on the stone of his table, and Troy looked up with a blink. A butler, dressed with a fox mask and with a well made matching faux tail was standing, waiting a few feet away.. Troy glanced down at his table. A neat card, with the kind of matte finish that meant real paper, not smart, lay there. To the recipient. Miss Dante desires your presence at the side exit at Ten Thirty. The vulpine butler will show the way. The writing on the card was slightly depressed, the ink damp. It looked almost handwritten, although by a skilled calligrapher. "Ah?" Troy asked, looking up at the butler and his mask, starting to stand. The butler merely tapped his wrist lightly Troy glanced at his own wrist, still just ten fifteen. "Oh, uhm," Troy took a swallow of his drink, picking up the card. He flicked out his tail and pulled it from the gap in the seat's back, shifting to sit on the seat's edge. He took another sip of his soda water and lime, staring at his hands. His empty hands. "Is there somewhere to, uh. Buy her flowers?" The vulpine butler paused a moment, tapping the chin of his mask, before nodding approvingly. Troy was led away by the butler, through into the lobby and into a dimly lit gift shop. He looked over buckets of fresh cut flowers to one side of the small place, presumably for men returning home to wives, or for those wanting to give their partner on a night out something special, but Troy's attention was drawn to the Vulpine butler by a click of fingers. The butler tapped a small rounded box he'd brought up to place on the counter with his gloved fingers, and Troy approached. The butler opened it, displaying a thin silver necklace. "Oh, uh..." Troy hesitated. The Vulpine butler picked it up, body language changing almost immediately from the neutral masculinity he'd held to something altogether more feminine, posing like a woman on a film poster, lifting the necklace up as though he were wearing it. Troy blinked as the Vulpine butler then held a hand to his throat, as though he were a flattered woman, shoulders shifting as though with a dramatic - if silent - sigh. It was faintly ludicrous to watch, but it got the message across. Troy smiled, a little uneasily. "So, uh. You think she'd like that." The Vulpine butler nodded emphatically, setting the necklace down again. The price printed on a ribbon that had been around the box was a little expensive. But not too expensive, given that Jennifer'd saved Troy from spending too much on a hotel room. He wiped his forehead lightly, scratching the fur. "I don't suppose there are any small charms, or, pendants?" Jennifer stood in the darkness outside, taking deep sniffs of the night air beside the secluded side road, silhouetted by a street lamp's illumination. Her eartips, Troy could see, were almost quivering with tension. Stress. She passed her purse from hand to hand, finally slung it over a shoulder. She held her tail stiffly out at an angle. She must've heard his footsteps across the paving to get to her, but she didn't look up. Her shoulders were bare, wearing the halter top and shorts she'd had on that morning. Even with fur, the night was probably colder than shorts and a shirt could help. Jennifer looked cold, fragile. Troy slipped off his - Florence's - jacket, and gently moved forward to settle it over her shoulders. The fur across the back of her neck visibly bristled and she tensed a moment, looking up at him while he settled the jacket over her shoulders. "So, um. What'd you think?" Troy ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth, trying not to dry swallow again, give in to the nervous reflex. "It scared me a little," he admitted. "How so?" Jennifer asked tensely, staring at his eyes searchingly. Troy glanced down at the ground, biting his lip. He swashed his tail from side to side in the darkness, before blurting, "I'm afraid." Jennifer moved closer, carefully, eyes wide. "Why?" "I don't know," Troy concluded after helpless moments. He dry swallowed. "At some level I don't know if you're seducing me, or if I'm just falling prey to lust" Troy forced down a breath. "I have to question my motives. Then I saw you standing out here, cold and fragile, and..." Troy trailed off, unable to put two words together. Then she put her hand on his chest, pulled close. "Troy. I'm scared too." Jennifer's ears flicked lightly, still so tense. "I took you home, to push away my loneliness for a few nights. And then you told me you love me, and you were nice to me, and, and." She took a shaky breath. "I need to know that's not going to change because I get up on a stage, aching for men to watch me. To love me. I need to know that you don't just want to fuck me, that you meant what you said." Troy took her hands lightly in his own. He felt like he couldn't speak, but the desperate look in her eyes forced him to. "What I meant to say, is, seeing you out here, now, reminds me why I fell for you the second I saw you." She leaned closer to him, squeezing his hands tight. "Why?" "You were the oldest one." "What do you mean?" "When I first saw you, you were dealing with your sisters, I think. And I was reflecting on how hard it is to be the older sibling. I mean, we're all clones, but.. we're the ones who have to be strong." Troy dipped his gaze back down, sipping at the air to stay calm. "It's hard, because there's just nobody to talk to. The others can talk to you about their problems, you can help them. But there's no one there for you." "I know exactly what you mean," she said after one long moment, voice a little stronger as she pulled back and watched him curiously. "We're both like that," Troy said finally, taking her hands again. "And I saw that piece of myself in you." He dropped his gaze, watching the ground, their feet. "I think that's when I fell in love with you. Not last night when you fed me peanut butter, not on the beach when you kissed me. I fell for you when I realized that in some small way, I wasn't the only fur like this. Not the only fur so, alone. Apart." Jennifer nodded. She drew close, lay her head on his shoulder, settling down. She took one quivering breath, closed her eyes. "We don't have to be alone. Forgive me for seducing you?" He kissed her hair. "Forgive me for watching you?" She pressed her hands against his chest, leaned up, and pushed her mouth against his until he yielded, letting her tongue slip into his mouth, slipping his into hers. She drew back a little, nipping lightly at his lips. "Deal."