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If the first days at the manor of Lionel and Victoria Chatterlynx seemed to be boiling over with excitement and carnality, reader, I do apologize for creating the impression that the estate existed solely for pleasures of the flesh. Indeed, within a heart's beat a routine was established in sharp contrast to that of my welcoming period, and my role within the household became more distinct.

My duties were two-fold: as we had established, I was to become a 'companion' to Lady Victoria, providing comfort and company to his wife in those times when he could not do so himself. The duration of such engagements would vary from a short few days to possibly weeks or even months; the ambiguities of his profession did not allow for strict precision. He would communicate with us as best he could, with the understanding that the modern conveniences had not yet reached the remote locations of the world. Days would most certainly pass without word. In simplest terms, Victoria would be in my care, she as my ward and I as something of a steward.

Secondly, in the absence of Lord Chatterlynx, arrangements had been made to grant to me authority over the affairs of the manor and its staff. This was less out of disrespect or distrust towards Victoria, but rather quite the opposite: both agreed that despite the Lady's sharp wit and far greater understanding of the goings-on about the manor and its grounds, it would be difficult for a woman to properly address some issues, in particular those brought forth by parties outside of Chatterlynx Manor. I begrudgingly accepted this second role as Victoria's mouthpiece towards those who would give no respect to her; it made me mournful to consider that even in our enlightened era of history, a time like no other before it, simple possession of softer features and the 'incorrect' anatomy could render a person's entire intellect null and void.

In times when my services were not required of either Chatterlynx, I would remain as a resident of the manor until I was called upon again or my presence was considered no longer necessary. In such an event, I would be released with severance, and my future would be my own to decide. I could scarcely imagine what would be grounds for dismissal in such a place as this, where hedonism hid behind the curtains of protocol and decorum like a specter, waiting for the proper moment to strike...

And so began the daily life of Oliver Jones as the 'companion' to Victoria Chatterlynx. I use the term loosely; the first weeks consisted of little more than periods of trite conversation that served as the punctuation to seemingly endless sentences of daydreams and boredom. If the idiom about idleness and the devil's work has even the slimmest germ of truth to them, then I feared perhaps Mephistopheles himself had found a grip upon me from the fingertips to the shoulder and threatened to wring the air from my neck. The days Lionel spent away from the grounds with his fellows or tending to the business of his finances became gifts from a higher power, and I treasured each hour when I again felt useful and appreciated rather than stored away like a tool awaiting its next need.

September's last day gave way to October, and then to November. The weather had grown surly, with a chill that cut to the bone. Word from the northern counties had been bleak, talking about the razor-sharp winds off the sea. We would overcome of course; the Kingdom had suffered more than its share of winter's fury and come through each time with heads held high. This would be no different, not at all. Queen and country, stood firm against the wind like the stubborn bastards we were. I had to chuckle at the very idea of the Royal navy fighting nature off our western coastline. It would make for a fine cartoon with the newspapers, though...

"Is this trip truly necessary, Victoria?" I asked it only half-heartedly; while the idea of spending the afternoon with the lynx wandering from shop to boutique to hosier was far from my ideal image of a day away, it still was a day away from the graying expanse of the manor house and the constant patter of my own thoughts and the ministrations of the most lovely of house servants and their most unusual methods for providing comfort to the residents. But one can only be roused from slumber by the soft warmth of a mouth around your member so many times before the crushing ennui of the rest of the day begins to rub the luster away. A trip to the city would be refreshing--perhaps as Victoria explored the merchants and wares, I could find a pub to spend a portion of my earnings in.

"You've asked me that three times, Oliver." She smiled at me, no sign of agitation in her features, reaching to stroke her gloved fingers over the back of my hand. "It's not necessary, per se, but I would like to have some new dresses and such made before the winter sets in and the roads get dangerous."

I nodded. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I suppose I don't enjoy long trips." Her eyes told me that she didn't believe a single breath of it, and to be I hadn't expected her to accept such a trite and convenient lie as that? Even with the hour's ride by carriage to the railway station, the entire trip took scarcely two and a half hours. I'd ridden the breadth and with of the kingdom, something I was quite proud to speak of in grandiose detail. This was just a drop in the ocean by comparison.

She shrugged gently and turned back to the window. "Whatever you say, Mister Jones. I won't bother you until we get to Norwich." I tried to dispense apologies but they were ignored; true to her word, she spoke not another word until we reached our destination.

Compared to the manor and its relative closeness to the seas, Norwich was a sight warmer by comparison. Still, winter in the isles being what it was, the chill in the air made me most thankful for the heavier coat I'd brought from Chatholm--there on the coast itself, winter could burst into one's life like a barbarian, battering down door and window and coating every surface in sight with frost and ice. More mornings than I care to admit had been spent dreading the walk to the post office, and the very idea of a winter on the dockside made my ears fold in trepidation.

Victoria, on the other hand, was the very icon of joy and delight. Norwich would never compare to the bustling commercial vistas of London or my own Dublin, so infinitely far away as it seemed. Every sound made her eyes shine with a child-like brightness that few women her age would ever claim to carry with them. It warmed me at the core somewhat to see her so euphoric at the mere idea of dress-shopping.

"Has it been so long, Lady Chatterlynx?"

She blinked, stumbling in her steps slightly, drawing her body back up into something a bit more expected of an upstanding and respectable lady about town. "I don't know what you mean," she said with the gentle hiss of embarrassment tucked under deliberate diction as we pushed into the crowd towards the high street. One of Victoria's personal servants, an African feline of a persuasion I could not identify, followed behind us in a degree of discomfort he tried to hide away in The British Manner--that is to say with a stoic façade and outright refusal to admit that the winds and frost were a far cry from the temperate lands he called home. But such was his position within the household staff, and I'm sure had he voiced any concerns Victoria would have chosen another of her innumerable maids and housemen to join us. It struck me odd--as it had several times--that Lord Lionel maintained such a large estate for just he and his lovely wife, with enough help on the grounds that I rarely saw the same from one day to the next. I dismissed it as a mere eccentricity of the rich, something I would never quite understand from my position of far less means.

"Where do you think we should start, Oliver?" I started to answer before I was cut off with hardly a syllable past my lips. "Oh, oh, that display in the window is the most wonderful thing! Davis, let's be off!" Lady Chatterlynx lifted her skirts and practically sprinted to a store along the north side of the street bearing a signboard painted in a flowing and flowery script I had no hope of translating. I laughed lightly to myself as I was left alone on the stones, the answer to a now blatantly rhetorical question lost forever.

Rather than standing like a staring imbecile I followed behind Davis' after a turn. But as they entered the store together, it became apparent that I'd not be joining them in the search for the greatest in modern fashions--the boutique was barely a postage stamp's size, dotted to each side with a similar tiny building stretching off to the ends of the street and beyond. Davis and Victoria were almost more humanity than it could comfortably manage, and my presence may have simply caused the structure to burst at the seams. (I beg forgiveness, reader, for indulging in the low-brow art of puns. I shall strive to not fall into the trap again!) Peering through the doorway, I caught a glimpse of Victoria and the seamstress, before the broad chest of Davis filled my view. My word, he was a larger specimen than I had thought...

"Lady Victoria will be some time, Mister Jones." His tone was as flat as beer left to sit too long. I wondered in the back of my mind if Davis was meant to serve as much as an aid as he was a body-guard against the less savory elements of the city. "She suggests you find a distraction while she is indisposed."

"Are you sure? I can wait on the street--"

Davis raised one heavy eyebrow beneath his hairless head, crossing arms that threatened to destroy his simple shirt over his chest. "Have you been to this city before?"

"Perhaps once, briefly? What does this have to do with anything?"

"You should perhaps be seeing what else it has to offer."

It was much like bashing one's head against a particularly stern wall. It gave way slightly, but your head was more likely to cave first. As it to press the final points with unmistakable firmness, Davis closed the door to the boutique as a voice within muttered something about 'the draught'. Well, if that was the situation, far be it for me to incite grievous harm upon my head bone! Damn this boutique and all it stood for--Oliver Jones would not set foot in there today, and they would be lessened for it!

I stomped my foot in determination and resolve. After a moment, it occurred to me that I was standing in the middle of a busy street at mid-day, glaring angrily at a door to a woman's boutique. Pulling my hat down a bit further over my head, I turned and proceeded further along the facades, now determined to perhaps tilt at windmills in my private time and for now try to find a small shred of dignity I may have left myself amongst the curious looks from passer-by.

The lingering ghost of previous embarrassment faded rather quickly amongst the crowd, whom I quickly concluded had not the slightest idea of who I could possibly be. Such rationalization was helped along its journey by the warm and loving hand of alcohol, provided by a rather bemused barkeep at a tavern whose name I quite failed to notice.

"Bit early for a tipple, ain't it, mate? Usually don't see yer type until after near sunset." The bartender ran his cloth absently over the counter-top; he'd cleaned it a half-dozen times already since I'd entered his establishment. As I was the only the patron of any note in the building--a pair of destitute souls had wandered in to escape the November chill, and the owner had let them out of what I had to assume was charity--there was little else to do.

I shrugged slightly and poked a poor excuse for a crisp with my fingertips, cursing silently at the cold grease it left behind. "I'm simply passing the time while my companion peruses the dresses. One drink and I'll be on my way. A fine brew, I must say." I chose to note mention the food, partially out of respect and partially out of self-preservation.

The boar nodded, tossing his rag over his shoulder. "One of our better pales. Been pretty popular with the lads. Me, I like sumtin' a little bit heavier." His brogue rolled thickly past his tusks; I had quite a time comprehending him between periodic snorts through his thick snout and his accent, but the point was certainly made.

"Well," I mused. "Perhaps later I'll return and sample something of your recommendation."

He laughed. "You one of them university boys? You talk like a book, all long words an' blather."

I stiffened up, straightening my back as if my backbone had become a board. Whether it was out of pride or some sort of offense, I don't know, but today had not proven to be a fine day for Oliver Jones to maintain his dignity. Why should that change now? "I, sir, am a traveling student of the finest universities of both Britain and the nearer European nations. If something is worth learning, I have likely some knowledge thereof, and I daresay I do not appreciate the implication that somehow I am inferior for such."

The barkeep stared at me as if I had grown a second head. The air in the room hung like ice for several moments while I continued glaring in righteous indignation.

Finally, he set his tankard down. "Feck me, but you got skin thin like a widow's tea." He leaned forward and put both palms down on the bartop with a crashing sound that set me straight back in my place and wrapped my tail around my ankles in shock. "An' jumpy too! Har!" If the sound of laughter could rattle a building to its foundation, the boar's would have left much of the south of England in complete ruination. I was stunned--too stunned to speak, something which I assure you does not happen very often!

The sound of a mug reaching the counter-top returned me to the tavern, my already empty glass quite full again, the head rising to meet my gaze as if it were waving hello. "Ah...I didn't--"

The keep shook his head. "I damn near scared the piss from you, boy. Least I can do is offer another drink to try an' make up." I was leery of the sudden change in demeanor, but it seemed genuine, a wide fatherly smile under a pair of eyes that admitted to a spot of mischief and apologized for it as best they knew how.

I nodded and took a long pull, letting the wonderful concoction do its magic tricks upon my personage. I would never accuse a pale ale of being potent, but two pints is enough for a man of my not particularly impressive stature to suffer from some...ill effects. And so I found myself carousing with the gregarious Angus--I learned his name after a turn--as the day progressed forward, until the coarse-handed men of the warehouses joined us for a short drink break at noon. I held to my promise, though--even as the drink flowed quite freely (but not cheaply) and the crowd savored the warm glow it brought, I stayed to my two pints, knowing full well that I could not toddle back to Victoria in the state I was in. No, no it would not do at all!

Still, the camaraderie was certainly a warm change away from the solitude of Chatterlynx Manor, and I made the decision to remain with the group for the remainder of their break from drudgery. If the image in your head, reader, is that of drunken revelry, with its ribald singing and questionable treatment of the buxom serving girls, then it is with an air of sadness that I say no such thing happened. No, we simply enjoyed conversation, good humor, and better libations for all too brief a moment.

"Ah, but it don't put a shine on the evenin', lad!" Angus slapped his arm across my back as we watched the gruff men of Norwich filter back into the crowd, off to heaven only knows what occupation they called theirs. "Them's the thing of legend, tell you now. Gets enough of a thing the police pay visit once, twice a month now." The big boar shook his head, smiling good and wide. "But I wouldnae give it up, not for a moment's peace an' all the Queen's riches. Shame ye've got to be off so soon."

I shook my head, sharing in his mirth but also understanding my position. "I would love to do so, friend Angus, but I must be off. Much the same as the other lads, my employer would be quite cross were I to not return punctually."

"There you go again with them ten-penny words, boy. By the time you say 'good mornin', it's already tea!" He lifted his hand and motioned towards the kitchen, barking something in a foreign language that I could comprehend. "A'fore ye go, Jack, let me introduce you to me wife. Oi, Sigrun, ko-men hier, lee-buh!" I stifled a chuckle at Angus' expense--no wonder I hadn't understood him, his German was quite dreadful. In all fairness, mine was not an improvement; I think at best I could order a beverage and perhaps locate the toilets if it weren't an urgent situation. Between his substantial dental protrusions and his thick natural accent, the tavernkeeper was at a distinct disadvantage.

"Ja? Vut is it, Angus?" The woman who entered the hall with us was much Angus' twin, a stocky example of the same species though sans the tusks that marked the males. But she was no mirror image of her husband. Where he carried himself on thick legs and arms lined with muscles that framed a stomach that belied his love of the liquor he served his patrons each and every day, Sigrun stood as the prototypical specimen of sus scrofa and a glimmering icon of the historical Germanic might. The woman--and I use that term with the utmost in slack-jawed respect, as Sigrun was anything but the shirking, timid female of literature and fantasy--stood perhaps two meters tall, forcing me to crane my neck slightly to properly meet her eyes from my seat as she strode past Angus and I, carrying a barrel of beer on her shoulder as if it were devoid entirely of weight. And despite her bristling strength and considerable mass, one could easily be accused of blindness if they were to think of Sigrun as anything other than a feminine creature, healthy of bust and hip, with russet hair that fell past her shoulders towards her backside. It was a fair judgment to say that she was, in all ways, large.

I felt Angus' elbow press into my side, and I shook myself back to the waking world. "Isn't polite to stare," he chided, laughing at my obvious infatuation. "'bout a year ago, I took me a holiday to the home country t'see all the things me Da talked aboot."

I only focused peripherally on his story, watching as Sigrun tended to the needs of the tavern during the lull in drinkers. "We see few of your race in Britain anymore. I had thought the entire population had retreated to the more comfortable climate of the continent."

Angus took a draw from his beer. Such tolerance he had--this was easily his dozenth of the afternoon, but if any of the pints had made any impact on his faculties, I could not tell a whit. "Aye. The winters've been harsh for ages now. But me ma's ma, she come up 'ere for whatever reasons she had, an' nothin' short of the powers pluckin' 'er clean off the ground would make 'er leave." He wiped off his snout with the back of his sleeve. "I'll spare ye all the whole yarn, Jack. I can tell ye're a thousand miles away anyways, right?"

I started to respond in protest. Angus would have none of it, pushing away from his chair and sliding up to his partner, an arm around her waist as he swept her from her hooves with more grace than I would have ever imagined him capable of. "One of me cousins told me aboot this mighty glacier of a woman. Lonely thing. Wouldn't be a proper bloke what didn't offer his aide to a lady in distress." He adjusted her hair a bit, not quite coming up to Sigrun's full height as they rested in each other's arms, swaying slowly to silent music.

Sigrun's face softened, leaning down to kiss her husband--no, not just husband. They were truly and unashamedly in love. I smiled to myself and kept silent, letting them enjoy each other's company as I gathered my hat and prepared to make my way back to the street and its throngs of people who paid no notice to those around them. I coughed gently, turning to nod my good-byes to Angus and Sigrun, my cheeks flushing before I quickly turned away. Their embrace had, for lack of a better term, escalated, and the two were quite heatedly working their hands along their partner's body, clothing becoming less of a concern as it was shed. Angus' member made an appearance quite suddenly, angry and swollen, and I chose that moment to beat a hasty retreat.

My pace was broken by a strong hand clutching my wrist, tugging me back and nearly clearing me from my feet. Sigrun smiled at me, warm, welcoming as she said something to me, but I shook my head, not understanding what the words meant even with the quite obvious intent painted thickly in her eyes. Her broad palm rolled up my thigh and over my groin, making my tail wrap around my ankle as I clutched my hat in both hands over my waist.

Angus laughed from behind me. "She wants you to stay."

"I g-gathered that!" I winced as my voice came forth like a child's, squeaking and stuttering.

"I do too." The slap on my backside forced a yelp out of my muzzle, eyes cinched shut in embarrassment as my body was openly groped by two people--one another male!--that I'd known for less than a day! And yet, my own nature began to betray me, my erection pressed against the front of my trousers quite obscenely...

A thin shred of strength rose up from within my chest, and I managed with some difficulty to remove myself from between the two boars. I could sense their disappointment brewing, and I felt an equal pant of distaste--it was a friendly gesture, an invitation to enjoy their company. My mind raced for a solution to the problem at hand that would not turn me into a sort of unpleasant cad who would so callously stomp away like he had been greatly offended.

"I must be back to my employer, Sigrun, Angus. Do not think I have not enjoyed our conversation. Nor any other part of it." I paused, carefully choosing the next words. "I shall endeavor to return later this evening, if time and fate allow."

The sow tilted her head slightly, arms crossed below her impressive bust, pushing it up into a form which swept the breath from my lungs. Again she spoke, her German impeccable and mine querulous at best.

Angus lifted his head from his lover's collarbone to provide a translation, but I held my hand up, shaking my head as I turned to leave, my tail exploded into a brush of orange, red, and white. Those words...those I had understood quite perfectly.

'You had best return, fox, or I shall hunt you.'

Those words rang like they had been called forth from a church bell, with a deafening weight masked underneath a hoarse whisper. My head rattled. I scurried away to the cobblestones and their relative safety.

The slashing chill cut into my flesh, prying away the last of the warm comfort the pub had provided. Despite the full illumination of the sun overhead in the cloud-free sky, winter had proven too strong an opponent. The cold of the stones beneath my bare feet forced a wince; I pressed my way into the crowd and walked towards the north end of the high street with some urgency, coat pulled tightly to my chest.

While the libation and conversation had been a wonderful diversion, they had not lasted nearly so long as I had expected--it was hardly one in the afternoon, and I had not even the faintest hope that Victoria had finished with the dressmakers. Even if she had, I rationalized, she and Davis would likely have found themselves at another boutique, a milliner's, perhaps even a merchant of lingerie who would be most pleased to sculpt a creation of silk and bone around Victoria's most luxurious of endowments. I paused in my stride and caught my breath, pushing away visions of half-dressed lynxes draped in sheer fabric before I found myself embarrassed in the streets again.

The high street held little of interest for a man such as myself. When the stores were not riddled to the brim with the latest in garments from the fashionable cities of Spain and France for the man or woman of culture and affluence, merchants hunched over carts of various vegetables and meats in less than mouthwatering conditions--though I suppose the winter weather would serve as something of preservative--or hawked trinkets and baubles with impossible claims of immense value. Not a thing caught my interest; even the bookstores with their ceiling-high stacks of texts from the width and breadth of the country and beyond left me indifferent. What would I do with more books? Lionel could provide near anything I wished to read and beyond within his expansive library at the estate. It was something of an unusual arrangement--for once in my young life, I was prepared to spend money, and yet there was nothing to spend it on!

I was quite sure that after a moment I had looped back upon myself. The storefronts and signboards all became a dull mélange of bright colors and overwrought lettering, calligraphy gone wickedly mad in a futile attempt to become distinct among so many neighbors. The smoke of the railway station never seemed to move away from the east, billowing into the sky like the spindle of a great rotating disc which moved the city beneath my feet. I laughed at the very thought of some nightmarish purgatory where I was forced to drag my wearied legs from corner to corner, weaving between impish barkers and old wives waving their worthless stock at me with bone-thin fingers. If I were an author, I should most certainly have had a story for literary magazine audiences to savor, though some might find such a situation quite desirable...

The cough was soft, almost indistinguishable from the din of the crowd. Had there not been a pair of hands wrapped about my upper arm, I would likely have continued on my way without a second glance. Instead, I stopped and turned, catching the eyes of a girl in the latter days of her adolescence, a doe of the local variety if her russet coat were any indication. She bounced from foothoof to foothoof, teeth chattering about as she tried in vain to keep the chill at bay.

I reached for my coins, face painted with a hint of sympathy--damn their age, no one should spend a moment victim of perilous fate. "I've only a bit of coin with me, child...perhaps enough for some sustenance, I hope..." I held out my gloved palm in offer, a motley assemblage of pence and perhaps a shilling or two.

The deer stared at me, and for the third time in half a day I felt the first embers of burning embarrassment glowing hotly. That was a decidedly well-crafted dress she shivered within, and her hair and fingers certainly did not speak of workhouse drudgery or nights spent in alleyway hovels...

"You're not begging, are you." She shook her head slightly, looking at me with a most bemused expression. "No. Of course not. Any idiot would see you've just not brought a wrap with you. You must have come into the street quite hurriedly."

She nodded then tilted her nose downwards.

I followed her eyes to my palm and startled into action. "Oh. Oh yes, the coins." With a flustered motion that elicited delighted giggles from the girl, I shoved my hand into my purse, trying not to look like the very idiot I had described. "So what then pray tell brings a girl such as yourself scampering into this terrible chill?"

She said nothing. Instead, she gestured most enthusiastically towards one of the many impossibly similar storefronts that dotted the street in any direction and stretched beyond the limits of even my keen vision. This one seemed to be called "Hard & Hind" if the shingle hanging outside its door were any indication, written in substantially less superfluous calligraphy than its neighbors. How interesting that in this crowd, one could stand out by simply being mundane, though I daresay that would be the only thing interesting of its construction. The shop itself was a facsimile in most every regard to its neighbors, with nothing so much as window-dressing to draw the eye.

The girl however was insistent that we visit this place. Her pulls on my arm were quite bold and her pace through the mass of bodies in the way was quite impressive. Still, I was wary--I do have common sense, regardless of what you may have been led to believe by previous anecdotes, and it would not be out of sorts for the common street thugs and thieves to use feminine wiles to draw the purses of the unsuspecting or unwitting into their grasp. I stomped my foot to the stones and pulled the doe back to me, scowling into her face.

"My good lady, I daresay this is _most_irregular! I must ask that you tell me what this is all about, or I will be forced to fetch the local constabulary!" My tone was threatening and stern, as one must be in matters such as this.

It had less the effect I would have wished. Rather than stunning the girl into explanations or at the very least placing a measure of fear into her, she instead scowled at me with burning embers for eyes as the poor thing fought off the cold. I will admit a bit of...unease at the change in positions in the situation, and when the final yank of my limb dragged me across the threshold of the shop and into its sudden and unexpected warmth.

"Oh, my, my, Seraphine, what have you done this time?" I looked up from where I had wheeled to a stop against a shelf of seamstress' tools, things I had no recognition of. The voice belonged to a pair of eyes set with great care into a doe's head much like that of the girl who had brought me forth. Rather than Seraphine's youthful features, these were lined and worn with age. Grey tinged the tip of a pelt that still strove to gleam a fantastic russet in the grey lights of the afternoon sun. Womanly curves had softened and spread into the luxurious voluptuousness that served as the consequence--or to the some, the reward--of years of dedication to her children. You may think, reader, that she shared a similar appearance to Lady Victoria, and in some aspect, you would not be entirely incorrect. But friend reader, I have learned in my many years as companion-for-hire that there are infinite variations of buxonness that usher forth from more foundations than I could dare document in my entire lifetime.

The proprietor loomed next to me, her hand reaching up to stroke my head, eyes dotted with concern. "I am so very sorry, monsieur. Are you alright? My daughter, she is...ah..." Her accent was dense, a forest of lilts and syncopation that rendered her voice a musical performance.

I shook my head gently, adjusting my hair back into place as I removed my hat, offering a smile that I hoped was reassuring enough. "Quite alright, Madame. Your dear child simply caught me somewhat off guard." It had the desired effect, and the hart stepped back, properly assuaged. "I must ask, though, what so urgently required my presence. Darling Seraphine deigned not say a thing to me."

She nodded, stroking down her daughter's hair, the fawn pressing against her mother's side for warmth. "Mon petit cerf. Very much like her mother was many years ago, she is. But...she is not..." The woman fumbled for words again. For once in the entire damned day, I took an actual advantage of my education and brought the conversation to a more even ground.

"Muette?" The shopkeeper was struck for a moment. "Pardon me. I spent a portion of time on the shores of the continent near Calais. I should admit my français is limited and rather brutish, but it serves its purpose." I swept back into a deep bow, one leg sliding backwards as I flattened my ears to my head in the utter show of respect. "Jack Oliver, Ireland's own jack of all trades, at your service, madam."

The deer giggled behind her hand. "Oh my. Such a gentleman you are." She extended her hand, and I took gently, squeezing. "Vous êtes absolument charmant, Monsieur Oliver. I am Evangeline Mayeaux, and this is my établissement. I would say it the finest shop of hand-made clothing in the city." There was a small shift of her eyes, as if she had overstepped what was proper for a woman of her stature and perhaps, just perhaps her boast was only somewhat truthful.

"Hind & Hart, yes? Would I be correct then that your husband is a partner?"

Her face fell slightly. "Ah...he was, yes, for many years." The sorrow was palpable, laying thick in the air between us. Even Seraphine drew up, turning to walk away from us, tending to a bundle of fabric in the furthest corner of the tiny shop. "And..." Evangeline took a deep breath to summon courage, and I gave her a simple nod, letting the subject drop with as much delicacy as one can when faced with such an unpleasantry. "And you were correct, Monsieur Oliver. My darling Seraphine was born sans voix." She rang her hands in frustration. "The doctors, they do not know why. She is not deaf, but she does not speak. Only sounds. But understanding? Oh, parfait,impeccable, whether it is anglais, français, even_l'allemande_ or espagnol!"

The doe held her hands over her head before turning to walk towards a door set in the back of the room. "But you are not here to hear the story of my life, non!" She pulled the door open; a thick cloud of perfume struck my muzzle like a hammer, making me cough sharply and my eyes water. "Serphaine, ma belle, please bring my tools up, s'il vous plait?"

"I'm not *cough* entirely sure why I am here yes, Madame Mayeaux. With all due respect, of course." The two of us climbed the narrow staircase connecting the store's lower floor to its small apartment, a space as modest as below. The furnishings were simple and functional--a bed, washing table, wardrobe, and all the various things a woman required to make herself as lovely as the world about her required. The scent of potpourri was somewhat less oppressive here, where a dull draught ushered it down the stairs to pool about the door.

Evangeline opened a cupboard against the far wall, pulling from it a large bundle of fabric, laying it out on a table. As if on cue, Seraphine appeared with an assortment of things ranging from the tiniest of shears to needles that would easily pierce a man through. I swallowed; even with no implication that the lovely ladies would run me through, it certainly does make a man worry somewhat to see such a thing.

"Please, to the store, Seraphine. I shall call for you. Et s'il vous plaît, arrêtez les deux portes. La confidentialité est très importante, oui? Now, go." The fawn nodded with a slight smile, slipping through the door and shutting it behind her with an audible click as the latch seated.

"So. Monsieur Oliver." Evangeline smoothed the fabric out with her palms; the material was lustrous, purple, and had already been worked into something resembling a garment. I watched her with thinly veiled confusion.

"Please, Madame Mayeaux, out with it. I haven't the entire day to waste, and I grow more steadily perturbed at your continued obfuscation of the bloody point of my presence!" I rarely grow angry and even less often raise my voice, but the continued conspiracy against my free movement about the city had reached a point of abject frustration. "What is it you want of me?"

The doe pressed slid her hands under my arms and pushed them upwards, forcing me to stand something like a scarecrow as she moved her softened palms along their length. She muttered to herself, pursing her lips as what felt like a military inspection was performed on my personage, moving down along my ribcage and over my chest. I coughed once, then again far more sternly, and at last I stomped my foot against the floor, an action which gathered something of a response from the matron, though it scarcely curbed her pace.

"Quoi?" Her tone was mildly irritated. "I am concentrating...please, if you would not be distracting?"

"What in blazes are you doing, woman?"

She nodded to herself sharply and turned on her hoof, clicking back towards the mount of fabric. "Is it not évident, Monsieur Oliver?" She gave me no time to prepare a response, snapping her fingers at me when I turned to move towards the doors. "Vous! Restez!" I did just as commanded; whether I had chosen to do so of my own will or if my legs had decided challenging Mayeaux was a dangerous endeavor I could not be sure of.

"Pour un tel renard bien éduqué, vous êtes tout à fait inconscient," she murmured, almost as if singing a verse to a song. I silently cursed not paying quite so much attention to my French hosts and their language--only a few words were clear to me, though I common sense told me that I may well have been insulted, completely without my knowledge. "I am une couturière, oui?"

I nodded, tail lashing in frustration. "Oui--I mean yes, you are. But I fail to see the relevance--"

I was interrupted by Evangeline's hands upon me again, pressing a fragment of purple satin against me. "Mmm. Idéal. Seraphine chose wisely. Excellent!" She returned to the majority of the gown and went into a frenzy of activity, pinning and adjusting bits of material with a preternatural agility--truly she was a master of her craft, assembling a coarse garment with barely a thought. "Le mannequin--ah, the dummy, it is broken, yes? And I have only one evening to work upon this dress-- très importante!"

Suddenly, as if a gear had been slid carefully back into place, the machinery of my mind began to work at pace, and all became clear. "And I am to be your dress form?" It was all I could do to not explode into laughter. "I dare say, madam, that you may find me to be quite a poor choice!"

"And why would that be, hmm?"

I paused, letting the ludicrous nature of her question properly digest. "I, ah. I regret to inform you, Madame Mayeaux, that I am quite male in all relevant aspects."

I heard the sound of scissors--large ones--working their blades through the fabric and sending tiny fragments into the air. Evangeline tossed a piece over her shoulder and set to the next. "C'est pas de soucis, monsieur. Foxes are, how you say, plutôt feminin, n'est-ce pas? Delicate limbs, soft chest and belly, and a face of both l'homme et la fille--_you arethe perfect _androgyne!"

My embarrassment burst out of me like a breaking dam. I had been a dockworker, a heavy laborer! I was no effeminate creature who minced about the streets like the fops of yesteryear! Why the very accusation set my teeth on edge and forced my tail to bristle behind me like a bottle-brush. I had been insulted! My masculinity had been called into question with such a ferocity that--

Evangeline's eyes rolled in her head. "Have you quite finished?"

"I most certainly--"

She nodded and smiled softly. "Bon." I was in awe. With a single word the doe had stifled any remaining protests in their entirety as if she had placed her palm over my mouth and stifled the breath from my throat. Truly, she was an experienced parent. "Now, I will need you to undress."

"...Pardon?"

"You would be a very poor mannequin if you are dressed, Jacques." Fingers had already slid into my jacket and waistcoat, working the buttons free as they again demonstrated their startling celerity--had she chosen a different tact, the woman could have easily been a successful pickpocket!

"Madame Mayeaux, with all due respect..." I pushed her away as gently as I could manage and gathered up a few bits of dignity that had fallen to the floor, hoping that some could be recovered. Quite a bit of it had been lost today; I could hardly afford to be throwing it away. "I am fully capable of undressing myself." She nodded and sat back at her work table, simply watching me as I set to task. I accepted that it was not such a terrible thing to do--she was a professional and I certainly could expect nothing but the utmost dedication to the task. This was no scene of torrid fiction, spattered with streaks of lustful nonsense in every paragraph!

Finally I slid my trousers away, hanging them with the rest of my suit on the other chair in the tiny room. Standing there in my underthings I stretched my arms back over my head, working out a spot of tension that had developed along my shoulders. It was, I had to admit, quite refreshing to be free of the heavier wool.

The deer quirked an eyebrow at me in confusion. "Why did you stop?"

I looked down at myself. "I believe this is what you asked for? You certainly cannot mean--"

"Certainement, Jacques." Why had she chosen to use my first name? We had known of each other for not more than twenty minutes, and yet she had become familiar and warm towards me, as if we were friends. ...or as if I were her child. "You've nothing I have not seen before. Why so réticent? OrÊtes-vous gêné? Ou ... vous embarrassé?" There was a playful lilt to the question, making it patently obvious that I was being thoroughly teased by Evangeline. "I could do it for you, renard..."

"No! No, no, that won't be necessary." I set to work removing the last of my clothing with unnecessary haste. Reader, do not think me perverse or crude; I rationalize, even to the day I share this story with you, that this was still strictly within the confidence of a dressmaker and someone who had been asked to aid her in a time of need. Perhaps common sense should have continued to make me cautious. But what harm could come of this? It would remain between us and her daughter, who was secured downstairs and likely hadn't the slightest idea of what had transpired in the loft.

Evangeline smiled and nodded her approval. "Merci, merci beaucoup." She rose and approached me, garment in hand and a cluster of needles in a cushion on her rise, draping the soft violet over my chest. "Mm. It is a lucky thing that le client is...ah...gifted." I pursed my lips as she giggled to herself, pinning the shoulders together.

The moment was disturbed by a shrill bell that rang from below. "Merde," she whispered under her breath as she set her tradeswoman's tools down. "Pardon, mon beau renard, but I must assist Seraphine. The bell, it is her calling for me." As quickly as that the matronly hart was through the door and downstairs, leaving me standing half nude in her bedroom, clothed in only a few bits that did nothing to barrier my, ah, "self" from eyes. I ushered a silent prayer that there were none.

Within a few minutes by my somewhat querulous reckoning, the door opened again with the soft sound of the latch and the weather-stiffened hinges. "Ah, you return so quickly, Madame Mayeaux. Shall we continue? It is mildly draughty here..."

There was no answer; only the soft sound of hoof-steps told me of anyone in the room with me.

"Madame Mayeuax? Evangeline? Is everything alright?"

I felt the eyes bore into my side, and the soft gasp of a woman. Turning very slowly, I realized that Evangeline had not, in fact returned.

Staring at me in flushed embarrassment was young Seraphine, one hand over her muzzle and eyes wide.

Oh, to know how to react. No college teaches this course...

To Be Continued!