FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Regular 'Ho by Eightane ****************************************************************

"GAHHHHHH!! "

This, from a candy wrapper. Looked like a Zero bar through his red-tinting vision. As if names were relevant... Still a piece of trash, found where pickups supposedly were done. Cool, crinkly, in the shadow of the trashcan. So then he snatched up, balled it in his fist, hot from boiling grudge. He sprinted half-across the park to the pair at fault. There, with stabbing stakes in-hand and bags slung over their shoulder, they'd look innocent. Benson smartly bunked that, and held out the foil.

"WHAT DO YOU CALL THIS!!? "

The two sighed, standing casually close. Their heads slumped down, their knees locked in meek defense... They played the rage-gallop in their head, then Benson made it real. The ambulatory machine seethed up to them, feet in a stomp, half his face in grinding teeth. Mordecai first worked up the courage, then Rigby; tall jay, short 'coon dude, rotating to face down their boss, his most-everyday mood.

A spindly metal arm swung the crinkling ball, like wind-up for a strange pitch. He didn't yell the feathers off the taller screw-up... He waited for those golden, fruitless words. "Dude, Benson, we're sorry, we just-"

"-REFUSE TO MAKE ONE HOUR OF THE DAY WORTH PAYING YOU!!? THAT I BELIEVE!! " The gumball-dispenser chucked it groundward; at Rigby's brown, stubby toes, it fell and un-balled end-by-end.

The raccoon looked up, sincere and confused. "You just littered."

Benson's eyebrows made an arrow for the sidewalk. He blinked hard and held it shut, imploding his anger. After was oh-so-weakly better; he came back with a hair's less roar. "I DON'T HAVE THE TIME TO REDO YOUR LIST. DO IT RIGHT FROM THE FIRST." He huffed out his last ire. "Got it? "

Mordecai nodded. Rigby's eyes lay on the wrapper, uncurling its brand name. "Dude, who buys white chocolate candy?" Absent-mindedly, he kicked it; sticky foil rolled up Benson's foot and rest on his instep.

The familiar storm returned, now laced with some disgust. "WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM-"

Mordecai stuck up for the fuck-up. "It's cool, we're on it, just a li'l hackeysack to make it fun... Heheheh..." The fake chuckles and Benson's suffocating stare met like a fly and a tanktread. He luckily had feet with talons; sliding under the wrapper, flipping it and catching in his right hand was child's play. Benson's fangs showed him nonplussed, and the bird went on beating his dead horse. "We'll have it so clean it the pavement squeaks. No worries."

"I DO worry, since it already squeaks." The gumball-boss inferred juice and sugar residue on a hot August noontime, the goo shared from path to shoe treads. "No games, no goofs, work your job, if you can empty that pile of sticks and mud where your brain should be."

Rig' frowned. "That's racist." Mord' kneed his kidneys.

The raccoon elbowed bird's haunch. Mordecai kicked his hipbone. The pained cry was strikingly feminine.

Benson's fist clenching, scream stifling and heel-turning scorned their folly. Better - and busier - than to stick around the staff dumbshits, he left them playing 'slappies' like ignoring them would make them burst into flames.

It didn't work. The wrapper left bird's hand, and from there the grass was its new home.

Blue feathered fingers rapped the raccoon's cheek; the final blow was Mordecai's. "It woulda been fine if you hadn't lost touch and played Pelé."

"Lost touch? Maaaan, I could hackeysack you into the ground!" Rig's arms lay akimbo; he believed in himself, alone.

"I didn't mean that, it's your... Touch with real life, or something..." For a spell, he'd puzzled himself. He refocused, gazing on his masked bud accusingly. "... You get distracted and dumb. There. I said it."

"Take it back." Rigby's lip wriggled.

"No way!" Mordecai wore a scowl, undermined by smirking. "Can't hide the facts, dude."

"Take it back, NOW!" He slapped at Mord's stomach; most blows were deflected. Neck-up, he glowed reddish. "Dirty rotten son of a b-"

"Itchy, guys?" From next to them, a goat's hand lobbed a tube of ointment. To catch it, Rigby was forced off his jay-frienemy, just the peace Thomas meant it for. Beak and mask alike stood awkward, half-gone from each's harm-pose to see their tannish intern. Black tee, high horns, medium-tight trousers. Eyes were alert, nails scratching his modest bicep. "I ran into some ivy mowing the lower ten. If you cut too much, it gets in the air. Um... Do we have any cotton masks we can smear with this?"

Rigby spent five seconds in a blank stare. He turned to Mordecai. "So who's gonna go back and re-check the trash stuff?"

Mord's eyelids sank; they were closed when his hand slapped birdbrow. "Fine. Buy me a soda or I'll stomp your toes."

As he parted, who chanced to walk up on the goat and shiftless idiots but a yeti... Of sorts. Two-by-two footprints led up behind Skips, a foot or so parted from Thomas. Stoic, neutral, glass-wobbling low pitch as ever. "Well he's going off half-cocked."

Rigby's lips curled to a strange, mirthish purse. "So that's why he's mopey and pissed all the time... Heckuva thing to have just half of."

Skips didn't skip a beat, correcting the night thief. "I mean he's put out by something. More than usual."

"He might still be peeved at me-" Fleetly, Thomas reached under his shirt, pulled a wide cylinder from his pants' waistline, and showed off his masterpiece to the two men. As if he'd practiced, thus why the stick of unlabeled deodorant flew so smoothly to a standard, saleworthy level in front of them. "-I've been adjusting it a while, it's a new underarm crystal. Goes on dry, no buildup, lets your skin breathe and cool without sweating. He knew I've been fine-tuning it, he thought I'd let him share credit." He re-holstered it; between his hipbone and center-line, sprigs of curly trail showed under his navel. "Maybe if he'd helped. I never called him a consultant."

Rigby's stare grew vacant-er. Thomas lowered his thinkpiece a tad. "He did nothing. I mean, I'm not stupid." Sincere shrugging.

Skips glanced wider, with more substance, into the goat's face. "You invent things?"

Thomas went so far as to mildly kick the dirt, and glance away. "When I'm off the clock and bored. Got full access to the lab at campus... Don't ask how."

A respect beamed from the immortal beast's facial divets, low though his smile. His hand propped on goat's shoulder. "That's marvelous. Does it work?"

Thomas chuckled. Rigby saw the palm-on-shoulder blade; he thought he smelled weird heat from nearby. Remembering that he couldn't smell heat, he tuned a bit out of Thomas' speech. "Hope so, it's on me now." His elbow lifted; face guided his nose down, and he sniffed the point of question. Seemed to pass his test, but his face straightened back w/ Skips-bound intent. "I could use a real test, though. You never sense your whole self."

Skips weaseled into Thomas' hand, taking stick to hold. Lifting his arm, he dragged it on smooth, beef-walled canyon.

It was passed back to a quasi-startled goat. The yeti spoke friendly. "For now, I'm Skips the guinea pig." Thomas held the very bottom of the now-damp stick by his fingertips, as a biker might hold his wife's purse strap by a store fitting room. This didn't save them from the warmth, felt so genuine by his knuckles and not Rigby's nostrils. "I'll letcha know the prognosis." He looked sidewise, a quiz on his brain. "Gotta come up with a workout, really flush the ducts. That's, uh..."

"Yyyyeah. Didn't... Think it through... That far yet..." Thomas clutched the newly-used invention, tamping nausea down.

"A lousy sale, I'd deem."

Thomas looked on Rigby, accusingly. He attributed the verbal jab to a likely party.

The raccoon shot looks around, and in that time Thomas realized the voice didn't match. Unlike Rig's squeaky puissance, what he'd heard was loud and shrill. Loud-er, honestly.

For a series of blinks, a billy, ringtail and white beast searched the nearby space like they'd lost contact lenses. A hand smacked the goat's other shoulder, bony and blunt. He spun a bit behind his right to find the culprit. He'd also spun Skips' hand free; the beastman shook it with a jutted jaw and jammed joint pain.

The message Thomas processed on sight was knee-jerk: namely, 'look at this odd-shaped piece o' work here'. New to grace the park was a sheep in double-breasted suit, the deep collar salmon like the rest. He chewed on something, and as goatboy gave him the eye, he gave it right back. The chews went away, as lips puckered and the grey-fleeced stranger spat a wad on the sidewalk. Tact forbids to mention its colour; but to withold saying Rigby bent down, hands-on-knees heaving, would be a travesty. Otherwise, the bleak shade of this dapper gent stood fluffed and in clean order. He struck a chat; in so doing he revealed to be a wordsmith. "Don't mistake me, it's a novel idea, scarce in this day and age. A man who courts advancement is one after my bleating - beating heart." His jacket sleeve bent up; from his breast pocket, he pulled of all things a goddamn silk hankie. "Apologies. The espresso from this cafè in town repeats-*clack* on me." An impact split the sentence; teeth that pearly-large could nary stop from crowding, and on a hard 't' bumped uglies top-to-bottom.

His pinache fell on stumped mutes. None more than Thomas, slightly slighted, per his norm not stressing it. The sheep nosewiggled... Skips soon caught that this 'male' sheep lacked horns. He guessed why the reinforced chest cover, and their androgynous meddler flicked a fly from its lapel. "The query in your eye gleams. Shall I not come empty-handed... Would it be right of me to slam your wares sans an offered substitute?"

Thomas' left ear folded. "Wh-what? I dunno, or what gives, or... No?"

The sheep smiled, in this striking Rigby's doubt as well. In his dwarfish mind, no male could have teeth that straight and white. He looked dead-on, eye-level with the stranger's slacks. Pinstriped, unbulged and reminding him to heave again. Thomas managed to pat his back, never turning, stare locked on the forward femme. She attracted a gnat, splayed on her scalp wool. "Allow me to fix my prelude." By her ear coming up, slapping down the gnat, it fell swatted to bug Hades. Thomas blanked out on her next word soup; too bogged down on the dexterity. He missed names, both hers and her company's, but regrouped in time to get the picture she painted, arms swooping wide gestures.

"... Embodies all you'd swear is gone from field sales. We're less about meeting needs than broadening what's normal. Simply put, we vend the fantastical. Trinkets, obelisks, charms..." She paused for a lungful; how Rig' and Thomas leaned expectingly, one may think she sucked them closer with her air. "... Life in magic's mandate. What you never knew could be, and for prices even... Pardon me twice now, a civil lackie could afford."

Skips, throughout, had sidestepped to his goat friend's shoulder. He did anything but hide his leaning in, nor the crook in his lips to mutter. "Another snake oil peddler... Thick as pollen this year. Don't fall for it."

Thomas' palm approached yeti abs, slow as molasses. It backhanded the bald bumps nigh as hard as that dead gnat could. Now.

His one step toward the ewe put them at arm's reach. "What do you sell worth the broadway you spray?" She grinned; a silver cap cornered one high molar. Rig' and Skips shot each other the 'is-he-bluffing' eyebrow. And he wasn't, his antsy eyes would vouch, to a mound by the shoulder of sheepdandy. "And how's it my speed? You picked me out, you're the salesma-wom-... The rep. Reel me in."

It struck her fancily. Giggling, her crow's-feet put Rigby to associate pastry dough smashed on an old chair: The first time Benson asked him to help a bake sale, consequently, the last. His lip wrinkled over clenched teeth; hers ground sporadically, bumbling her flow. "It's too natch-*clack*ural I have, handsome. You'd not pry into me if not wise to promise."

"Dooon't pry into her, man," Came Rigby's non-sequitur. "I know dorks get lonely, but sheesh, have standards-" BAM, Skips' knuckles to his temple.

As with all, she went on unfettered. "Meet Jaikag." She spake it, and the shoulder hump leaped. Thomas soon picked his ass up off the ground.

He dusted off back pockets. Rigby self-neckrubbed. Skips put his throat on angle, recoiling. Her elegance served well; the left woolen arm stuck in the collar, felt around, enlarged inside as the fist self-made, nabbing the jump-lump. Any thoughts of some alive product weren't hurt when she drug it past the bust; a distention briefly grew her an ambiguous rack. Rigby tiptoed in reverse; soon it was Thomas, Skips and a rustling azelea bush before her.

Only the absurd put them off. Her manner, flair in moves and ease at pulling it through neckline, held them watching. Gently, no scratch or strain, the stumpy head popped first in view. The rest - tiny and rough, the colour of tomatoes - rose out her collar.

Scales debuted, from scalp to pinsized toes. Hairless, helpless, half the size of raccoon-boy and by natural guess a fraction of his age. She held his nape like a kitten; he capitulated, micro-claws, Buddha belly, doll eyes, all innocent. He opened mouth; from nubby choppers came a squeak.

Goat and yeti channeled cat-ladies for three seconds of 'AWWWW 's.

"Consider a mascot with ethic." She held him out, valiantly. A falcon could swoop no faster down the lawn, choppers shaving grass with military precision. On the count of four, an acre lay manicured. Thus he returned to her shoulder, hung under. Puffs of green belched his throat in a wee rattle. Rigby's elbows broke through the bush, hands on his cheeks 'n' in hiding. To tuck his legs, he looked down, muttered "UGH" and stepped disdainfully back to open air. He brushed fur and hips off, Skips cut him the quickest eye-narrowing, and all three were more attentive when he/she prattled on.

"To summarize, well, we have the means to make your day smooth, and a designer pet to trump any toy dog. Those of dominant persuasions may woo the fans of cute things, incidentally the females..."

She had Thomas' full focus. Skips just barely picked out the jump in goat's hooves; he might weakly construct at some point the scowl he flashed. 'Jaikag' preened himself; just enough tongue stuck out to melt hearts. Their eweish dandy rep clacked a tad more, now in pace enough to seem like... Shivering. "So t*clack*-ell me, do you think him outside any price range, or exhorbitant in all cases, but a damn-sight more than one C-note's worth of wage?"

The tonal shift was jarring. Thomas' lower lip went mushy, pupils went to pencil lead. In his mind, where he balked at the idea, skepticism locked itself away from him. She'd hooked him, now to drop him in the bucket for cleaning. "Surely a man of your age and health has one hundo for a rainy day. I only ask you imagine it for improved days, following the rules of thumb, for life."

He glanced to his pocket, back to her. Head didn't move. "'Rules of Thumb', huh?" He wrinkled his nose; Skips, in stepping to the rep in new wary concern, encroached on him. His invention was either weak or failed. Goat-intern heaved dull breath, and he drug out the question. "So just.. What would they be? Like, care and keeping?"

"You won't find a shorter list for wildlife." She smiled uber-cutely. "Give him sun, playtime, greens of all kinds..." She reached down from her free arm, seeking its nose be her lowest top buttons. She squeezed, it honked. Hollowish like sponge.

Rigby wore unwitting kawaii eyes. Goat and yeti both spurred their own tickled crumples. She spoke a guideline in chuckle. "And don't bathe him overoften, unless you're into that sort of thing."

Thomas had seen so-very-enough. His hand, fingers, nerves from that to his brain stem, decisional cortex, all acted on one impulse: SOLD. Ripples hit his voice while his hand dived back for walletskin. "Hell, kid ferrets cost more and they go from angels to chew bombs. This nipper's no more stress than a rock."

She wasted no time in correcting him. "Stature deceives. This bundle hatched in 1809." She waited out the five seconds where their figurative jaws left the ground. "An indefinite lifespan, two forms that never grow feeble. No expiring nor eventual grief."

Thomas stood half-gangly, crash-test-dummied by mindblowing claims. He stepped in himself, but to reach out; his brave hand was spied on by owlish yellow eyes, sniffed at, and the little drake licked him once, blinking after like dragonfly wings. Its pep, its speed and surely some to-be-seen strength, were the sight of all three park workers' year already. Sheepish salesperson stood tall, laying eyes on the amount from Thomas' billfold, emerging to be given forward. So impressed was he that the partially-pulled bills would then be pulled the rest of the way by her cloven hand.

She squirreled the payment in her breastpocket. "I'd thank you, sir, if I didn't harbour the knowledge you'll thank me. No disappointment awaits you..." She held J'-dragon up in a higher arc than before; he flew to Thomas' half-scared head, but lit to his shoulder, above, and rubbed once its scales smoothwise on his temple. He mellowed, she talked. "... Look us up henceforth, our products. Always new and extraordinary..." She nearly finished. "Best of days to you gentlemen." She fully finished, a low, fey wave to them, and strolled down the asphalt in old-time style of morning constitutionals. Thomas tilted head away from Jaikag; the ball of fork-tongued spirit licked him once, and he snickered, in a speechless haze, blankly positive.

Skips looked down to him, and in lack of candor cringed from judging. "It's your money, Thomas, but did you see what we did for the duration-"

Rigby's mouth wedged right in, vocally leapfrogging. "-Either you're paid more or you're worse with it than me."

"I take a lot off with grants. And this isn't cool to you guys?." Thomas cheerily explained away. "Rigby, you're king at finding new ways to sham. When I want tips on how to fill a day off, it's you I see."

Skips chuckled. Raccoon stifled the push to kick his shin, merely brushing more leaves and dirt from himself. The latter pointed to his own chest. "Hey, I do not sham-" He switched in a blink of Jaikag's eye to relaxed dawning. "-Well that's true, actually..."

"Plus," Skips re-led, "You supported hustling, on the clock, but, whatever." He rolled eyes, dismissing ridicule. "I more just wanna ask what made you so sure."

Rigby cast eye-shade up Thomas' chest to his doe-eyed, perched purchase. "You're a rube, man..." His arms came up, elbows down; they flicked forward in turn while he taunted. "Ruh-rube! Ruh-rube! Yerr a rube!-Sorry-spendin'-boob! "

Thomas snickered, just so teensily lip-poof 'ing to dodge Rig's sheer maturity. "I'll try him out for a day. Come seven I'm at a hockey game with some college friends. Prob'ly the talk of the town." He looked on Skips a bit more seriously. "We've seen weirder."

Awkward nods from his two compatriates. Jaikag stuck his neck out, to which Rigby found himself studied, like an oddity to the young-looking older thing. "So Yipebag's goin' home with you. Like a kitten."

Thomas, by its nubby scalp, petted it. The resulting purr harmonized. From Thomas' voice bubbled a peace. "My moolah... And hey, the backpack in my closet gets a use."

Skips, hearing tones resound from the red midget, smiled widest. Worry expired. "Tell me if he props those grabbers on the zipteeth. Ol' cuddlebug."

Thomas laughed, and turning to leave his fingers wiggled in the drake's face. They were batted at, licked, and the goat's gait pepped itself down the sidewalk.

Rigby held out by this to sock Skips' thigh. Once left alone, the knuckles sliced yeti muscle, strong as a coma patient. "Whyd'ja let him off? You're the smart one!"

Skips delayed his answer, some unuttered thing on his mind. "I have the right." He gazed to Rigby nonplussed. "I don't condemn him. I reserve that for others."

"Gimme one good reason."

"His head's screwed on."

"Hmmph... Well a single one's weak-"

"Pets are good for anyone. And the thing's darling, yah can't argue."

Rigby's hands waved frantic. "Reeeally not changin' how it breathes fire and he trusted a stranger-"

"You don't know the clerks at the market, you have'em bag for you. And while I'm on that, he doesn't stock the house on his turn with a case of ground beef and a ten-ounce milkshake-"

"STOP TALKIIIING!! " Raccoon's pose froze in a level scowl. The rest he'd mumble, tensening. "... If I don't get to be a dumb shit in the buy arena..." His eyes bulged, teeth extruded; he whacked his own head with palm, the features knocked back into place and he tantrum'ed off, fists down, the most handsome back cloud over him.

Skips shrugged and went to fetch the rake. Two stamps of his left foot, then two his right, down cobblestones in the park's newer arm. All along, he visualized. Thomas with the backpack on, tight armstraps; a mini-face out the top flap, rumbling inside where a tail wagged. Cute red feet in a chair, and a spoon in goat's hand. It trades with a bigger hand, his own. Mushy goop on the ladle part, and Jaikag opens wide for carrot paste. Then come the sweet peas, and from that tiny jar scoops the airplane, and up to the hangar, a sky-blue bonnet on the dear face...

... He questioned if Rigby really was the more pitiable between them. Analyzing, he met a senior pal, some pressed knickers lightly pricked by a rosebush. Pops held high his pruners, wiped his brow with the second hand; late summer got to an age like that. "Ohhhh, I just don't think it's my day." Defeat through and through the cultured lilt.

"Need some water?" Yeti-man expressed. "I can hit the fridge and back in no time."

"Noo, no. Thank you Skips, but I'm afraid my quandary is wear and tear."

For a moment, the white-furred wall looked frail; a tremble hit his lip to think of it. "I'm sorry, you know I'd take that from everyone if I cou-"

Pops had yet to finish, and held out the shears. "Look what it's done to ol' Betsy." He implied the rusted routes through his implement... Skips took a deep breath, forgot the existential tropes and took the handle in his fingers.

There were symptoms of rot; it clipped on borrowed time. He spent two paltry seconds in study, then faced Pops. "Yah just need a new one. I know it's been dear to you, but regardless it's a tool-"

Precisely when Thomas strolled the nearby walkway, opposite of whence he came, Jaikag on his shoulder riding cowgirl. "Either of you guys seen my phone?" Before and after he whistled. Before, during and after, Pops fixed a stare on that scaled pipsqueak, not unlike the face of watching Spring Break footage. Shock and revulsion were nameable, at least until a red head cocked, the huge eyes hit the shears, and their decrepitness he blinked on. His wings, blue and netted, barely showed; so gently he hovered from goat's shoulder, Thomas had no idea. Not a clue that it flew, all gingerly, to the yeti, then wrapped the mini-hand beyond Skips' on the handle. It was yanked free. A burst of motion from Jaikag, around the tool; a blur of his colour, and the tool invisible. Maelstroms of peeps and grinding. Two whole breaths it would've taken him to settle, that is if either Skips or Pops had breathed while eyes were as truck tires. All was done, and the shears were handed back - handle first - by what looked too short lift a tennis ball.

Rust was in the past; the wood even felt stronger, in both their hands as man and yeti each held a side, trading huffs of unbelief. One vein of rust marred it, where a bolt secured the blades; on this side, Jaikag flew up nimbly, turned in a flash, lifted tail and crashed his taint right on. They hadn't time to wonder, cringe or laugh; his scales were steel wool, and brushing hard, the specks of damage were memories. Little dragon dude pushed off, turned, hovering to Pops. Never smiling, eyes still big as the moon, he tilted by the neck; that and the smarmy close of its peepers did any smile one better. It zipped behind Skips' back; Thomas entered their space again, marching pleasant to the first heading. "On the ball field. Musta dropped it painting lines." With his back to them, little J' flitted over, limbs limp, wings buzzing, to covertly re-roost.

Pops' lipline twisted in ways; still shock and revulsion, only now atop a mindfuck. Skips reached to casually tap his cheek. "Yyyyyeah, call it a mascot. I get the hunch he will."

For all of Pops' incredulity, his banter went calm, if snobbish. "I swear I thought highly of Thomas. But if he's bamboozled and won't engage my advice, he shan't find things so peachy for him."

Skips' conclusion was average. "You knew it's from a fencer, eh?" He appealed to good natures. "It's not my place, but go easy on him. He's never dodged policy, and..." He gazed far away; the miniscule horns hit the furthest he could see, and were hid behind a closer oak. His smirk showed vulnerable notes. "... I guess I've a soft spot for long-lived things."

The moustache twitched. Skips viewed something nary seen from Pops, barely minding him rather than a hangup. Something more than penance, an intent he didn't tell...

... Neither was he open when Benson walked by with a tall box, and more cheer than bird or 'coon would ever receive. "Wo-ow, when'd you get the new shears?" Rolling on, light in struggle with the bulky item.

Pops' look softened. He glared to the garden tool, stress easing, and returned to shaping hedges.

Skips muttered; frustrated, but having in his gut the first butterflies... Retracing trials and events gone by. "When am I gonna cash my 401K. Find a peaceful living."

The elder-boss-son didn't hear; a crash from down the sidewalk hit their ears, with Benson's "OW" and stringed curses following. Pops spoke behind to Skips, soft and markedly tense. "That water you offered, Benson may appreciate. Leave word that Thomas convene with me the earliest he can."

"Uh, sure." Skips put his hop-stride in reverse, departing from Pops but with a keen eye to the jolly-good gent's face. Concern lived in that huge human head, and in Skips' chest, where his heart beat a murmur of suspicion.

Benson's cursing drowned it out nicely. His foot demanded more than H2O for what dropped on it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rigby's friends - what few he could brag - would have a stroke to see him now, with a book in-hand, demurely on his junked trampoline bed... Though if they saw the chosen title, maybe not. To this Mordecai walked in, hotly slamming their shared door; annoyed, but faced with his 'coon pal absorbed in 'Gypsy Lore For Dummies '. Handfeathers stopped a chuckle. "Dude, really?"

"You're not doing this?..." He chided his bestie with eyes stuck on reading. "That girl-or-not drifter, and how Thomas fell in to buy. None of it adds up, I'm tellin' ya."

Mord crossed arms and shot back the balk just given him. "Again, really? He's a cudchewer, so's she, it adds up to the birds and bees. If you hadn't flunked biology three years-"

Rigby at last cut an upward glance, still the skeptic. "The kinda zoot suit she filled? You're loony, it's a dealbreaker." His glance drifted rightish. "... Or goat boy's got a fancy. Chicks in gangster suits, of all the fetish crap-"

"That's not the point!" Bluejay's arms bolted up. "There's like ten reasons for it. Her charm, she stood out, knew her stuff..." The quilled arms crossed. "... Her little miracle did an hour-chore in the time it takes to fart."

"He took ten seconds." Rig' so glibly shot down, thumb turning page. "Unless I'm in a tight chair, or eat Indian food..." "Then how long it takes to rip one AND blame Muscleman. What a difference." In a manner of grace he lunged; Rigby's 'HEEYY ' protested the book being ripped from his hands. Birdguy held it high, he grunted in leap-after-failing-leap for it. Mordecai rocked a dodgy smirk. "Shouldn't try to be smart, you'll hurt yourself." He lowered slowly the book to Rigby's reach; it was grabbed, the bandit-face short of breath. Rigby kicked his 'friend's left shin; a jay's tiny flinch for his adorable force, and Mordecai blabbed more logic. "I swear, the first time it helps you you'll be joined at the hip. Like you never had a problem."

Raccoon's pointer-finger threatened his face. "Bet you computer rights for three months I won't. Know why?" He self-chestpounded; two haughty eyes shut. "'Cuz the Rigman don't roll over!" "Fine. Your mind changes like Benson's undies, but you got it." He matched the furred one's ego tenaciously, pointing back at Rigby, deep grin in the beak. "I just won a whole season. I'd be brainless to pass it up."

"You're right there." Rigby looked so proud of himself... Until the putdown's vagueness hit him. "Brainless, already. Walked straight into that..." Smugness evaporated; damage control went on and on. "Like your mom walked into the chicken coop and stole the worst egg. Yeah man, all spotty, and cracked and bulgy, like... Like your HE-"

The door's swing open ended his struggle. Its lip, the outer corner, rolled his tail with pinache. "YEOOWW-"

"Muscleman, dude! No knock?" Mordecai exclaimed, not the happiest camper.

The dumpy jade-skin moved a double chin. He went to speak...

... Rigby muscled in, un-squeegee'ing his tail with delicate, tiny hands. "What the hell, man, you just screwed a sick burn! I was all set uuup! "

A one-handed ghost hovered by Muscleman as he put hand on his heart, glazed droll rasps on all he spake. "While I respect the gravity of a rad burn, I think you should see this."

He stepped to the door and backed in behind its swing. A bluejay and bird took the cue of caution; they tiptoed up and leaned selves out the threshold.

Walls so clean they sparkled. Floor slick as cooking oil. Even dust in the air, always present, owned not a speck of room in the perimeter. Benson skidded by, on his good foot, skating. "Woohoo"s were heard.

Muscleman high-five'd him on the return trip. "Alright, B-man! This rules! " He still grinned turning to Rigby, full as always of spunk. "You missed his triple lutz. Dude's got toe control, who knew." "How are you chill right now!? " The raccoon threw arms high. They came back tensely. "Where's Thomas. This is lame, I'm putting a stop to it."

"Check the clock, bro, it's ten after." Muscleman talked down to his antsy frienemy. "That new little whiz did this up while he packed his foam finger." His eyes became grimy slits; he murmured, thinking out loud. "Heh, what's crackin' at the arena right now..."

Rig and Mord picked their jaws up and adjusted them crack-ingly back to place. Muscleman ignored them, watching Benson slide up, circle in, zitspin; speechless, while raccoon of course wasn't. Rigby's heel chucked the bird's ankle, sternly. "How serious you takin' it now? "

He stared knives through the jay; next thing, the beak put on as much smile as could anatomy. "So much I want five more of those, yee-yuuhhh!! "

Rig facepalmed. They all wondered how far this might go, and with differing hopes. A flat ten minutes since the game started, and while Rigby shunned it, Mord brightened and Benson crashed, yelping for his ex-better heel, the other side of town lay in twilight and event lamps, stadium seating full.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"--Aaand Henderson's on the ice, seems a bit smooth tonight, not sure what's causing this reduced... Traction for our players... For those at home we've had three skidouts, the blades just aren't gripping... Looking in the stands, there's some action up there, some disturbance with ten, maybe twelve fans-"

"-Bret, I know I'm used to seeing fights at games, but on the ice. I mean... Wait, is that fighting? "

"Not too sure there, it's more like... Wow, those are... All women... They're just... Falling.. They're lunging over each other! "

"Folks at home we have the*snort*, the damndest thing I've seen, looks like a dozen girls converging on this one spot, and their hands are out, they're... Petting this tiny... The flippin' freak is that?..."

"A... Giant fly? No, a reptile, and it's on this... Tan, furry pedestal... No wait, a goat. Fella looks frozen in some... Proud fear..."

"Is it just me or is it bright in here? Bret, I... I think the glass is shining. It's magnified... Wait, the rink's melting..."

"I... I think... Cut the mike. Jerry GET up here with my towel, I will not sweat off my base coat."

"Christ, I keep telling you it's radio-"

"And I keep saying it's show biz! Jerry, now, my powder's running..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The park's worst intrusion at 11 PM was the common badger, or a wild homeless wino. They weren't afoot tonight, but as a knock came to the house door, Pops ambled down to answer it. Sleep in his eyes, pleats on his clean pyjama pinafore, he creaked the front door to a wedge-worth of moonlight. The horns and height were a cinch to recognize. "Thomas, what's kept you? The hour is... *yawn*Dreadful... Ehh-EEEYYYWWW-" The gent's arm went to his nose and pinched. Sluggish no more. "What in blazes? "

Thomas, wet in many colours, spoke defeatedly. "Pepsi, beer, 7-Up, about thirty perfumes." His eyes drifted up with Jaikag, whose hovering put him inside a moonbeam. Suddenly the lipstick showed out, pecks all over him, cheeks, feet, belly. Adorable, if not stinking more than his master; the goat had yet to be other than glib. "I think one of them rode my horn a while." They shared a moment of horrorface.

"Oh, and they-" the billy's gripe quit, as Jaikag spontaneously buzzed in close and temple-rubbed. Love, whose reward was Thomas clenching the shit out of his scalp; he quit flapping, staring blank from his buyer's dangle. "-They don't sell towels within a mile of there. If you ever need to know."

"You were... *yawn* Mobbed by lasses?" Pops' tired mind put it together. "... He evoked their nurturing."

Thomas grunted, a rare fail of patience. "Can I come in? I'm drawing flies."

An alert nod. As Pops eased more awake, the intern squeezed by, and fur brushed his nosetip. The rest he'd say with hand back over schnozz; he shut the door and saw Thomas heading for the bathroom, and linens. "Thomas, I lament your night, but had I known, I might've told-"

"We have aloe?" Goatman half-yelled from in the crapper. "I should dab that burn. All the funk made Jaikag sneeze, I was next to him, and, well..."

"Y-yes, in the sundries cabinet, third shelf." The pyjama'd Pops shuffled by the couch, the stairs, to outside the bathroom door. Objections lay within him, more and more. "I know you're in a tizzy, but if you care to mend things, you should know-"

"Geeez," Came Thomas' wince. Barechested, and the hashmark on his chest hurt like a bitch, green aloe slopped on it. "And it's all been breezy 'til now..." Rubbing it, his ache mellowed fast. So too did manner of thought. "... Well with pets you'll have days like this, Mom always said."

Pops cast eyes to the floorboards. Once Thomas emerged, he passed a meeker version of the oldtimer, worriedly thumbwrestling himself. The billy froze his lean build at the staircase. He peeked around the corner. "Everything okay?"

The human back slid up the wall. Standing taller, his palm shook negatory. "I'm dandy. And I'm... *yawn*... Right behind you."

True to his word, up the many steps, giant head in line with goat feet. He hoped the burn was superficial.

A deeper sting, to Thomas: knowing a smell more godawful than Skips' armditches.

... Morning rose on the dew. Breakfast made, team readied, Benson sent them from the front steps on their appointed ways.

"Alright, Mordecai, you're with Hi-five Ghost on lawns today." He noted on his clipboard. Next bent a stern, flatter sentence. "Rigby, sand down the boats. Twice. After you throw out that paint machine and never use one again." Away from his grumbling Benson turned, and to brighter speech notes. "Muscleman, tag team with Pops and get those tennis nets replaced. Thomas..."

The goat started to walk past, but gum-machine took his shoulder a pat or three. "I don't know what award I'm getting you, but for how amazing last night was..." Rigby stopped, overhearing and quickly appalled; then Benson corrected his presumption. "... I haven't spun axles since freshman year of college. And never bladeless."

Raccoon rolled eyes at the 'nerd', his take always obvious. No care to look and see how preoccupied the intern; his arm up, petting shoulder-set dragon, but eyes lower than the eight hours pastward. Rigby stomped off, Thomas searched for some practical response. "Heheh, well I didn't tell him to do any of that. I can't get him tame, unless he's on me." He looked on Jaikag; the tracest unease wound a forgiving face. The short thing cleaning itself didn't hurt; dissimilar to Thomas' ribplate, now scratched with self-control on intervals. It kissed him; he looked more kingly than anything, accepting in condescent. "What a breed, huh?" Leaving that, switching gears. "What's here for me today?"

"Hmm... I don't really know, we have coverage. Just keep the latrines and paths in shape, I might find you something." The morning's brilliance further left Thomas' smile. Benson showed no knowledge, eyes on Jaikag, in wonder. Baby talk commenced. "And you, junior, come back on lunch and we'll have Twinkies and get the whole attic and basement cleaned and pest-free! No big at all with you, is it?" The glaze of sugariness put Thomas off a tad... Benson's hands lay on knees, stooping him to nosebump the scales. "with yeewww it's a cakewalk!... Hey, yeah, maybe later it's cake, won't you like..." The breeze blew on Thomas toward him; a scent snapped him out of cajoling. Two seconds later he faced goat boy, dignified. "... Oh yeah, Pops went planting in the lower lanes, so if he needs help do accordingly. Y'know, after the first thing."

"Sure." Thomas had found to want escape, and put sneakers down the sidewalk. Not vexed, not sad, but leaving room for the fact his perfect buy had other sides.

If the burn itched any more under his shirt, he'd convince Pops to let him work skins.

~~ Some minutes gone by, when Rigby plopped on his usual location, by Mord. Manual blades rolled ahead of them in featherhands. The stench of Rig's breath, mustard-burger in hand and halfway chomped down, subdued the grass clippings. "... And when they got to the last scene, the shoguns were all like 'TCHAAHHH!!'" He mimed approximations. "And the cowboys were all like, 'BOOM, BA-DOOSHH!!' Man, the whole saloon, just gunpowder and shakin' glass!"

Mordecai's smile was wide, cool, pumped. "Ughh, I wanna see that! I can Friday... Stupid pay cycle."

"Just do what I did, sneak a few Lincolns outta Benson's desk drawer-"

"That's petty cash, I can't do that-"

"He never uses it!" A bite of the burger, chewing it mouth-wide-open. Swallowed rough. "Dude, that's like having a copy of Dungeon Digger Extreme and using it as a coaster!"

"Nahh, dude. It's better to wait."

For some reasons - being stress along with thinking on its cause - he'd not leave it alone. "I'm telling you, get the key, have Thomas think you need the stapler out of there, and..." He did the most unlikely of acts; he stopped blabbering. Soon, though, it rose back, under sickened shades. "... Thomas... Dumb goof thinks he's got it made with that thing..."

"What happened to 'he's a bad idea', maaan? " The bluejay mocked.

Rig fell just short of growling, face jutting out to his tall pal. "It is!! That's the thing, he just walks right out there this morning, like it won't blow up on him."

"You can't know it'll be trouble."

"I just said, it'll blow up on him!" Brown arms trembled. "I don't do windows and I don't do moppin' goat parts off the ground." He went into their nodhum hybrid gesture. "HMhm. HMM, HMhmhm. HMhm."

"Better turn around, then." He pointed his blue hand forth; at 12 o' clock, Thomas stood at the west fountain, tool in hand to scrape trash and leave coins. Who should be on his shoulder but the little beast, curious as all for the water he splashed but with ears tilted backward. Mordecai saw the foot Rigby put ahead of them; he tried stoppage, catching his friend's shoulder. "Be cool, man, walk away-..." Raccoon pushed away alright, his hand back on the jay's. Ever forward, while the goat glanced back, lethargic.

"Can we talk, or you gonna be a mom some more to your bundle o' crap?" He started so tactfully.

Thomas bat the slowest of eyelashes, profiled over Rigby. "You already on your break? 'Cuz I'm doing my work, and I don't see a thing in my way." He cut back to little J'... It pounced on him with a nuzzle. Rigby mimed choking himself with his finger... And actually choked himself.

Fifteen seconds of hocks later, he groused at normal strength. "... The freak's sittin' still. That's new."

"Half the morning I was training him. He learns as quick as he does." Peewee dragon hovered off his shoulder; batted at the fountain, and both keepers ignored its shudder, more at passive odds.

Rigby seldom hid aggression. "So when did you sleep?"

Thomas merely looked away, disinterested to fight. Jaikag behaved throughout, he shoveled gum wrappers and... A used thing, coloured rubber... And only his cringe shook his pet's model stillness.

Mordecai walked up on them, and bent a path to Rigby. "You just blew me off to make a scene. Dude, you're weird about this, cut it out!"

"I'm just wantin' to talk, and he's clammed up!" Maskface taunted, annoyed. "I can't get through to him!"

"You're being contrary! There's not even a point!"

Thomas took enough to get his voice firmed; the level tenor took raccoon off his guard, allowing more. "He's a handful, yeah, but but it's been one day. He didn't mean to wreck the game, and after my work with him it's the past. And you could thank him for mowing the upper five, your Tuesday load's been halved."

Rigby blew on his upper lip; Jaikag lit off Thomas' headspace, flew around him, studied the now-trembly raccoon. Its breath blew on his scalp; it licked him, and the fright became disgust. He clawed at the air in its direction, it flew up faster than his every move, ten feet above in a flash. Arms crossed, he seethed, remembered Thomas' words, and sulked. "Thank you, Jaikag, for eating all that grass. Hope you have Imodium." He finger-snapped; it clapped its wings together, making somehow the exact same sound. He started to comment...

... His eyes waxed a little nasty. "He wrecked the game how, buddy?"

A lightning bolt went off in goat's head. Two epiphanies came upon him: One, no wonder they had zilch to say about the score or watching it, and two, he'd given ammo. His chest, the hatch-welt thereon, itched.

Rigby pried into this peek of meekness on the tired goat, biting more burger. "I mean we had cool stuff to do after work, so if you don't mind spilling what the dwarf darling did to your night. And how you got those eyebags we could hold him in, WW'OOAHHHH!! "

Absolutely no one shared the mojo.

Thomas went in talking straight, if not entirely emotioned. "Just got me hit on and bothered a lot. Some fine hockey chicks, but it held up play, they postponed. I'll stay at home and catch the next one." He glazed past much of it, to shut down Rigby faster. "You don't know what it's like to have all different perfumes right up on you."

Rigby again began speaking, realized something and froze. Mordecai foley'd this with hearty, hard laughs. "OH MAAN, he TOLD you!! "

Rigby scowled on the intern with greatest ire. "Shut up, you're a goat. I don't argue with can-eaters."

Thomas had to chuckle inside his answer. "It was-*snnrrhrhh* - a long night. The house and grounds are better, you're not trashing that." He rubbed his chest; then a tad bit lower, a flat stomach whose new prickling pain announced itself. Midget flutters hit his eyebrow. "A fair chance, all I'd ask."

Rig', despite his dearth of worth, let in the idea. At worst he hesitated, more air blown through his flapping lips. "I give that to dudes, not..." He stared hard on Jaikag, innocent and hovered back down to above him. Its eyes met his, while within him struggled his brain to think of an insult. His glare bulged, delivering the bomb. "... Duds! "

Mordecai blushed, so taken aback by stupid it embarrassed him to know the perp. Still he laughed, and the goat's hand rubbed all up the tanned fur under his shirt.

The bluejay noticed an odor; putrid, burning his nostrils, which he then held shut. "Uuughh, what IS that?"

"His brunch. All that turf breaks down to methane, it... Might be soon I teach him to excuse himself."

The raccoon waved it out of his nostrils, in vain. "Your invention! Throw some de-stink on that biznatch!"

"I would." Now dubious, a grin set high and fake. "Woke up, it was gone. He burped white bubbles."

He looked judgingly on the sprite; Rigby recovered, nose held, capitalized. "Feelid' low, bahhd? Eat a few wuhhrds ya dideh't like?"

Goat's belly panged; his mouth spoke clear, no detriment for his head shake nor the lips moving slighter, unenergized. "I need some eats, I missed breakfast. There's my Met-Rx bar for post-lunch. Always in my pock-"

In a breath, he'd stuck his hand in, fumbled around, and knew his mistake.

"Shhhit it's in the fridge. I'll be back." With little more to say, little also kept him from taking off, a jog for the main house.

Raccoon bullied after him. "What the hell's a Med-X or whatever bar? "

"Protein. It's why when I get patronized, I can throw Muscleman!"

Thomas ended by shout, for distance and for wishing Rigby's mouth would simply swallow his head and vanish. Bird and 'coon both knew when they'd pushed the goat far; Rigby simply held no fucks, thus giving none.

This changed once Jaikag was observed turning head back, moving for Thomas but scrutinizing the short brown ringtail. Two more seconds and Thomas ran alone; pursuit by Jaikag went to Rigby, as the dragon cruised the air back to his face. He waved arms to repel, but it'd move clear each time and dart in to study him. The shortstack was under living microscope.

"GAHHHH! GET OFF, Y' FATASS GNAT!! "He slapped at air; everywhere he tried to hit was everywhere it dodged being. Mordecai held his wrist over his mouth, sealing the laugh hydrant. Rig's eyes winced in flaccid rage. "LITTLE-ACRO-FAGGOT!!-"

In Mord's eyes, and effect of bad memories, he saw slow-motion; drops of yellow from the burger's remains, spraying Jaikag, mottled on his back.

Not a tragedy, but his fingerquills hit his forehead. "Chillax, you're gettin' it all over him!" He grabbed Rigby; snapped out of his tripping, but the mess was done. He stared like Mordecai, the tall bird flustered. "Thomas won't be happy, dude. He's filthy."

"Psshh. Nothin' but condiments, just brush him down!"

"No way, man! You did this, you get him preened."

Mordecai pointed, accusing. Short 'n' brown could've screamed, most for want of any defense. Without one, he held out his hands. The scaled rascal easily, intuitively let itself be picked up out of the air, held in Rigby's calm disdain. His fingers squeezed its midriff on the slight. "You owe me big. Hear me ya mutant mosquito?"

He at once swung it over, 180 degrees, to the fountain nearby. He approached, and neither he nor Mordecai had the brainpower heading to the right end.

Mordecai came closest, even muttering. "Crap... I could swear there's this thing yesterday... I think she talked about... Cleaning, or how it's done..."

Ignorant ol' Rigby put his arms, the now wriggling Jaikag low into the cool surface. Liquid scrept up his ankles, his knees; three wee breaths and the progress met his hips, submerged further, his face away from two flunkies. The cute rage, a flash in his eyes, a tint shift in facial scales, all eluded them.

Mordecai looked on, oft-glancing back down the path to the house. "He'll be back soon!"

"I know, I'm on it!" He dunked the dragon, palming its back, raw-scrubbing with absent dexterity. Pride welled, unearned. "Lookin' good, good-lookiiin'... " Teasing, every soapless chop. "Got a date? Gonna charm the murky panties off a girl troll?"

Still its face lay hidden; a wave on its nose, bowing, protruding its snout, a reshaping.

Rigby doused it under cool, unsterile park water. Now he'd see the colour, anomalies of green, blue, creeping up its mini-spine. "Awwgeez he's breakin' out..." Concern, buried in taunts. "Wow kid, can't even handle wet?"

A solid thought at last struck Mord. "He's not a kid, Rig, remember, he's a-"

Whiplash, or related sound, in their eardrums. Bird and 'coon blinked; the boom made up a flash by skin exploding off the dripping runt. Shreds drifted to Rigby's feet; he shook them, frantic. "EEEWWW, WUT'THEWUT!! DUDE HE'S UNRAVELING ON ME!! " Disgust took priority; his hands dropped the dwarf in dingy fountain. New scales, pink, soft, supple, were growing.

Mord' projectile-shouted. "GET HIM OUT, MAN!! LOOK AT WHAT'S-...WHAT'S..." He trailed off; Jaikag's height improved on each word, four inches a sentence. Its face jutted, expanding; snout, teeth and eyes doubled in size. Yellow in its stare flushed blue, a new hue and new mood, ambiguous and fierce. Behind Mord's shrunken pupils, fear piloted. "... What's going on..."

Rigby sighted more than his feet, free of scale debris but in shadows. His gaze hit the transforming one; 'scared' would be an undersell. It shot for the sky, neck, arms, wings, all revamping themselves. Five seconds made its neck a round, corded trunk. Three more, its stubby forelimbs stretched long and shapely. Bumps appeared on both, and from shoulder to elbow filled in a lack of muscle with deep curves, conspicuous biceps. Pudge on the belly caved in; abs stole the space. New scales went dark, the pink and soft became red again, then further. Maroon decked out his nudity... He blocked the light from raccoon, then bluejay, then trees nearby. His browline sprouted spines. His maw spilled drool; the size of Rigby's head, it creaked, gaped, and thrown back by his veiny neck it crowed.

Shrieks with oomph hurt their ears, comparatively the 'whipcrack' was a mime's whisper. Veins rose through his hide, floated on his hillier segments. While the flunkies remembered to breathe, it unwrapped wings, flags of leather, capillaries black in dark grey. Jaikag had entered the bath roly-poly. Coming out, clear drops drained on his pec cleavage, their vastness funneling. To that end, when Mordecai escaped eyelock with it, he noted something free, low, dangling. One look and he went babbling the effects. "Eww, it's got a... CHRIST almighty... How in the dickens-"

It swung, flapped, any word you please; jaybird shuddered, not knowing his legs sort of tucked in themselves. Rigby, had he been one to think any more than his buddy, might've noticed he copied that.

Luck had Thomas walking back right about then, half his meal bar left in peeled foil. Hunger ceased; sneakers hit the sidewalk with energy. On a phone call, eyes to the path, luck also got him in to twenty feet. "Yeah, he understood, there's not writeups for curfew.... Oh it has, all morning it behaved. It's a trip, but if that's the price - I mean the other one - for that li'l bundle of joy..." He looked up. The fountain had a new spout, and God was it tall... Dark... Eerily authentic, like medieval lore went to Chippendale's, and...

... The phone slipped from his hand. A Vermont-shaped piece broke on cobblestones.

He had front-row vantage to the frozen bird, frozen 'coon, and one hell of a confusing cause.

"Mordecai, what IS that? " He kept cool within expectations, meaning his ankles shook aspen-ly.

To the bird's credit, he could hold wits and warn with the best of them. The face when he turned to Thomas, true panic. "RUN!! LITTLE J'S A MONSTER, FOR REAL!! "

"It... He..." His half-gone food fell with his cell. Forced to confront his pet's other side, complete with proof of maturity... Not made easier when demonic arms bent upward, elbows down, and straining rippled him. Circles emerged, extruding those lats, each like a tennis ball. From inside they pierced, exposing tendrils, bringing them to the open. One view made their structure distinct. Boneless, pliable... Tentacles. Six on each side, twelve wriggling limblets. Abominations with speed, length, and as three witnessed, minds of their own.

Mordecai turned tailfeathers and sprinted. Rigby jogged in reverse two yards, stumbled, and with eyes wide, scooted up the ground on backfur. He passed Thomas at that moment, the pivotal reach of two tentacles, the longest. One wrapped the goat's chest, one bound his hips. Thomas' stunned yelp only squawked; the grabbers restricted, not a bubble of air between they and his cold sweat. Rigby - true to his selfishness, watched Jaikag drag in his owner; seeing no attempt to be taken, the 'coon halted and leaned up. He winced merely for the scraping of Thomas' sneakers on the path, mouth wide.

"Pull 'em off man! " He advised. Thomas listened, pushed on the tendrils so hard his arms bulged. It made one impact, getting Jaikag to drool more and reel in faster. Rigby crawled to his feet, content to help more from a distance. "Okay, then kick one! From the toe, hard! "

The impact hardly wobbled the tendril, much less chinked its pace. Ten feet out from the dragon-beast, its skin glistened, member daunting, long and tracking the sky. The intern fought his upper constrictor; forearm wrestled it to trembles. The two devil eyes, bright but placid.

Five feet left between them when Rigby got his next humdinger. "I totally get it now!" He projected to Thomas. "Try and look as ugly as possible! "

With his last control, the goat peered back, piss-scared and pissed. "How the fuck is that done-"

Two feet parted from Jaikag, he was lifted. Off of solid ground, two more tendrils slithering, finding his ankles, holding fast.

A deflated Rigby. "... Uh, never mind."

Thomas - wet on neck and thighs, damp elsewhere - beheld his pet's new voice. "Master unhappy. Not like me when freed? "

The goat struggled, to squirm out and to say the right thing. Neither triumphed. "S-sure I would if I'm free! I like you best that way..." His strength shriveled... All the sudden he knew 'freed' meant the creature, not him. Water didn't transform, it revealed.

"I make master smile." Its intent cleared, its grin toothier. Another tentacle hit Thomas, light-tapping his shoulder, sliming as it dropped from blade to underside. Thick moisture filmed his pits, their tan strands webbed like soap in bubble wand. Thomas' shorts lay still, no action beneath; Jaikag put eyes on this; his junk waggled, meat like a club and no less able to damage. All of goat's throb lay in his chest, heart beating numb. Dismay, though the soft slide up his armbend hindered this. Dragon's ultrabass, the spoken tease, cooked a soothing dominance. "He hides himself... We take away the shields, let master be true."

Cryptic, and not so calming. One thinner tendril took its narrow advantage into Thomas' shirtsleeve. Rigby, stone-still, somehow passed words out his piehole. "He's hung you up to dry, man! Fight him! DO something!- "

He wasn't even half right. For a second he was close... The dragon clotheslined Thom' through the sleeve, across the back. Other tentacles held while the junior one bent up, quick as light. The black tee, through its top, ripped apart. Now the goat could call himself scared, sweaty, helpless and shirtless. And could also say Jaikag linked 'true' with 'bare'.

Chilled by his own pores' saltwater, Thom put on a smile for negotiating. This, with baseball-sized eyes, both made and blocked out Rigby's chuckle. "Okaaaay, we've had fun, now put me down, boy. Put master down, he'll be happier."

From the shrinking smile on Jaikag, the quizzing eyebrow, it seemed prone to maybe work. The thin tendril left Thomas' back, sank from his collar. Rigby bellowed. "Yeah, good-... Uh, boy! Beast! Whatever, put'im down!"

Rigby'd nary helped a soul, ever; congruently, the beast flashed a stare his way, looked to understand, and looked back on his raised owner. He put it down, alright, his tendril down Thomas' stomach, his shorts, the waistband. They weren't ripped clean... Not before Thomas could stammer "What're you... No, nonoNO!! ", unstably with invasion. His crotch, the root, scrote, shape of what he packed, all were explored, sickly to his ears with fluid coating personal real estate. It wasn't dry by when the tendril-tip poked out, an illusion of tenting, whence the shorts just exploded off to fall.

Raccoon slapped his own facecheeks, hands flat-on with lilting glee. Fright stopped his laugh; Thomas' cheeks bloomed red. Exposed, and around his decent size slicked a gentle gripper. Drool, tinged orange, dripped by Jaikag's toes. The beast's new business was to ogle what exposed in front of him. Pleased, he rumbled. "True is best... You learn. You share with me."

Thomas mixed a throng of related phrase. "Stop-Idon'twantandI'mnude, nothappy, help! " Through shame his voice elevated; he squirmed, sweat ran down his nakedness. If J' knew not the trauma, or understood and fed on it, he grinned wider. Thirteen-inch mass stuck out his fiery bush, more hard than Thomas was soft.

The creature brought him closer... Breaths pouted from godlike pecs. "Master angry..." A streak of hope hit goat's eyes, but J' stared more on his four-inch softie, coming to conclusions. "... Ashamed, he sees I know him not shake." Thomas barely got in a yelp; the tendril ringing his dick put tip to his, where a drop had leaked in the chaos. Jaikag's keen eye'd seen gold... Casually he wiped a drop of Thomas's last pee from the head.

Friction surged four inches to four-point-five. Momentary drop in goat's eyelids, slowly down and swift back up. Fear hadn't quit him, but the struggling had.

Giant Jaikag loomed so close, a wire could touch both his swollen head and the goat's halfmoon sack. Rigby, failing all before, thought to help by predictions. "Watch out, he's gonna stamp it." Even this just simply mumbled out; of many strange days, this one took the cake and all his instincts. No real background for battling a sex god, no less as a coach.

He was right, anyway; J's lust put one pump to the skin under Thomas' balls. Such force he shouted, head back, and on his taint a red like his face. Odds defied it, but the four-point-five became five. More surface for the tendril's curl, and its slow tugs had Jaikag stimulating goat meat. One could juice an orange on his dark red nipples, and in short order, Thomas' could do at least half as well.

"Um... I think his hand's gonna take over..." Rig's voice peeped under the act. Jaikag's beefy arm reached for what he stroked, and the tentacle baton-passed to his palm, making Rigby right, running wet passes up goathood. Thomas' head tipped down; he could watch, he could frown, but his eyes wouldn't keep from them the pleasure. Hell's might may live in the dragon, but smooth and well his palm tended. Strength was for the holding tendrils, care was in his jerking. Thomas' nuts dropped an iota... If he'd screamed again, it would've groaned.

Rigby called more action. "Now he's bringin' the tail... Watch your crack..." Two blinks from when he saw to its inception. Just as the dragon slipped in to tickle that ditch, more foresight came true. "Tighten up, man, or he'll run it deep... Ugh, your foreskin's rollin' up his fingers... Wait..." He addressed himself. "... What the HELL am I doing? "

He'd hit the moment with clarity, and disgust. He turned and scampered off, all-fours. Thomas breathed a halfhearted "Whoa, don't... Leave me..." And wrapped it up with a genuine "... Shhhhit..."

"There, master's true now." His pleasure blossomed seeing Thomas's. A nudge from his dick, letting none of goat's gooch lay unpre'd on. "Not pain. Feel your happy..." That monster cock slid low, headfucking a prostate bulge. "... Taste happy..." One tendril rose to his fanged maw; the one damp with wizz, and what Thomas hadn't squeezed out went to his 'pet' and a shovel-tongue. the beast hummed to take his treat. "Mmmmm, salt... Share more with me..." The spade tongue lunged, with snout, to Thomas' chest. Fur, nips, lean plated build, on the beast's taste buds. Cold sweat had lingered and wiped off to his beefy, holding slut. Now a real groan bubbled up from Thomas, licked, jerked, ass in tingles by the warm tail searching it.

Goat's lungs collapsed in sigh. Sometime he might notice the five nearby parkgoers, each in varied stages of mindfuck. Fow now, he stood a fate better than it could've been. "No wonder you slept next to me." His mouth's left corner curled up, hesitant to smile. "Almost burned my ribs, too..."

The rebuttal blew wind up his chest split. "Bad smell. Body fought it." Every passing lick seemed hotter; the move of glans on his taint was sublime.

Thomas knew upon some thought what he meant; perfumes from the hockey hoarde's femme legion. Head bobbing, he quipped. "Yeah, coulda done without... That." He flinched a sliver; Jaikag was carried away, into his owner, holding Thomas close as ever. "You wanna... C-can you tone it down? " He split phrases again, lungs tried to be sure. His throb found its second home, heart and bone, his pet's hand busy in skill. It was the prostate-job that tested him...

... He'd asked, but Jaikag didn't budge in rhythm. The tongue dropped a frightening distance, a foot down the drake's jaw to pop in a tan navel. Those tentacles not jailing him whisked his spine, pits, hip curves. One even lapped his horns, ignorant that they lacked nerves. All fine and dandy, if the freak-tongue and his aching anal gland didn't fill a dread cache. Molested, simple as the beast's one-track mind, as the touch of his many feelers. Gurgles worked up his neck; one jelly-stem took his left nip, formed 'lips' and sucked the oval's brown. Jaikag was a far cry from retreat. Temperatures were rising. Words just skiied off his rock-star mouthshovel. "Yo u whimper... Not sound like a master... Sound like taker..."

Wings went high, eclipsing sunbeams. A smidge of bend hit Jaikag's knees. When it struck Thomas, and he did the math, his pupils went their smallest. Hard and yet shivering, lip heaviest. One tendril on his neck, squeeze-pushing the back, the dragon's snout on his nose. Faces dapped at the crux where fiery eyes held intent. "... I do what lungs say. I give."

Tentacle in Thomas' crack hit its ring and forced in. The massaging others lifted him. Drake's tongue had dragged his happy trail, flicked his innie. Detained, with furry core pitched back, cheeks facing a long throbber, appeals split the goat's helpless chirp. "Don'tgive... I'mnotselfish... Notmybirthday... I'mallergic... Atleastspitonit..."

... Benson would never guess. Some thousand yards upwind, he toted clipboard like a soldier's gun, pride and posture equal. On the stone path, while Skips kneeled at the mulching mower, wrench and screwdriver doing surgery. The gum-head manager stopped; hands met hips below candid smile. "Looking good! I don't see a trace of rust."

Skips' friendly mug replied. "Steel wool and paint, with elbow grease. It's the drive belt that's tricky." He took a five-second break, arm crusted black as it leaned on the motor hood. "I won't have to work slow, not with that to worry me."

"Nice, but do it anyway, I gave Mordecai that roller. I'd eat dirt before I see him ride in luxury."

Two figures streaked up the walk; he'd watched Skips, not behind him, so a tall blue soul screeched up undetected, stopped too late and struck the biped machine. Chucked to the ground, his pained yelp chomped a mouthful of turf.

Rigby, Mordecai and their word frenzy got in a lot in the few seconds they had, raccoon first. "Horrible, swear to God he's a demon but big, we barely scrammed-" "-And the worm-ass things, poor Thomas, it's rapey-"

"Like we gotta find a knight or some pesticide or a chastity belt, I'm FREAKIN' OUT MAN!!! "

Benson dropped a jawful of wet grass. On hands and knees, he burned hot enough to scorch an outline. When he hit his feet, fists out, Rigby wished to instead be buttravaged. "WHAT YOU'RE OUT OF IS YOUR MIND, GET BACK TO THE BOATS OR I'LL TIE YOU UNDER ONE AND RIDE THE SHOALS-"

"Benson! " An attentive Skips managed to cut in, dropping tools and come up from kneel. His imposing stance watched an out-of-breath duo. "Here's two guys about to have coronaries. Whatever they've seen I wanna know."

"RRRRGH..." Benson's boil relented to a simmer. He allowed Mordecai the 'floor'.

A bit less blood pressure than before, but frantic gestures tailgated with the bird's beak. "Okay, Thomas' little pet-thing's not what we thought, he's got other stuff going on, and I mean going on-" Rigby interjected. "-It's got two forms, we saw the second, it's extreme and not like dirt bikes or a nine-layer cake-"

Skips preempted them with a synonym. "It's a Trojan horse, then."

Mord' rebutted, knees kind of buckling. "It'd make horses jealous! You gotta come, it's got Thomas, I don't know if he'll die but he'll WANNA!! " The last word accentuated.

A hulk-hand skritched Skips' chindimple. "Hmmm... I shoulda known." He cut a glance to the mower. "I'm rusty as this bucket o' bolts."

The bluejay noticed it, and panic turned to attitude. "Hey, you fixed it?... Then why am I pushing that rickety piece of-"

"SURE, Jaikag's a nightmare or something. REAL original, guys." His mouth was 90% fury teeth, caked with soil. He spat out grit until they looked merely unbrushed. Focus swung to Skips, devoid of past friendliness. "I'm surprised at you, Skips. These guys are wastes of air and bath tissue, but I thought I knew you. What's next, a stampede?"

Rigby pushed Mordecai out of the way, just in time, as twenty human faces rushed them at full-bore. Their heading was the exit. Benson planted hard and ate more compost.

He dug his face from the grass slivers, and in four seconds, changed shock to rage and topped it off with a losing sigh. Getting up was a defeated park manager. "Let's go save Thomas from... Whatever. I don't even care anymore, just get it done."

"Noooo way, dude." Mord's hands scissored in protest. "I'm not going back, and getting pulled in by... That."

The gumball'ed head went red a fifth time. "Then find Muscleman, we'll go in there together-"

Hi-5 ghost came up, and phased through him, also blazing paths to the exit. Benson turned and shouted after him. "Why are you running, you just proved it can't hurt you!! " "I've been scarred, man, my mind's broke forever!"

"Then go! " Benson wished he had a rock to throw after him, then realized what he'd thought, stupidly. Mord' and Rig' stepped aside for Muscleman, who checked Benson. The machineman wobbled, recovered and grabbed the green hand. "HELL no, you've seen it too, I want all the help we can get!"

Sweat poured down the ugly temples. "Sorry bro, I've seen hell and my B-hole has a sign on it! "

"Wh-what?"

"Exit only! "

He broke from Benson's noodly grasp. Not a moment passed, and Skips' knuckles closed on his shirttail. He ran in place until the yeti talked sense. "The more folks we bring along who've seen this, the better chance we have." His brow lines lay deep. "I won't overlook a gypsy's game again. No underestimating."

"Then, let's go." Mordecai spoke sheepish, remembering the ewe. "She was dainty, how hard could this thing be to take."

Rigby frowned on him. "Don't say it like that."

They marched double-file. The battlefield was stark. Empty save for the goat and drake, quiet except for yelps, low grunts and a pump that could be said to resemble an oiled zucchini desecrating a tied balloon. Skips tiptoed in. Rigby's camo hat hid none of him, neither did the black grease paint on his face for... Some reason. Mordecai held sticks with leaves he'd snapped off an unfortunate birch. Muscleman's only weapons were his fists, his cunning and the delusion either one was adequate. Benson led them, held out his arms and made company-halt twenty feet out. He looked back, guaged his militia... And shook his head. "This is peabrained." Turning, he cupped hands on mouth and yelled after a goat who took a foot of fat dick up in him like a true soldier. Benson cringed harder than he. "Thomas! If you can speak, tell us you're alright! "

Four guys behind him puzzled on the sheer dumb in that sentence. The intern, back muscles taut and stomach pursing as a demon dong thrust hard in his manstar, yowled back with understandable reaction. "Get... Me... Out... Ohhh-hh... It's... Burning my tract!! " He wasn't literal, but prayed to no specific god they didn't take his moan for what it was. Shame hurt more than its fucking job... His engorged meat left a toadstool shape of red, and precum on high pubes. Oozing tendrils made his chest, thighs, ballbag, neck and pits a male soup; Jaikag's drool expanded this to his midriff, leaning in, tasting his victim, feeling the shallow breaths of sore, un-wished for bliss. In Thomas' mind, he hadn't known this hard a manservice since pledging his fraternity.

Benson yelled more. "We're gonna distract him, so sit tight! "

"Won't tight make it worse?"

Mordecai slapped Rig's mouth for the bossman.

Selflessly the yeti stood out, tallest and strafing by the grass, behind a tree. A rock lay by the roots; he picked it up, B-ball'ed it and rung the drake's temple. A mad devilstud shone him the evil eye; Muscleman used this to sneak by the bathroom's outer wall, closing in. Unarmed, but for the battle cry he chest-thumped. "OVER HEEEERE, BALL-ZEBUB!! "

Through Benson's eyes, Jaikag took the bait. He, Muscleman and the screw-ups lay out of range; Skips entered his blind spot, sprinted fist-up and loaded a knockout punch. It stayed 'chambered'; the beast's tendrils proved minds of their own, and he was wrapped, dragged, and even at six hundred beefy pounds, lifted with the same ease as Thomas.

Once Benson's jaw quit dropping, he mused. "Stellar." Muscleman creeped back, he and the two others creeped out. Their boss put arms akimbo. "Anyone else have ideas?"

They shook their head; Skips shook the noodly feelers holding him. Jaikag's teeth chattered, not exactly pained... The clear tendrils went opaque, white piped in, and before gawkers could gasp more, thick shots landed on the immortal, nose, cheek and lips. Their captor spat hisses, blissed. "... Mmmm, like. New one's strength, master's shape, they... L-liiike..." He watched his own remote climax; from this, the bath hit Thomas. Intern and handyman underwent their dousing; fur held the gobs of hot love; with Thomas louder, fucked silly from a dick that hadn't fired like its helpers. One thing that could mean: independent, and no hint of what creamy hell that brought.

Benson tapped his foot, fished for inspiration. Muscleman watched like the parkgoers, the same seen-the-antichrist visage. Rigby, chinrubbing, brightened. "I GOT IT!"

"What!?" Mordecai entreated, sinking faith in this.

It played like slo-mo. The raccoon's arms up, his leap into the air, grimace like an action star. Assured that he'd bound twenty feet and snatch his pals to victory.

He hit about a fourth that distance, crested, and Mord' was there to slap his ass down. His chin broke his fall. His bird friend scolded. "A PLAN, dude, not a way to spin you in."

"Ooof... Jerk, I coulda had that!" Ever the braggert, he clicked his jaw back into place. One squeal later, pain, and blackout.

A beside-himself Mordecai looked to Benson; no plots, no hope, no filtered fright. "Whaddo we do, man, you're the head guy! "

Gumball-supe's own angst brought out the rage. "I DON'T KNOW, IT'S NOT EVERY DAY SHIT GOES CRAZ-" He stopped short, then amended. "WITH BODY FLUIDS, Y'KNOW!! " His reaching was obvious.

Bluejay didn't back down. "I can't fend it off, you saw Rigby!! " So far beyond calm he kicked Rig' in the ribs. Out at first from pain, and now back conscious from it, clutching a snively chest.

Skips had something to contribute, mushmouthed from dragon bunk. "Get with it, this thing's... Agghhh!-" Jaikag slipped in a present, finding yeti's crack most accomodating. Despite age, not a bit loose, and from a tendril white just pumped in his backside. Thomas lay near-horizontal on J's D'; his face so close to the imprisoned Skips, floppy dong flapped his nose. No matter what, he could smell; at this height, yeti's package, like the pits minus the rotgut. Suffice to say the nausea from before stayed absent.

Goat's dick, pressed hard into every vein, wet its tipskin with clear. Jaikag's drool made nectar down his beef; devil's ass cheeks tightened, monster dick hitting poor, skinny goat, warm pain. "Need... Master..." His neck bobbled; his rocket's head worked the tight socket, serving Thomas through his own pleasure. "Want... Empty... Balls..." So he knew that word. His master sealed away no secrets... The billy's tongue poked out like groundhogs in February.

Muscleman's arm shielded eyes; it was the last straw when Skips' sweat trickled down. "Weak! Bro, I don't care, I'm movin' out!! "

"We shouldn't have to! " Benson psyched himself to coolness. Relatively. "Now what could get that thing off?"

Rigby held his ears. "Don't say it like th-" He coughed, more than once; ribs weren't in top shape.

Thomas broke in; a bit less of his arousal imbued each phrase. "My ass'll fall off... If you don't find... A-ahh-nswers..." Dick swelled in his cavern; he came so close to suggesting it would stop when it finished. Sure, it could be true, but the appearance... He watched Skips wince, lateral dickvines shoved in those cheeks. By luck the spectacle was Jaikag, spearing him on sausage, thrusting porn-star power. No one noted how the goat's head was moveable, with privacy unpaid. Jaikag drooled first, not exclusively. Waves sped through Thomas' core, high and low. Skips' arms clenched to pull away more tendrils, and the goat observed their size, well as his hole's tingle. Jaikag loved by lust, and hit that shit to where the walls sought his cruelty. Goat ears twitched in goosebumps. Prostate warned of the impending.

Benson huddled the crew, in history's strangest parallel to gridiron. "What if I come around the other side with a rake, throw it under him... Like a billiards shot, Mordecai, Rigby, you can grab the tennis net, throw it over him and he's trapped."

Mordecai put hands out. "Slow down. Repeat the part where they're not trapped in there with him."

"I, uh... Didn't say they... Fuck." Head shaken, thoughts restarted. "Alright, a soccer ball. No, several. Alot. Bean him on the bum, his face, once he's stunned we unload on him like blazes!"

Rigby thought to correct his phrasing again; then rubbed his ribs and belayed that. Either way, Mordecai stared his boss down, eyes dead-level. "You're winging it, aren't you."

Benson stewed, and faced where Muscleman had been. "What would you do, Musc-" Had been was indeed the key term; the dumpy cohort made good on his threat, and movement was quite opposite of rape-wards. Sneaker dust clouded down the sidewalk.

"FINE, THERE GOES YOUR BONUS CHECK FOR HOLIDAYS!! " He huffed long. Rigby tossed his helmet to the ground; mulling an idea, he picked it up and tossed it to the action. It hit Jaikag alright, glancing his horn to deflect and bounce off Skips. Three things to checkmate him: his co-workers assaulted, his mind grossed out, and now, his helmet sweaty. Angrily he saw no effect; white sprayed Skips and Thomas, hoses bound them and kept it coming. Thomas' head bent up and down, floating on intensity. Skips' forearms fought the tentacles; his lay tense for why the rest of him, dripping, undulated. Rolling tickles, his sack retained, close and inflicting.

Benson had the raw deal to yell an ask right then. "Can you speak?! " Betting maybe input would aid them.

"O-OHH-HHHH!!! " The goat writhed; lean, naked, the gobs spitting. Jaikag cratered his young ass hard as hell, but Skips sent him over; huge mass like that, abused, fucked like he was, brought his rolling orgasm, teeth wiggling as ropes shot off.

It brought J' to screw deeper. His mouth, his dick's end, wetter than tropics. "Give, Master, yeeesss... It goes, you feel GOOD-bye, SO good!! " Long as literal sword, beating in goat's ring, demolishing. What had once been a foot tall pushed easily that much in dick alone, blurring lines of pet and 'master'. Jaikag throbbed, so in tune, but switched glances. Skips' moans had joined the party. The yeti's junk, already prime to flop on Thomas soft, took effects from the ravagement. An impressive skyreach; ten inches of shade on goat's eyes, close enough to lick. In the moment, last shots of cum and the perfect shot at this, he hoped everyone missed the run. Skips' rumble and blissed lurch was worth it.

Benson fell apart; stomping around, showing bird and 'coon sickened rage, failure, what happened when they melted in and blew. Mord' tried talking him down; he naturally lashed out, and they bickered, Rigby joining right in. Jaikag salivated, feeding not off their energy but his idea. He'd abused without words; now he'd lean Thomas up, by nothing more than his tendrils, and with wet chest to goat's made Skips listen. "Feels selfish. Him, you like. You big." The broken English both complimented Skips and cajoled him. The yeti balked at having someone else know; Thomas balked, breathless and dribbling juice, at what this could herald. Jaikag brought his fears to speech. "... Share him."

A tremble in the noggin, goat's mouth going dry. He looked behind, and the tentacles on Skips moved him in. Upbeat groans from the huge handyman; those cracked eyelids didn't protest. A flashback: the stick Thomas created, how quick Skips volunteered, how unshy he exposed his pit. That it wasn't sure was unthinkable, but after thirteen inches, to face a fatter ten, add it, goat yammered. "S-see, I don't think you need to, I went off, what's the point? " A pitiful smile.

Skips' tone could smooth out sandpaper, gun straight. "I... Could say the point..." He rumbled more; Jaikag worked his asshole, and his dong would not falter.

Thomas' breath whooshed. Stiff fingers, bedroom eyes, the dread wasn't total. Sweat ran down two larger bodies, his mouth dry no longer. "Ohhhgod, it'll hurt... I can't... No hard feelings..."

Where Jaikag succeeded, he owned. Skips' mood, his mindset, wanted inside. "I disagree." Jaikag's tent's nudged him closer; Skips' dickhole pecked where the dragon slid in. The yeti's lips, stern, stiff. Commanding. "College boy... Take one for the team."

"I... Already aaAAGHHGMNN..." Thomas bore down. Once it started - Skips pushing in, forcing him wide - he treated it like bandage removal. All at once, less pain, and from Skips' tip down his weapon goat sat hard and pulled in.

The sub's neck half-convulsed. Dragon's bone couldn't have sped up, he thought, errantly. With Skips in, his fat pink member to the hilt, their dom' coordinator rewarded his joining with headrushes, the bulb glans just as firm on Skips' unit as the billy's hole. If Thomas' nerves told him his 'pet' screwed him up to the colon's crest - and that Skips responded with wild pumps, seesawing the intern - they appraised on the ball. Speaking of, the beast-nuts swung a curve so vast, Skips' bag bounced off. A motion toy made of man, full of spunk. More tentacle jizz shot on goat scalp; it ran between his eyes, and behind his lids rolled the orbs in pleasure.

Benson took his usual biting stance with underlings. "... AND IF I THOUGHT YOU GUYS WEREN'T USELESS, CHECK ME INTO THE PSYCH WARD!! " Mordecai's facequills blew back on spit-air.

Rigby stood up for his taller pal. "I don't see YOU bringing this down!! Need someone to blame, like always!? "

"I DON'T NEED A SCAPEGOAT, I NEED ONE LESS RAPEGOAT!!! " His eye twitched hard. Thomas looked back, driven from diversion by a pun that lame.

Mord's vacant scowl would agree. "What you need is a break from heading this. Let me at 'em."

Back in Jaikag's space, it was a cinch to carry on, with little to save Thomas. Ropes of slobber trailed goat's DSL's. Mansweat drenched even his nose. Skips railed him, dragon slid in alongside, their lovehammers throbbing for the stretched uke. Thomas cared not who was bigger; either could loosen him, and teamed up, he just thanked fate they both leaked pre to keep his ass alleved. Tentacles wrapped his dick; one stared down his length, its ooze cool on his hot poker. One tapped his scrote; this brought his moans above two massive men's. Skips scooped him, Jaikag clobbered him, his taut body dripped hot. The darkling's tendrils glowed, lit by his drive, the rolling-steel stomach. "Nnn-ngh, such yes... From... M-master, he... Drops for it..."

Skips heard the taunts... Drool and fuel. A minute in, he raided Thomas, hot like prom night. If they upped the speed, Thomas sank on faster. So much dick, two studs wearing a goat fudgesicle, and his bearded face stared past scenery, past all visible, eyes crossing and uncrossing. Bliss... Was not enough of a word.

And Mordecai, confronting this, went limp in the arms. Twitchy in the beak.

Rigby's fists veined out, facing a gumball machine who looked ready to stroke, the harmful way. "Admit it man, we can't fix this! We're boned! He's boned! I'm gettin' out, they won't stab my pooper! "

"Nobody's going ANYwhere until we save our asses!! " The true subtext came out, how much Benson really 'cared' about an intern.

Out of nowhere, a pasty hand hailed them, and two tired lungs wheezed. Pops jogged with great vim for his age. "You won't do it by quarreling! He's impervious! "

Benson's knee-jerk reply was ire. "I KNOW THAT, But they won't-" Seeing Pops run up, flushed and present at all, put off his temper. "Pops, get out of here, you're in danger! "

Pops, steadfast, caught his breath back while expositing. "No, you're waging a useless war! You must listen! "

Mordecai snapped fingers. "That's IT! " He lunged to the ground, for a familiar-looking phone. "Whenever he's in trouble, he goes to this!"

Rigby looked at the dialer, then with only eyes, moved up to birdface. "His cell? Dude, why?"

"I got to thinking last night, you had me curious, and if his Mom knows everything, I-..." He gave his brash act a second thought; defensively, he held the phone away from short 'coon, never knowing it was broken. "-Shut up, I know what I'm doing!" In no time, he fought his stomach and looked into the fuckjob. Skips' buns barely obscured the horrors. "Thomas, CATCH!! "

Rigby didn't get to finish "I thought that's what he was doing", Benson's fist raked him halfway through. The phone sailed up, rolling in air. Skips' shoulder fur took it so close, if its antenna had a blade it'd have shaved him. Thomas, wonder of wonders, caught its backspin faced away. Not a hitch in his rhythm, powering back to bring the double-pen, ass leaking bubbled goo. He held it up, managed three hits of a dial key, then it was swatted down. Not Jaikag's hand that hit it free, but the yeti's, patience thinned. "We're NOT going there."

Thomas paid with more moans, toothchatters, Skips favoring his rear heat and the dragon's frotscrews. The goat could know, from how unbending Skips' hugeness, how long it had been. Jaikag's tongue lolled, even flapped, his eyes' blue in slivers, closed by thrusts. Smoke passed his lips in glad puffs; his teammate-in-crime even passed glances down his form, the ideal mass of male vibrance. Thomas brayed when the effect on Skips made longer, worse shoves in his glandhole.

Mordecai assessed this like the rational sort. "Oh man, now he's controlling Skips! " Hands clutched his head in dismay. Rigby thanked heaven he had arms to shield eyes. Benson, at last, stood crushed, forlorn. "We... We can't win this. Game over, guys!-"

Pops reminded them he was around, and alert. "There's a way. Hearken to me, boys, his weakness is simple."

Mordecai inherited Benson's ire, confronting with chest out. "How can it be simple, he's a son of hell or some shit like-" Now his body didn't move, up in arms but face cooling. "-How do you know that."

"Yeah," skepticized Benson, turning to him.

"Yeah," skepticized Rigby, turning with more footsteps by short legs.

Pops nearly choked, but kept his moustache stiff as a sergeant's. "Never mind that now. You must head to the college, their lab stores chemicals. You're seeking sodium hydrogen bicarbonate."

Mordecai rocked a high eyebrow. Pops restated it. "Sodium hydrogen bicarbonate. It's crucial, whomever is fastest needs to go, time is of the essence! "

Benson wondrously spoke quiet. "Fine, if that's what we need, I'm on it." Three distant groans almost upstaged him. His arms went up in power-stance, ready to jog... ... Mordecai's fist closed on his flat bicep; it all-but took him to the ground. "Tell me you know what that is."

The bossman's colour went more normal-red. Lips thinned. "I'd bet all your paychecks there's a chance I'd find it. You going means we can all kiss our ass goodbye and ruined."

Rigby heard enough to forget where he was. "You can't bet other guys' money, what the hell! " He stood on tiptoes, giving him the extra boost for 3-feet-even. Ego beamed. "Let me go, I'm the bimblest."

"Nimblest." Mordecai corrected. "Unless you meant bimbo." He confronted Benson, all the while Thomas' feet swirled, calves steeled, braving a piston-fuck. Tendril cum, Jaikag's drool, his own saltwater, all conspired on his T-zone like gumbo. His tongue lay anywhere but in his mouth. Skips got to beating out J'man... Pushing just as deep, now harder, in love with that associate ass. Veins on his shaft bumped the dragon's. They felt each's throb, kept each's pace, tore that lucky goat a new one. None could know where Skips' pre ended and the beast's began, but under Thomas, drips of both from his nut hair spotted the sidewalk. He puffed fractions of breaths. He locked shoulders so hard they shaped muscle fiber. His prostate, hypersensitized, drove his hunger for their cum to fire up. He knew neither top would just dribble. He knew when they went off, he'd have his second glory, and goddamn would it shame the first.

Rigby bitched at Pops. "Let me go, man! I'm fastest!"

Mordecai refuted him. "Your legs are wine corks, I should go!"

Benson screamed with all his might. "I'M THE BOSS, I SAY I GO!! "

"OHHH-HH-HHHHH SHIT!! "

The raspy voice was yeti's. In the home stretch, whipping Jaikag's balls with his and blasting Thomas so hard the goat's nipples shook. Only seconds to go for climax. Jaikag's perfect beef leaned back, his leaned in, and Mordecai's cringing jaw pushed past Benson. "Fuck it." The bird took off, making the choice for all of them.

Pops yelled after him, hands cupped. "SODIUM HYDROGEN BICARBONATE! It's plentiful, we just need a litre or a top hat's worth! "

Rigby could've punched the shrinking old man, drawing up fur on his arm like sleeves. "He'll fail, dude! He doesn't know what it is! "

Benson slapped his own face, trusting Mord' but at wit's end with Rig'. "Then tell us."

"FIne, it's a slug of sodium in... Bicarbonate, with a hydrogen chaser! " An unduly confident raccoon glared at Pops. "Right!? Back me up on this! " The human gent glared back, silent, still.

Rigby retried. "Then it's a Bicarbonate, half-sodium, half-..." His mind trailed off. Jaikag's roar shook his ears. He ignored. "... What's it mean, jerks!? "

Benson spoke for so many through Rigby's life. "IT MEANS GO SIT ON A POOL CUE!! "

Rigby screeched frustration, stomped a tantrum through the grass, mumbled unmentionables. He left, and something far hotter left the stud-devil's pouch.

Liquid bullets into Thomas. Skips yowled, cream filling all around his treebranch. His own danced in his nuggets; Jaikag's foamed up from the squeeze of a dual fuck. "NNGHH!! YYY-YEEEESSS!! FILL-my-MASTER!! RRGHHH-H-HH!!! " Beef contracted on every side of his red core. A misted sweat jigged on his areolas. No end in sight to his seesawing hips, driving that splash to its new home.

Thomas writhed about a hundred times more, filled hard, at last failing to smoothly ride it, twerking that goat ass on a shooting pole and an oh-so-near-it one. His throat, its pleading, told the tale. "OHGAHD-GUYS-... OHHH-HH-H-HHH!!! FUUUCK-IT-IHNN!! " His prostate sang opera to his grey matter; rock-hard equipment brought goat gobs to a second outing.

Skips' giant teeth ground.His arm went up, twisting his nip. Scent from the pit escaped and billowed to his partners; Thomas came to the epiphany of loving it, Jaikag just snorted it, gulping through his hellsnout the favour of his helper. Dick pulverized the mangoat, his blasting seed and the yeti's hitting critical mass, tipped with a hidden first ooze before the cumjerks kicked in. They hit his cockmuscle and exploded a fever.

Mordecai sprinted down main street. Three-toed feet, hard breathing, wind in his blue coat.

Skips roared like twenty lions, his backed-up loads campaigning up Thomas. Quarts of white-hot, thick, still runny, frothed at Jaikag's last throes. Cobblestone lay streaked from goat's swelled head. His loads, his giant coworker's, on and on for both. Thomas slammed booty on his tops; Skips paid him in the shoves, the buckets of climax. Goat balls swayed in air. Jaikag's blessing was pulled, in increments, from a hole as it throbbed. Two inches at a time, another load from Skips each pull. Dragon sighed in relief, Skips shot on and on with his, and Thomas' dick drove a seizured peak.

Uptown, a woman fell, her groceries spilled by a bluejay. Knocking her down, he didn't stop. "Sorrydidn'tmeantogottasavemyfriend'sbutt ", he marathoned. Street trees and faces flew by him.

The goat's stomach caved and bulged. Strings left his cock, ropes left Skips'. Jaikag pulled free; the 'thock' of leaving billy-ass had the tan taker squirming. Skips worked from the knees, buckling their victim. Thrusts went savage when the tentacled beast made his last-ditch act to kiss his wide tip on Skips' base at every pullout. Jizz would dot it, the dots would stretch when yeti dick went up Thomas. As if the beast wouldn't let Skips quit peaking, nor the goat stop feeling his with all his shots dropping to pavers.

Benson struggled to factor things, hands out sincerely toward Pops. "I'm just saying it's awfully specific, what you said."

Pops dodged the issue but vitalized confidence. "When he returns, you'll see. I can say no more, you'll have to trust-"

They both shrank in reflex; Thomas' yelp thundered, having Skips pull out and paint his back with the final ammo. Jaikag flicked tongue, tendrils wobbly, they and his endowment spent of all but slow leaks. Considering the ground, the sidewalk, grass, a lake of white below them, how Thomas made out was an humbler mess.

Benson spoke impatience over screams from the fortieth patron to unfortunately stroll up. "If he doesn't get back, he'll need a donut pillow for my foot marks."

The lobby door flew open. Pitter-pattering bird feet on the campus main building, through empty halls between classes. He tore past the corners, blurred by legal posters, band ads, light graffiti. He found the lab in record time; its door's weaker hinges meant he shoved it to the wall. Glass broke; he gave none of a shit, dashing to the cabinets, scanning labels. "Magnesium... *huff*... Polynium... *puff*... Sodium... *huff* WHERE THE HECK IS-" He chanced upon it, modest but obvious. "-This." Around its stem his hand wrapped.

The door's break had announced him to the janitor, a swarthy man in overalls. 300-odd pounds blocked the door. "You broke into the wrong school, wimp." His hands grabbed on his chest; the simple clothes ripped away to a bright yellow leotard. He assumed a ninja stance. "Let's see if you can get past Fightin' Don Lonnie-"

Another beaker, unimportant to Mordecai, hit his face. His head hit the floor. "GHH-"

Bluejay leapt over him, not missing a step. "Can'ttalknowmybuddy'sgettin'dicked, bye! " He sprinted down the hall to the sound of a man's face sizzling. Smoke tripped the sprinklers. It became a 10K through a mazelike Slip 'n' Slide.

Out the front door he leapt, his prize's powdery contents sloshed; water winged behind him. A drenched, breathless beak passed more stunned lookers. Security was onto him. Two chasing guards became four, then ten, on foot and bike. One wheeled pursuer hit his wet footprint, skidded out and hit a bush next to three frat boys. It hit a hidden keg; beer exploded far behind Mordecai, and the guards slipped, faceplanting suds. The slighted frat guys set to beating their asses.

His lungs felt like fire. Even faster back than there, almost hitting a skateboarder, an old woman, a miniature tornado, a surprisingly blocky boy throwing papers. The beaker was barely guarded. Stumbling off a curb nearly spilled it. He spoke under gasping. "Gottaget... Thisover... Can'tfail... Can'thave... Rumpstretched... Neverbeen... Toprison..."

Even Benson had a smile to see him back, the same kind as when a family member spouts ignorance at the holiday table. Jelly-legged but there, and the time the bird made was inhuman. Skips had fallen back, taxed by giving up gallons. Thomas gave out, his all-fours flattening to the pond of cum. Mordecai, who made it so far imagining a perfect throw, did less of an action-star lob into Jaikag's face, and more a drop at the last second, the beaker leaving him and going to pieces on the pavement.

Benson took it well. "YOU SON OF A DODO-FUCKING MAGPIE!! "

A meek Pops slapped his shoulder. "It's fine, Benson, look! "

Being a powder meant a cloud burst out on busting. Thomas coughed, Skips coughed, Jaikag sneezed. And sneezed again. Three, five, eight times, until a ninth sprayed the goat between his horns. Not white, clear or yellow... Red, some skin along with it, laid on left horn's point. Another sneeze, the beast's gore went as far as Skips' leg. Dotted blood, and as everyone but Pops cringed, the dragon seemed... Shorter. His head shook; sneezed again, his pec fell off. An episodic allergy, losing mass every time. Chest convulsed, legs broke away in goo, body parts melting and evaporating with loss. His eyes rounded, his dick shrank, his abs left sight. Crimson sprayed everywhere. Mordecai, gapemouthed, swung to a greenish Benson. "I think I'm sorry it worked." The machine man held hand to his mouth, trapping stomach chunks.

It was done. By Jaikag's final sneeze, it flew out his diminutive little snout. The size of a football, mighty as a kitten. His tiny eyebrows bent as if sad. One homeless woman went "Awww," that insanity drawing few looks. Benson tossed his lunch on the bluejay's ankle.

Skips leaned up, back to his senses. A burden off his crotch, a need off his mind, and seeing a splayed goat and adorable 'pet' in bloody, dusty spunk. He spoke flippantly. "You guys are a mess." Fluids ran down his lats.

Once Mordecai bent down, scraped his boss's puke onto the turf, he gave his take. "I get it now, Benson. Salespeople are trouble." He watched Jaikag's canary-eyes go flustered; powerless, his little wings got him hovering, and he took off for parts unknown. Bluejay stood irked to see the exit. "Where's he going? " He hit a fist in his other hand. "Nah, he's getting creamed for this! " A slight twitch, regretful phrasing.

Pops shook his head. "I'm afraid he's gone, baking soda repels him. Heaven knows where he'll set down."

"So I went through all that to save us, and baking soda makes him-" To say the compound's name out loud, something clicked inside him. Rage directed to Pops. "Baking soda!? There's a market on the corner, I coulda bought it there and you made me run all the way downtown!? "

"Forget it*hack*, Mordecai," Benson sputtered, cleaning his throat. "It's done. You're fine, I'm fine, they're... Uh..."

Thomas climbed up weakly from the cumpuddle. Even blood had sublimated off somehow, leaving lovejuice and powder. His ass curved perfect as supine became all-fours, then a kneel, then standing. He spent two seconds wiping off his chest, before the breakthrough that he kind of took a spoon to the ocean. He turned, and Skips didn't look wholly sickened; then moved with regularity, to Mordecai, who showed some non-alike relief. "At least Skips isn't mind-controlled anymore. Musta been torment."

Pops, more intuitive, rolled eyes a bit to the sky. He happened to catch the dragon-thing riding currents, far away. Memories, five or six decades back. He rubbed a phantom ache on his keister. The intern, just as unwilling to tell as the yeti, looked casual as Benson approached. "It's over. You need medical attention?"

"N-... No, just time to recover. Can I take a lunch to, y'know, wash?"

"Take three lunches." Benson's hand spread his own heart area. "I'll lend you twenty dollars, too, go out somewhere. You shouldn't have to see us clean this up."

Mordecai's pupils grew. He cast them to his supervisor. "Us?"

Benson answered through his teeth. "Us."

Goat man looked down, realizing his wet shame. He covered; the blush was back. "Cool. I'll... See you guys later, thanks. And sorry."

"It's fine, you didn't know and you more than paid for it." Benson showed restraint unending. "Just get going."

Skips slipped behind the machine, old man and bird. He went with Thomas, and with a smile tiny as the gone dragon. Their stride didn't go with distance; he mumbled through one mouthcorner. "If we go out for lunch, there's time for one shower. Oh darn, gotta share." He received the subtle smirk he'd wished. They parted a crowd of citizens, none of whom could bleach their brains enough.

Benson's arms crossed. It reduced the nausea. "If I ever see you or Rigby bring a thing home, I'm just going ahead and setting you on fire."

Mordecai, at a loss for response, fake-laughed. "You mean it. Ha-ha, you said you, but you meant..."

The forced laugh died. From behind Pops, below their chests, a very-pissed raccoon limped in. A long stick of polished pine stuck out his tail region. Benson spotted him, shocked, while he grumbled through the pain. "Okay, now what? "

~~~~~~~~~~ End*