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Episode 3: Control

This is Candace - II

It feels like my legs are going to fall off again. They'd only recently recovered from going too hard on that run earlier in the week and kept from really recovering thanks to the short but frantic walks in the kitchen at Shiproof House, but here I am with my legs in a wide stance called a 'kiba dachi', which I think means horse stance. I guess you're imitating sitting on one. I may be uncertain about the name but I know one thing's for certain.

It's fucking murder to keep so low for so long.

We're all in a well lit, wooden floored hall that's part of a school complex. Table tennis tables are neatly stacked over one corner, crash mats on another (with many placed on the floor for sparring) and a few fold-out wooden frames for climbing here line the walls. A row of windows adjacent to the ceiling all show the twilight dark blue from the early evening night. I stop my eyes wandering in order to focus on my stance.

I keep my feet parallel, hips straight, my arms bent and tucked against my sides in a 'cocked' position, ready to punch.

Sensei Price barks, “kiba-dachi, choku zuki!"

Bill Price (joking about his name earns you twenty push ups) was a big human man. Intimidating as hell, although that was slightly diminished by the fact he was also standing with his legs out wide like the rest of us.

He's in his late forties, with small wrinkles decorating his face. His hair in a neat, short crop that's steely grey. He's dressed in a worn but well maintained karate uniform called a gi (a white suit made from a stiff, durable cloth) and his black belt, though threaded and worn with white strands hanging off of it, demands respect against the white belt around my waist, same as the two other students.

The other adults are busy sparring, complete with the stomp and stamp of feet on the floor that fills the halls with the occasional shout echoing over everything. An assortment of other coloured belts and a couple of other lower grade black belts going through attacking and blocking drills while stepping back and forth. The kids, along with Candace, are over the other end of the hall, where she's going over a similar assortment of basic stances and drills like me, only with a group of six.

Her belt's not as worn out as Sensei's, but she's the same rank. It's hard to not be proud of her for being one of the youngest in the country to hit the grade of fourth dan, one rank before hitting the nationally famous sort of rank that gets you in karate enthusiast magazines as an authority, but it's hardly surprising.

Hell, I heard you aren't supposed to reach Candace's rank by normal regulations, instead you've normally got to be at least thirty years old or something, but Sensei Price really pushed for her to take the grading test and she impressed at the event in a big way.

“Hajime!" Sensei yells for us to go and I focus.

As one with the other two beginners, I thrust my left arm out, not quite straight ahead but angled inward; a strike aimed for an imaginary solar plexus as my right arm clenches, kept tucked in against my side. As my arm reaches its full extension, I give a guttural bark as my kiai (a shout to help produce power). Then I retract the punch with violent but controlled force, as if I'm pulling someone to me while I throw out my right in the same style; angled in. Then we alternate, over and over. Slow and as precise but powerful as we can manage.

“Stop, stay in stance," Sensei says as we finish the tenth punch. He breaks his stance and walks over.

Price pats his palm on one of their hands, as if firmly sculpting clay, and says, “straight arms, stiff wrist. You hit someone like that and your wrist tweaks off-centre and you're going to break something. There. That's better."

He then goes to the next and pushes him down further into his stance, “low and stable. You can't generate power if you're not seated right and balanced properly."

“Why so damn low? I've never seen the black belt guys do this stuff," the student whines.

I halfway expect him to end up on his ass, but Sensei Price steps in front of him and gestures him to stand upright. The student rises and I can see he's beginning to look a bit intimidated; there's gotta be about a two foot distance between them and our instructor's a good head taller besides his powerful build.

Then Sensei pats his chest and says, “put your fist against here."

The student hesitates, but slowly does so.

“Now I want you to push me backward."

The guy does, or at least tries. Sensei Price just leans against the effort. The struggle goes on for a few moments then the beginner grunts and starts to lean into it, getting lower as he does, then Sensei grabs the student's arm and they stop.

“What did you do there?" Sensei says and gestures behind the student.

“I leaned against you?" he says, unsure.

“Yes, and to do that, you compressed down to generate force. You ask anyone where strength develops, it's from low positions. You're throwing your whole body into an action, you're deepening your stance to allow more strength from your arms, legs and core like a spring. So, why so low?" he mirrors the student's earlier words.

“Oh..." was all the beginner could muster.

“The horse stance isn't going to give power like stepping in from the front stance. This stance, along with most others, is to force your whole body to generate power from various positions so that when you defend yourself, no matter the angle of attack or what you're doing, you should be able to strike efficiently. That's why we study the shotokan aspect of the martial art; the low stances are better for conditioning, the strikes are practised in a controlled, uniform way.

“Then, when you understand the basics better, we move on towards the Okinawan side, which is more about practical use. Higher stances as you'd expect in a real fight, but you'll find yourself grounding, digging in and striking. Even boxers don't punch when they're hopping about, they push in with their rear-positioned leg as they strike. Leaping strikes can work, but unless you know what you're doing, you're only going to make yourself unbalanced and easy to counter. If there's nothing else?"

The student shakes his head, Sensei Price takes his place in front of us and, at a single gesture, they both re-assume their stances.

I'm well aware I didn't break stance through the whole thing. Even more surprising is I'm able to get back into the training exercise as Sensei once more makes us keep punching for a good five minutes straight. I settle into a good rhythm and feel the burn in my arms and legs, but I'm doing it! Maybe this won't be so bad.

“Max, knees out," Sensei Price says in a brief pause.

I grunt and re-deepen what I thought was a good stance and the drill goes on for another couple of minutes. Just repetition, power and as precise a movement per punch as we can as a trio of novices. It's harder than you'd think just throwing punches is, but over time the burn kicks in and it takes more and more effort.

“And rest."

We all sigh as we stand, mostly relief on the leg joints but to catch our breaths as well after all the shouting; part of making us less embarrassed at using a kiai.

Sensei looks at a clock above the exit door, which shows it's nearly 9pm, and says “good, I've worked you enough for today. Thanks for coming. Hope to see you all again." He then looks at me and grins. “Although you're welcome to stick around for the rest."

Yeah, us newbies and anyone shy of the longer standing students had a good two hours, but all the black belts had an extra hour of intensive and complicated training. Usually they don't start until the beginners have left, since the Sensei says it's not a good idea for the inexperienced students to get any ideas and practice what they see here (or online, as Bill grumbles often) when they're not ready, but of course with me and Candace being an item, I'm extended the extra courtesy so long as I'm silent and don't start practising advanced techniques on the sly.

That ain't happening. Candace would kick my ass for insulting something so important to her.

The kids are having a huddle with Candace, and she waves them off with a smile as they all scramble off to go meet their parents. There's a difference with the adult students; the white belts just leave, but anyone with a modicum of experience reaches the exit of the hall, turns and bows on exit. I will later as well, if only because Candace would once again kick my ass for disrespecting the dojo, but I get to Candace's burgundy sports bag, take out my water-bottle and I sit on a bench.

The six other black belts all take five, although Candace being Candace, she's warming up and doing her own drills already. I guess she hasn't been doing the most rigorous stuff by coaching the kids but still, I've seen what these guys do for the expert session.

“Before we begin, I have some news," Sensei Price says as the black belts gather. “Our compatriots at the Ferris Street Kyokushin dojo have asked for a shared practice night, which I've agreed to, since it's been a while since we've mingled with another school. More importantly, they have extended us a challenge. An impromptu tournament; four of us against theirs. Full contact with pads.

“Now," Sensei continues, “I'm not naming any names or putting anyone forward, but still; I have a hunch you might want to give it a go. One person in particular comes to mind as a front-runner, but if anyone objects, say your piece."

Everyone glances at Candace, who remains bolt rigid and silent. Even her tail don't budge more than the lightest of flicks.

“I don't need answers now, but I need to submit our acceptance before the end of the month. Just give it some thought, and no pressure. Nobody will think any less of any of you if you don't want to do it, but I can't think of anyone better for the challenge.

“While this isn't mandatory, I do want you all to at least attend since it will be a great way to practice another style and make sure you have your techniques down pat. The meeting will be on the first Sunday in November, so you have time to make arrangements and preparations." Sensei's body tenses and he assumes the ready position, and says, “s_eiretsu_!"

Everyone forms into a single, side by side line and stands ready.

“Tonight, let's go through the Ji'in and Gojushiho Dai katas and kumite to finish. So let's cover the forms..."

Without missing a beat, and without any drama about the challenge, Sensei gestures for Candace to step forward and she moves to stand in front of the others alongside Price. She turns, bows and adopts a ready position. Sensei goes over a list of weird named moves that were all way above my level, and Candace demonstrates them with her usual pinpoint precision. These advanced katas were a mix of slow, steady stance work, ensuring you always kept your balance at every single moment, followed by short bursts of explosive speed and power, then alternating back and forth.

Every so often, usually at the apex of some of these faster bursts, Candace's voice would bellow out in a kiai that I swear shakes the room. Each certainly echoes with enough force to give the impression she could. It wasn't no scream; like I'd been told, a kiai isn't a shout from the lungs or the throat, you pull it up from your belly.

With the first demonstration finished, Candace joined the others once more and they all adopted the beginning pose for it, then Sensei would bark numbers in Japanese as they went through it in unison. It's impressive stuff, even if the meanings are lost on me. Each motion has a use, a scenario where the practitioner is fighting a number of imaginary people using different techniques. It's a weird dance, a meditation and both a physical and mental test all in one; keeping pace and remembering the sequence and the form.

Here I am dealing with katas that involve maybe a couple of moves in a few sequences. With the expert ones I lose count as one type of strike isn't quite the same as another that's similar; they weave together, and each run through featuring an array of hand thrusts, chops, kicks and elbows used with any sort of turn, sidestep, backstep and more. Even the punches have several variants going on, let alone everything else. They just drill through it over and over, switch katas and once more Candace moves to the front to demonstrate.

My exhaustion gradually pulls me down into just watching without giving much thought, and as my mind wanders, I just look at Candace. The way she somehow makes the stiff, thick fabric of her gi look good, or her almost-as frayed black belt swings and flutters about with her movement. The thick belt around her slim yet sturdy waist, along with her black undershirt, contrasts against the white gi, fur and pink hands, ears, feet, tail and nose. The way said feet, with that standard rodere form of the middle toes being larger than the little and what would be the big toe for a human, slide and slam and flex with each move and pose.

Her tail twitches to the left every time she tenses up, a full ninety degree curve from base to tip. Her ears are in an almost constant state of half-flex, which makes them look rigid against the way her hair shakes and flows about. Her usual messy bob hairstyle is getting a little long, so between her sweat and rapid motions, there's a few times where she's probably half blind as it bunches together.

It's also a little strange to see her without her glasses, but it makes it easier to see the way her rose-red eyes are at half-boggle from how focused she is. Sure, some humans can bulge their eyes, others can make them really stick out in a gross way, but naturally rodere have them beat; another physical hold-over in their genetics and a popular way to gross out kids for parents and grandparents alike; pop those peepers with a rodent boggling. So between that and how active she is, Candace has never really liked contacts.

And besides; she's cuter with glasses for her short sightedness anyway. It softens how hard she tends to make herself seem at all times. Underneath all the muscle, ass-kicking and intensity, she's a sweet and affectionate woman.

All weird details that make Candace... Candace, I guess. I couldn't love her more than I already do, but she's always in her element here in the dojo and she seems more at ease, despite how focused she acts. I understand why; this practice has always been important to her. It was how she learned to control herself as a kid. Given a way to vent her energy in a constructive way while learning discipline.

More than that, I remember Candace's adopted mom, her aunt Beatrice, telling me how karate was the first thing that drew her back from her despair over the death of her biological dad (even if she still believed Winston was her uncle, but they were still close), who was killed in broad daylight, right in front of her, merely feet away.

Candace isolated herself away in grief in her bedroom. She was just emotionless, barely ate and stared at her dad's police badge, yet when it was time for her regular Sunday lesson she finally left her room, gathered her training gear and attended. Apparently she used to play a lot before that day, which was a thing the kid students did; it was exercise and it helped engage them, but Candace was determined to learn after that moment.

She wanted to become strong enough to stop what happened to her from happening to anyone else. The only thing that stopped her from joining the police was a promise to Winston himself as a kid; he saw it as too dangerous, and for a man who slowly lost everything but Candace, it was hard to disagree. He lost his wife, his mobility when he was crippled from the waist down in a vehicular attack from a drug crime family he had busted, and eventually his own life from the stabbing.

In my post-practice daze, I'd stopped paying attention to the katas and now I could see them gearing up for sparring.

Candace naturally throws herself into the matches with an absurd amount of focus, dominance and those sharp mouse rodere reflexes marrying with her powerful body. She's so intense that the other students tend to back up and panic when she rushes in. They throw punches, kicks and elbows, yet she tosses them aside as quickly as they reach her and, within seconds, they're either out of the 'ring' (as much as a pair of crash mats together can be called a ring) or on their asses. It almost gets boring how outclassed the others are against her, but each contest ends with a respectful bow to one another and a handshake.

Then Sensei Price got into place. I hadn't seen them spar before and I could feel the excitement in the air. A rare chance to see Candace fight someone who, at least by rank, was her equal.

* * *

Special treatment for Max besides, I respected everyone here. Shit, I respect the new guys, the occasional practitioners and the kids. That's not the point, though.

The point I'm making to myself is that I know the other black belts in this hall have worked long and hard for their grade. They've been promoted by Sensei Price until they had to be graded by one of the Shihan visitors, the official top masters on the Shotokan side, who graced us with the black, chunky fabric around our waists, hard earned through hours of discipline, sweat and blood.

Shotokan may be the official side, but Sensei Price practised predominantly in Okinawan martial arts, and that's the stuff we use for sparring. It's close range and less rigid. It's also the true origin of the style, the root of Japanese martial arts as I understand it.. Sure, our peers in the hall have practised this too, but as much as I like and respect them?

Only two people in here have seen real shit. Fought tooth and fucking claw or nail to survive.

He never talks about it, but Sensei has had to fight through serious injury. He's had a shattered glass bottle and a knife jammed in him on two separate occasions when he worked as a bouncer at a strip club in New York. He's always been big and scary, but he only had half a head full of martial arts training at the time, so he went to Japan to learn from the real deal Okinawans.

It's a way of life over there; some martial artists pretty much live it day in, day out. Even if Sensei hasn't always done so, he's lived that life for a time. It's why, despite us being the same grade, I'm lower than him.

I'm no fucking slouch though, and I'm not gonna deny that. I've been shot at, fought off a gang of four guys with baseball bats and bottles alone, been in more fights than I can count. You don't forget that shit; you get conditioned by it, proper fucking hard-core. From the time my goddamn dad, my real dad I mean, was stabbed over and over in front of me, I've swore to myself that I'll never let myself get weak.

No fucking gang-banger or shit-head thug will ever get me.

For that reason, to fight someone like Sensei Price, despite the pads and the unspoken agreement that we don't throw everything into this?

I'm smiling as I bow, then stand ready. I probably look like a psychopath as my big mouse teeth show and my tail wags like a dog.

So we square up and I punch my fists together to make sure my padded gloves are fitted right. The world around me blurs; it's no Pariah focus, just a world of grey and my enemy in detail, but this is me in my element and we both adopt a fighting stance; mine's high and light on my feet, Sensei's is lower, still mobile, but stable.

This is Candace. It's time to prove it.

Time to fight.

“Hajime!" Sensei shouts. Begin.

Price knows me, so he's keeping back, arms in a defensive position. I'm fast and aggressive. He's stronger. More experienced. Taller, so a longer reach. I wonder what's changed in the last few months since we last sparred like this?

I flinch on my front foot, a fake lunge. He flinches but does nothing. I hop to the side, switch stances, weak foot forward. Trying to lure him. Make him strike first. Use his lack of speed against him.

He doesn't bite. He's a fortress. I don't have a choice, so I strike.

A leap forward, a spin, my left leg rises. I pivot on my right heel and I thrust with all my weight. I roar a kiai.

Price blocks, tries to push the kick away. I'm pushing in to him with more force than he expected. He expected a test to his defence. I seek to break it.

I stumble, but hop, reposition and keep balance. My fist flies, he parries with an open hand. He has to pull back. I keep the pressure. I'm back on both feet.

All too late he steals that balance; he kicks out my leg. My knee bends and twists. I fall on the mat, he drops to follow. A fist lands into my belly with a deep, bass thunder of his shout.

A moment of silence. I come down from my focus and breathe.

“Ippon," He says, real matter-of-fact style. Three points for a downed strike.

“Yeah," I submit. He holds out his hand and helps me up. We don't waste any time and take position once more.

“Hajime!"

I demonstrate some caution. I move close enough for him to strike at me, try and goad an attack. Nothing once more. I step in with a thrusting right punch. He blocks and swings back and I cover myself for it as I pull back. Typical Price.

So I rush once more with a kick, a straight front thrust. He takes a half-step back. I fall short, overstretched. He throws another punch.

I let myself keep dropping from my kick and land in a crouch. I grab his ankle and pull his leg up. He tumbles back, I stand, follow over him so I'm reaching between his legs like a wrestling pin. I throw two punches into his body with a long kiai as his legs are still falling from the trip.

“Ippon," I say.

He nods.

Payback's a bitch.

* * *

I've seen videos of these contests. They set a timer and generally go on points, with accuracy, technique and effectiveness of a blow scoring higher. Some fights are only a couple of points if there isn't a runaway winner, in which case a match will be called if that gap gets too wide. Besides being knocked out or disqualified, anyway.

This one? Two downed strikes in what was about fifteen seconds of fighting, tops. I get that this was practice, since I'm sure both would be far more cautious in a tournament, but this won't be a boring match.

The third bout slows things down. Candace bounces around and circles the slow, methodical Sensei Price. Once more Candace goes to strike first, but I can see it's a feint. Price throws a swinging kick and pushes on. Each time Sensei steps in, he's throwing another strike, something varied and different with more speed than I'd have given him credit for, and even Candace looks frustrated as she keeps failing to capitalise. An elbow lunges from Price, and Candace dodges, yet Price only steps back to cover himself, then Candace tries to kick at Price's leg, but he not only lifts it out of the way but thrusts with it. Candace is forced back again. And again.

A rare show of Candace on the defensive. She's almost at the edge of the mat after a few back-and-forth more clashes.

Then Candace slips to his side in the blink of an eye. Her left arm locks under his. She snarls in a big, almost feral show of her large incisors as she puts her hip against his side and leans. Sensei's face is a goddamn picture from the panic as his feet leave the floor; the way his mouth turns downward, his stubbled chin creases and his eyes go wide. Defeat mixed with confusion as his larger body rolls over Candace's own and wildly flails over the other side.

He slams against the mat with a heavy thud and the other students just gasp or give soft 'wow's, and Candace kneels and love-taps him in the belly while he's still reeling from the crash.

Candace stands over him and offers her hand, panting for breath and despite being all business, she suddenly grins. “What, too judo for ya?"

“Yes, too damn judo. You better not pull a stunt like that in the competition. Alright, that'll do for tonight." Sensei Price stands with Candace's help. He holds the hip he landed on and walks a few experimental steps, turns and says, “dismissed. Have a good night, everyone."

* * *

Kings and Queens – I

“Oh, hey, Candace," my neighbour says. “Guessin' this is for that delivery?" my neighbour says. He's dressed in his pajamas but Wade's a night-owl, so I knew he'd be up this late. He's a chubby human guy with a messy beard who runs a hobby shop. Nice guy.

“Yeah, thanks, Wade. Sorry to bother you."

“Nah, s'all good. One sec." Wade heads inside and returns after a few moments with a cardboard box. He hands it to me and says, “y'all could probably just get them to drop it behind your house, yeah? We all get along good around here. Well, most of us; enough that your shit would be safe, no doubt."

“I get that, most of the people here have been real friendly." I stop and glance around the cul-de-sac; all the houses look similar, except a few different colours and a couple are still lit up. Nobody stands out as shady or anything. Frank Haines was right; this place is great. Guess he's in real estate for a reason, considering he's a rags to riches guy.

“I guess I'm just being a little paranoid. I just like getting to know everyone so we can cover each others' backs, y'know? It's how I was with my old apartment floor; everyone above and below's a different tribe, everyone on floor three was kosher."

Wade shrugs. “I get it. No harm no foul. Anyway; got a TV marathon to grind through. Good night to ya."

“Sure. Thanks again, Wade. Good night."

As soon as the door was shut, I couldn't hold back a grin. This was gonna be great. Max ain't the only one who can be crafty and kinky.

The game was afoot!

I jog around the fences and get back home.

“I'm in," I say as I close the door.

“How'd you know what I was gonna say later?" Max calls out from the front room.

I'm half a second away from asking what he meant when I snort and almost laugh. Nothing sluggish and slow about him here. People might give Max shit for not being great at small-talk but as always, in this house and when we're together, he's sharper than most would ever imagine. I go to head upstairs to enact my plan when Max pokes his head around the front room door-frame.

“Whatcha get?"

I was expecting this, so I snap back, “crack cocaine, fifteen inch vibrating dildo, roofies, handcuffs and edible underwear."

Max's face creases for half a second, then he smoothly replies, “'kay, have fun. Don't forget the lube. I guess I'll have to finish you off later."

“Who said it was for me?" I whip back.

He chuckles. “Seriously, though, anything I need to worry about?"

I put on a low, raspy creeper voice and say, “thirty inches of rubber..."

Max rolls his cute brown eyes and says, “I'm sure I'll find out later. Just hurry up and take a shower; got a movie I want to watch together before bed. Should finish at midnight."

“Oh? What one?"

“All I'll divulge," he says, then puts on his own creeper voice, “is it involves a lot of fisting."

“Good! You could use some pointers. Now, shower."

I charge up the stairs to keep on with my plan. I'm not a big movie girl, but it's time spent with Max, so I can deal. I get the entertainment stuff, but I don't have that urge to lounge like Max does. I won't stop him, as that's how he recharges. I recharge by working out, as much of a paradox as that is.

I sort out my night clothes, get my sweaty ones into the laundry basket for tomorrow and head into the bathroom with the box.

I wasn't lying about the thirty inches of rubber; I open the cardboard and produce a long roll of black, non-slip bathroom mat. There's nothing wrong with the shower floor, it's fine, but for what I have planned? Oh boy...

I get under the hot stream and get clean, because things are gonna get dirty.

* * *

With Candace getting herself clean, I just chill out in the front room with some TV quiz show as background noise. I'm not really paying attention since I'm focusing on the karate lesson in my head and making sure I remember what I've learned. Best to do that now, anyway, because it's going to be an interesting night.

I'd picked a martial arts film I've seen before where at one point the kung-fu master hero, played by a human actor Donnie Yen, faces off against a group of ten karate martial artists. A film called Ip Man, and apparently based on real events. It was likely hugely inaccurate, but it didn't matter; the point was that I wanted something Candace could have a fun half-argument over. I could envision her outrage already.

“Shower's free!" Candace calls down and I turn off the TV for now, then head up.

Candace is wrapped in her burgundy red (her favourite colour) towel, perfectly wrapped tight around the chest to give the most cleavage she's capable of with her pert and perfect bust, not to mention she's rolled up the lower hem so it must only just be hiding the... thinned patch of fur between her gorgeous legs, with the fur still matted down from the wetness.

She knows I'm staring. If she cares, she doesn't complain. She just gives a smile and secures a smaller towel around her hair and makes a slow, sensual walk towards the bedroom. Her generous hips sway, her tail gently flows in the opposite direction. Candace pulls the towel a little higher and flashes her thick, round butt as she rounds into the bedroom.

Damn it, Max, you're on a bit of a schedule, man!

I get inside the bathroom, into the haze of steam, and strip down.

It's only when I look at the shower cubicle I stop. The floor's black beyond the frosted glass.

“The fuck...?"

I slide the door open; it's a big, heavy duty, grooved rubber shower mat. The last time I checked, the studded tiles were fine; neither of us have slipped.

I'm overthinking this and I have to once again remind myself I need to hurry up. I get the shower running, get my dirty clothes into the laundry basket, and step in. The mat's thin and fills up most of the shower floor and runs up the wall a little, not to mention it covers a small section of the drain, but I can't fault it for function; my feet are rooted to the floor despite the wet and my attempts to drag my feet are pointless.

I dismiss the issue for now and just get back to showering. It's goddamn bliss as the hot water cuts through the dried sweat. Karate's not the same intensive workout that Candace frequents; it's a slower burn, but persistent and more guided, so I have to admit I'm enjoying it a great deal. Not that Candace doesn't show me the right way to perform other exercises, but she's in absolutely peak condition since she's lived and breathed the life for so long.

Lost in my thoughts, I kick back into reality to a low sound. A dull thud.

The shower door closing. Then arms around me. A hand on my chest. The other slowly runs down my belly. Welcome hands that both stroke, the first is already nice but the other is...

A tingle runs up my spine as the other encircles my dick with teasing fingers in a gentle rub.

Familiar and careful where she needs to be.

Firm and aggressive where she wants to be.

“Y'know," Candace says, her voice barely audible over the shower, but it's like honey; sweet, slow and luscious. “I figured since you've had a rough day, and you took over the cooking, I might as well try to cheer you up again. Third time's a charm, hmm?"

Her fingers grip my length and slide along it, slow and gentle, but just her pressing against my back is doing half the job for her as I'm fully hard by the time she stops talking.

I wasn't expecting this, but I guess I should have seen it coming; the mat was weird of her since we usually discuss everything in the house, plus never revealing what was in there... well, not specifically. That said, she makes a compelling argument. I take the hand stroking my chest, bring it to my lips and kiss it, only to receive one as she kisses my wet back. I feel her larger teeth nip gently on my shoulder and I grunt as she first wraps her hand around my balls and gives them a subtle squeeze then a firmer fondle.

“Early lead, huh?" I say as I try and control my breathing. I don't know why I'm trying to be coy; my mind's made up already. We're doing this.

“You bet your cute ass, early lead."

I reach down and grab her other hand. It's like a dance in the cramped space as I spin us around, our arms in knots that's harder to follow as water sprays everyone. I pin her wrists against the wall above her shoulders so our heads are outside of the shower stream and I can feel her breath on my face, the waft of air as warm as the steaming shower. Candace struggles for a moment, but I've always been stronger. She grins at her predicament and licks her lips.

All her power and strength is mine and I watch her breathing quicken; she's alone and cornered. That little primal aspect of her Pariah flaring up as her instincts make her tremble despite the heat as this sexy mouse is now my plaything.

We take turns in these passionate moments. We always have, out of trust and how we know we belong to one another. Today, despite Candace starting it, I take over. I take charge.

It's easy to start; our lips meet. No tender kiss, no fleeting peck or gentle nibble. Our heads angle by experience, our mouths touch by desire, tongues lap and tangle and suckle. She inhales deeply, afraid it might be her last full breath for some time as I press her against the wall for a few more moments, but I can't keep it this simple for long so I finally pull myself back

I glance down, past her twitching pink nose, the little rise of her tits as the water droplets drip from the nipples and down to her tail that writhes, an excited snake of motion slaps against the soaking tiles. Her feet clench and dig into the gripping mat. My eyes rise once more, taking in the view of her resistance and power, the flex of her absolute strength that could fend me off and take back control but she submits.

I release her arm and reach down and my hand brushes her wet fur in a long stroke along her side. Her muscles stand out, but I seek the softness. A hand on her hip, to her thigh. I squeeze the thick mass and she gasps as her freed hand grabs my shoulder. The claws touch and scrape but don't break the skin; that comes later. I have scars, so many small scars, and each bunch of imperfect skin as a badge of honour. The reason she's clay in my hands.

Equals with dominance in fleeting passes. This is us.

I'm as hard as I need to be, but the challenge here is position. I've never had sex with us standing, but I do my research, I've read about ways this can work and I want to bring her to her knees, but she's sturdy. I want to prove my strength. Maybe it's time to do just that.

“Up," I say, no, order.

Her hungry gaze twists into confusion.

I don't have time for this; I put my arms under hers, lift and pull her against me and grunt, “wrap your legs around me."

Candace follows my orders; her legs encircle me and she hooks her feet together and I feel her weight; she's no dainty wallflower, she's no tiny rodere girl that you carry on your shoulders for a stroll along the beach. She's so tall for a mouse that her body's a little leaner than a human of the same height, but that just makes her a leggy, well shaped powerhouse.

No skinny model, but broad and solid with little give beside her fur. She's heavy; probably close to three quarters of my own weight in sexy female muscle. But if there's one thing Candace has drilled into me over the last nine months, it's that I'm strong and I'm gonna prove her right or crash and burn. Like Candace herself, no half-measures.

I press her back against the wall to help as we try to get as comfortable as possible. A little adjustment for height and she pushes her hips back to line herself up, then I push her harder back. My cock presses its way inside Candace and she instantly breathes a hot as hell moan. She's more slick than I thought she'd be; either Candace has been playing with herself ahead of time or she's used lube from the bedroom, because she's ready to go with little foreplay. Her rose red eyes narrow as she stares into mine and we're kissing again even as she tries to hold back from crying out.

But what kind of control would I show if she didn't lose hers? I give little thrusts, short bucks of my hips against hers and suck in air as my endurance starts to get tested. Each push makes her clench, even her legs, which pulls me into her even harder. Then I squeeze her against the wall and she nips my lip as at first she tenses up, then cries out. Her singsong voice echoes against the tiles and through rushing water. I groan, primitive and fierce. Candace's tail whips against my leg and I grit my teeth as I pull back.

It's impressive that she remembers to relax her legs to let me get enough distance, then I push in for another thrust. This time a wet squelch overcomes the shower and long, almost strained exhale from Candace. How her breath washes over my shoulder, the smile on her cute little muzzle, the way her eyes are lidded and she stares into mine with every ounce of her love and approval; you can't get a better aphrodisiac.

I can't afford to wait, so I'm glad she's eager. I settle into a slow, deliberate rhythm as I rely more and more on the wall behind her, yet it allows her to jerk against me as well. We know each other and she helps me set a tempo as each of my thrusts is matched with her own. Each push a grunt and moan from both of us.

It's a weird but comfortable sensation to be covered in hot water for this; the warmth inside of her is less intense, but the familiar tingle is unmistakable and never dull. The feel of her perfectly shaped cunt, the extra flex she can create thanks to her incredible body. She's maybe the slightest bit looser from our months together, but she can clench down on me so goddamn hard now that she's learned how and gained experience. It's the best fucking pressure.

Right now is no exception. We can't change positions like in bed, so the raw focus we can have here is taking hold and Candace speeds her thrusts, but she's shifting less against me and instead clenching down on my cock as her tail wraps around my waist. The pressure is enough to make my knees go weak and I have to go for a final rush.

A revelation as Candace's large teeth show and she trembles. She really had warmed herself up before, because she's usually the one who needs the extra attention, but I'm glad as her eyes shoot open, wide and staring at space as she screams in climax. Her claws dig into my back and I'm glad for the hot water; it numbs the pain. It also has the weird sensation of the gush from her welcoming passage less obvious, but it's there as I feel the thicker mix of fluids seep out.

She continues to be tense, and it makes my job harder as each time I pull back, there's a resistance. The rubber mat is a godsend; without it, I doubt we'd be standing, but that's a small victory as I can't keep this up any more but I'm so damn close.

Candace comes back down from her high just in time; her legs unwrap from me and she stands on shaky footing and tries to catch her breath.

Then, even as aroused as I am, I'm shocked back from the brink as she pushes me back, drops to her knees. She's never been brave enough for oral and the brief lapse in my libido is flipped as the thought of her eager tongue and lips around my length gives me hope.

She stares at it, mouth open, but she hesitates again. Even worse, down there, the water splashing around sprays all over and gets in her eyes. That hope is dashed as she winces and just wraps her hands around my length and pumps.

Disappointment besides, I'm too far gone to not respond. The weakness washes over me as I lean against the wall and let out a long groan as I cum all over Candace's shoulder. She closes her eyes and looks away and as frustrated as I am at the finish, she looks even more angry at herself.

“Fuck... goddamn it. Max, I'm sorry."

“S'ok..." I manage as I ride the afterglow, “you don't have to-"

“Yes I fucking do!" Candace growls as she bares her teeth. She stands, but still has to lean against the wall as her legs still seem shaky; exertion and her own climax still clear even through the anger, so I rest beside her. “You're putting me first all the goddamn time and I can't even do something for you back like sucking you off? What, have I gotta get fucking drunk to pluck up the courage? Like I can face down some asshole with a knife any day, but 'oh no, Candace, you're too much of a fucking prude to-'"

I won't let her ride that downer train again as I pull myself from the wall and we settle for another simple kiss. She sighs through her nose at her own frustration clashing with the pleasure of the kiss. I stop and look her in the eyes and say, “if you do or don't. I really don't mind. You don't have to prove anything to me." Then I step back under the shower stream. “What I do care about is getting clean... so do you, 'cause I don't want you bitching about how sticky that gets." I point at her shoulder.

Candace rolls her eyes and smirks and I'm glad she's amused.

I grab both bottles of body-wash, my own favourite sports brand and Candace's rodere fur special, and we put the sex at the back of our minds.

Right now, it's just good (literal) clean fun, and I intend to enjoy it.

* * *

On-watcher – II

If Max wanted me to have a relaxing night, he's dead fucking wrong.

“Oh, fuck off with that bullshit!" I say, outraged and flailing my arms in a gesture of protest towards the screen. “Why the fuck are they standing around like assholes and letting him take'em one at a time!?"

The main asshole performs a solid catch of a lousy incoming straight punch then both sweeps the attackers leg while pushing with his free arm; a good takedown, for sure. Then for some fucking reason the other eight or so guys, who're all supposed to be black belts of some description, can be clearly seen bouncing around on their feet in the background doing jack-fuck-off-all. They pretty much let the main dude rail off these rapid, machine-gun punches against the downed karate guy's face and chest for a good ten fucking seconds.

First of all, the fight's a fucking sham; against a group of this size, you're fucked. You just run. Even untrained assholes can dog-pile if they were in this fight that was set up by literally having half the guys grab your limbs while the other five kick you in the nuts or take a brick to your face. Maybe if it was against some schoolyard, 'I can only punch by swinging my fully extended arm and hope my elbow doesn't snap' dickheads who only feel confident because of numbers and a well trained guy got a jump on them, maybe?

I get that this is a principle thing; the karate guys are under the thumb of the bad guy and the main character's the one who demanded to fight this many. It's ridiculous. I also know Max keeps telling me to 'suspend my disbelief' and shit like that, and to 'not take it so seriously', but it's complete horse-shit.

I get wing chun. Hell, I've looked up on it a little. It's a pretty no-frills kung fu style centred around a very upright stance, rapid and simple punches. No big fancy kicks except strikes to the leg since it's all about the central form, where you knock aside their attack and strike them a few, hence the quick punches and dominance of that internal space. It's mostly famous for the Bruce Lee connection; the main character here who practices it is meant to be the guy who trained Bruce Lee himself. Props to the real guy the actor's representing, and I have nothing but respect to any martial artist, but fucking movies, man!

I guess I'll have to give this movie credit for some of the quicker strikes earlier in the fight. Just snap blocks and parries with one or two rapid strikes back while shifting about; you can't just sit there and fight a group, you've gotta pick your shots and slap people about, unbalance them, wear'em down and only go for something harder when you have space. You've basically gotta fight like a coward, because only an idiot gets cocky. Never stop moving away because you don't want them surrounding you and only advance if you can punch your way through someone.

Fitness and conditioning is key; you could have the hardest punch in the world, but the more opponents you're dealing with, the less useful having a perfect punch is and the more conditioning works for you.

Shit, it just reminds me of that brawl I kinda forced my way into before Max worked at the restaurant... four guys with baseball bats and glass bottles. A dark alley, and someone in trouble who lived on my floor beaten down and bloodied. I had to do something.

I've never brought it up with Max, because I know he'd lose his shit at how much of a risk I took.

I snap back from the memory in time to watch the main guy fight off four guys while they stand back and just throw hands and feet; it'd be an insult to call them punches and kicks, and all I can do is groan.

The fight predictably rolls down as the main guy beats the shit out of each one, then he just flattens the last remaining karate guy by neck locking him, flipping him down onto his back and hammering punches over and over into the top of the karate guy's head. With that, the fight's over.

From the corner of my eye, I see Max glance at me and say, “I'm really curious what you thought was wrong with that. The karate guys? The choreography?"

“Do you really wanna know or are you just yanking my tail?"

“Maybe both?" He chuckles and I roll my eyes. “Seriously, though, you don't really talk about getting into fights much or how you go about them." He pauses the film and shifts his position so he can look at me dead on. It's hard to hold on to the frustration. “Like Dr. Ashton found out, I did say I'd help if something made you want to step into another bad situation. You also keep telling me it's more about a frame of mind than just practising punches and kicks."

I sigh and nibble on my lip with my big incisors, then close my mouth. I realise I go straight into bruxing my teeth without really knowing why; I'm not that frustrated, but... shit, I don't know. “They're not exactly my proudest moments, alright? For all the good I might have done, it's just been me being a dumb, angry idiot."

Max gives me his best, warmest smile. “I've never seen you that way. I've only ever thought about you as doing what you believed was right. I mean, it's never been ideal, but I gave my word, right? You've gotta lay some philosophy on me some time. Like, full on just you and me talking about what it means."

“You sure you want it from me? I get that I've been training for almost as long as I could walk, but-"

“Then who better, right?" Max reaches and strokes back my whiskers as he holds my cheek and his thumb rubs just beneath my ear. The warmth of his hand is amazing. I put my own hand over his and close my eyes. Mindfulness is great, the whole meditation on emotions? But Max stroking me like this just buries all the negativity in a second.

I sigh, both from the touch and as I relent. “Sure. I get it... it's not gonna be a short talk, though. So maybe some other night?"

“Hey, whenever you feel the time's right, 'Deece."

I don't want to spoil the moment, and I feel bad again for first being a screw up in the shower and now not wanting to tell Max a part of me I've been afraid to really dig through. I know it'll be me waxing philosophical about something that's been so crucial to me for so long, and I know if anyone will understand, it's Max, but there's gonna be stuff there that's not exactly easy to talk about.

So yeah. Not tonight. But...

“I think we can finish the movie tomorrow," Max says as he switches off the TV. I'm glad we're on the same wavelength. “Bed?

“Sure."

We do the usual; I check the doors and windows, he turns everything off. We head upstairs, I say goodnight to mom and dad. An idea sparks as we enter the bedroom and lift off the covers.

“Y'know, your dad'll be living here the next couple of days, right?"

“Yep. I'm looking forward to it, even if we'll be kinda taking turns keeping him company because of work."

We climb into bed.

“True, but I'm just thinking it'll be weird having someone in the house. Maybe a little intrusive..."

I look at Max as he finishes settling in. We stare at each other for a few seconds and I see if he catches the hint.

“Yeah, I guess..."

“So certain things'll be off the table for a little while."

More confused blinking. I smirk and pull myself closer to him and kiss him.

“Might as well make up for my screw up earlier and get another bit of fun in before we have to act all decent for a few days, hmm? If you're up for it... a little test of endurance?"

Max grins and kisses me on the forehead, reaches behind him to his bedside drawer and pulls out a condom. Then climbs on top of me. Yep, he's set for another go as I feel his erection against me.

And we test his endurance... if in a more gentle way than the shower.

He passes with flying colours.

* * *

Other Times, Places, Dreams – II

I'm aching all over, but there's something comforting about... something around me. My brain isn't in gear yet; just small identifying marks.

Fur.

Warmth.

Softness.

Hardness.

My faculties start bunching together. My head's in the soft, pliable white fur that fills my vision, marred only by one pink circle; a pink nipple stands out as the sole feature on the long slope of soft breast flesh.

It comes back to me; my old friend Candace, an extremely tall rat rodere, drunk and upset. I offered to help her, brought her to my apartment where she forced herself on me.

As horrifying as that seems upfront, I remember yielding way easier than I could, or should, have. Wild, overpowering sex but I can't remember the details. It's all unreal.

I lift my head and become aware of the sound of snoring, and peer up to the underside of Candace's white furred muzzle. Her mouth's agape, her long rodere teeth stand out, along with her pointed pink nose. Drool has matted one cheek flat and the other's tussled and haphazard, but the profile is confusing me; it seems too long, as if she's not always like this.

It doesn't matter. I need to climb off and use the bathroom, but Candace's arms are around me and I'm being cuddled like a stuffed animal. Tall as I am, Candace dwarfs me as my feet didn't quite reach hers yet my head was still buried in her chest.

At last, with a loud cough, Candace releases me and wipes a furred wrist against her mouth. I slip off of her and quietly stand up as my large friend first grumbles and whines as she feels around her, then grabs a crumpled blanket that's poking out from underneath her body. Candace tugs at it a few times, then rolls over to release it from beneath her and cover herself, although it barely covers her upper body.

I'd be lying if I'm not conflicted, even now. I looked at the vast expanse of her form; the rise of her hips, the thick ass, the long tail that hung off the edge of the bed along with her pink feet. Just a big, sexy rat rodere. In my bed.

If only things had gone differently.

I'd watch for longer, but I needed to relieve myself.

It's a blur; I enter the bathroom, but just as I couldn't see inside here last night, it's... vague. I do things by instinct. I don't feel like I've used anything in here, but more like it's a ritual I had to do. I step outside the bathroom again and everything becomes clear once more.

Candace is sitting up. Her hands clutching her head.

“...oh fuck," Candace moans. “What the fuck happened? I feel like someone's taken a shit in my head."

“Candace?"

She looks up at me with bleary, unfocused and narrow red eyes. She winces as the light in the room pierces beyond her hands and wild hair and she grits her teeth. “Max? What're you doing here? Wait... where am I?"

“Don't you remember? Last night, we got drunk. I brought you to my place."

“Oh... right, right," Candace swings her long, long legs over the side and plants her feet into the thin carpet. She's so goddamn tall that her knees are raised from where her ass compresses into the mattress, like it's a kids bed. “Yeah... I got passed up for that promotion and lost my temper. Fuck... Max, you got anything for this headache?"

“Yeah, sure thing, Candace."

A small part of me wanted to be cruel back, however justified I might be. The thought of her forcing herself on me again flickers in my mind, but... it's not in me to hold a grudge. I once more enter the vagueness of the bathroom and after a short while of doing... something in there, I return with a glass of water and a bottle of pills. I bring them to Candace and marvel again at the fact that even sitting down, she's as tall as I am.

Candace takes the bottle and pours out two tablets, hesitates, then another two. Before I can say a word, she takes the glass from my hand and knocks them back in a few big gulps. She stands and I'm mindful of the way the floorboard creaks from her weight, and she steps forward and wipes her mouth. Finally, after a few moments, she hands the glass to me and stares me in the eye for a moment.

“Oh, uh... thanks, Max. I'm still real foggy at what happened. You got anything to eat?"

At once she seems more brusque than normal, but it feels correct here.

“Yeah, lemme go make something. Um... you wanna grab something from the drawers? You're, uh... naked."

“Huh? Oh." Candace's smaller ears flatten and she seems embarrassed but she makes no moves to cover herself (and something seems odd about her ears being smaller, like it isn't normal). Instead she does as I asked; she opens the drawers and flings shapeless outfits to the floor before she finally takes something clear and familiar; an old, oversized t-shirt. Huge on me. She gives it one look, then tries to put it on, only to struggle to fit it over her big, firm tits. She breathes out and stretches the material as she forces it down over her body, but she gets it on. It's around the right length, and maybe if she was of average build it might be a perfect, snug and sexy fit, but she's both too muscular and has just the right level of fat that makes her too thick.

It's a damn good look though, which she finishes with a pair of loose summer shorts, which fit tightly over her wide hips and thighs. The only caveat being the wrist-sized base of her tail hanging over the waistline forces a little butt-cleavage to hang loose where it lacks a tail-loop which rodere clothes feature. I'm certain Candace knows I've been watching all this time, but now that she's dressed, I lead the way out of the bedroom.

I enter the front room, only to turn and watch her duck to get beneath the doorframe again. Candace walks over to my old, worn out couch and sits down, complete with an orchestra of strained wood and worn springs as her... shit, probably upwards of four hundred pound mass slams onto the who-even-knows how many previous owners worn seating.

I'm again a victim of some sort of ritual; I gather ingredients for omelettes from a vague box that I assume is a refrigerator. Candace's favourite type; cheese, broccoli, chive and a bit over-seasoned. A three egg omelette wouldn't be enough, so I pull out a second box of eggs, a pack that shouldn't have been there since I used to live frugally, and even get out a second frying pan. Before long I'm cooking a four and a half egg omelette in each pan, leaving three for me, and going heavy with the other ingredients.

“So what else happened last night?" Candace calls. We're both looking at each other over our shoulders.

“You really don't remember?"

“Of course fucking not," she barks, “why would I be asking otherwise?"

Right... this Candace is a bit of a bully.

This Candace? What does that mean? All I know is I feel a familiar anger that overrides my healthy fear of the amazon in my apartment. Like I have to act a certain way.

“Quit being a bitch for a second. I'm making you breakfast and let you sleep here for the night. A little fucking gratitude might help."

The thought and the powerful words sent a ripple through the room. I feel nauseous for a moment. The eggs cooking in the pans seemed... less? Like a good part of them had evaporated in a split second.

“Shit..." Candace sighs, “I didn't mean to snap, Max. I'm just a little confused."

I look over at her again, and her t-shirt seems less tight. Less of her back is hanging above the back-rest of the couch. She glances over her shoulder and looks sheepishly at me for a moment, then ahead of her to avoid my gaze.

“So you don't remember kissing me? Or pushing me onto-"

“Oh, god. Oh fuck!" Candace suddenly blurts out. “That was real!? I- I thought I just dreamed that!"

“Nope." I felt further bolstered by her epiphany. Empowered. I grew braver. “Twenty years of friendship and that's how you treat me after we finally spent some time together?"

“Max, I... you..." she stands and walks over to me. I'm spun about by the shoulder and I'm eye level with her neck. “You enjoyed it! I know that for sure!"

“Maybe. But it makes everything between us less. Just friends with benefits, right? And besides, how the fuck could I say no to you? You put Vince in hospital with a single punch! He's never gonna have full vision again!" Dickless Vic. The old bully, my old bully. I thought Candace only knocked him on his ass with a busted nose for a second, then I remember him wearing a padded collar for months, his skull was fractured around his eye. “I thought you were special to me, and visa-versa. You're just an angry bitch with a chip on your shoulder! I don't know why I put up with your shit!"

Another ripple, and I watch it this time; Candace's form is dominantly tall one second and... we're suddenly eye to eye. I look down and the shorts are gone and she's only covered by the huge t-shirt. Her exposed thighs keep their thickness, but the roundness is replaced with bumps and toning, same with what I can see from her arms. Her bust is smaller as well. It seems more right than she was before.

The fire in her fades further. She shivers and it takes her a moment to pluck up the courage to speak. “You- you are special! You're the only person who's stuck with me through everything..."

Braver and braver still.

“So just because I put up with your shit, I'm special?"

“I- I..."

In another flash, I was looking at nothing. It was only when I heard a sniffle and a whimper that sent my gaze downward.

There, plain and average as any other mouse rodere, was Candace. Big, round glasses, a tiny, slim version of her that only came up to my ribs, not counting the bigger, rounder ears. Those big red eyes stared up at me for a moment, wet and glistening as she's on the verge of tears. The already huge shirt now reaches down to her shins and her arms come up around her chest as she seems to shrink in on herself.

“I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" she cries out and falls to her knees. Her glasses fall off and shatter on the linoleum floor and tears flow down her cheeks and trickle freely into wet patches on the coloured fabric.

Then the guilt hits me. It overrides my anger at how I was treated. Be it a nostalgic punch or being forced to obey my baser instincts. Anger at her irrationality or her physical presence. Does it really matter? It's Candace. My perfectly imperfect Candace.

In the end, it's not really any different than before after all. It's just like then. The real day back in January when we started this. No matter what changes.

I bend down and pick her up. She weighs next to nothing. The moment she's on her dainty, clawed feet she leaps against my chest and bawls against it as her thin arms clutch around my back.

So I do what I knew I did back then. I let her get the worst of her emotions off her chest, pull her back and go to kiss her.

* * *

I wake up. I'm face to face with Candace, inches apart. She's breathing softly, with her pink nose twitching as she does. Unlike last time my hand is gently on her side as my other supports my head beneath the pillow. I gently move my hand over her hip in the most tender stroke and feel of her silky fur.

A smile forms on her short snout and she shifts oh-so-carefully, as if her already deep sleep has somehow managed to be made more comfortable. Just by her Max being Max.

I get it. The dream, I mean. All my worry about her changing doesn't matter. Her anger, first at herself for the shower and even the movie last night proves it, even if she knows how to manage it better; she'll always by my firebrand. She'll always want to be a hero, even as she tries to keep safe for my sake.

Whether she's that dominant wilful juggernaut rat in my dreams, that gentle little stereotypical mouse rodere or this perfect woman, again a mouse rodere but so much grander and fiercer. What I think of Candace means so much to her, it's kinda worrying. Being given control of another person; it's mind-boggling. Any decent person knows they can't abuse it, but even my mistakes might hurt her.

This is us now. And it always will be. I just have to be careful with how I treat her, not to abuse this trust.

The alarm on Candace's phone chimes in gently with a slow, melodic build but she's sleeping so soundly it takes a while before she sniffs, bruxes her teeth a little and her pretty red eyes slowly open.

“Hmm?" She blinks and smiles as she sees me, and it makes my heart ache. “Mornin' Max," she says, a little croaky and clears her throat. I kiss her for real this time, with that little tickle from her whiskers and her smile just gets bigger. She leans forward and plants her lips on mine for a few extra seconds, then finally leans over and stops her alarm just before it hits the louder section.

She yawns into a squeak, then says, “you're in a good mood this morning."

“Morning. And yeah. Who wouldn't be sleeping with the best girlfriend ever?"

Candace scoffs and tries to play it cool, but it devolves into a giggle as she rubs her eyes and slides on her glasses, her ears twitching as she does. “Sure thing, Max. I don't know what you're creeping after, but try submitting your request after breakfast. I'm thinking... some nice hot honeyed oatmeal and toast."

“Your wish is my command," I stand and head for the door, then turn to her again. “I mean it though."

She seems a little shocked, but she nods. “I knew that. I just..." a moment of hesitation, before she finishes, “I guess I have a goal to reach if you want me perfect. I'm open to the challenge though."

It's not what I meant really, but that's so like her to treat my compliment so seriously. I don't think anything of it for now and head out the door.

End of Episode 3.